If the mage wanted a spectacle, she would have to come soon, because otherwise there would be no fight for her to witness.
The waiting was surely meant to wear her down. That's why she stayed on her feet, kept herself busy by staying warm, memorizing the layout of the arena, and looking for escape routes. Eventually, she had seeneverything multiple times—and eventually, she could no longer lift her legs. If she didn't want to be completely exhausted by the time the fight started, she had to conserve her energy.
She ran to the grate, clutched the bars, and looked into the arena. She focused on what lay ahead, even though she didn't know the details, until after a while her thoughts began to drift.
The wind cut into her skin like thousands of needle pricks, her lips felt numb, and the cold gusts relentlessly drove tears into her eyes. As soon as her eyes were full, they spilled over and slid down her cheeks, leaving warm trails that were instantly transformed into icy coldness by the frosty air.
Kilian was promised to the princess. He had no choice, he had to marry her. Otherwise he would seal the end of this world and the death of all dragons.
This recollection broke over her like an unexpected storm. They couldn't be together. And the little golden baby dragon was no longer safe with her. Thalara would take him away so that the king couldn't get his hands on him.
That meant he would be gone from Ava.
Two beings who had unexpectedly warmed her heart, whom she had only just met, would leave her.
Like back then.
Despair gripped her and she pushed against the bars. Heavens, she was locked all alone in a cage in the middle of an arena and was supposed to fight, even though she had never learned how. It was so cold. And she was completely alone.
She was seized by a deep anguish, one she hadn't known was inside her. It joined up with the wound from her childhood and the thought of being abandoned byher parents to rage within her like a merciless warrior. The emotions overwhelmed her, gripped her, and shook her as she banged her forehead against the bars and let her tears flow freely.
How was she supposed to survive this?
Tears dripped into the sand and seeped away beside her feet. She saw no point in holding them back anymore. It was hopeless anyway. She wouldn't escape the sorceress.
Footsteps sounded.
Startled, she turned around. Had the sorcerers just been waiting for her to lose her composure? She quickly wiped her cheeks—she didn't want her opponents to know how low a point she was at—before raising her head. But she couldn't see anyone. And there wasn't anyone coming down the dimly lit corridor or entering the arena.
Probably the wind had made the noise. Or her brain had played a trick on her to distract from her grief. Her self-pity. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and looked outside. Again she leaned against the bars, her head lowered.
"Psst."
She gave a start. She hadn't imagined that!
She turned around watchfully, for the wind seemed to carry the voice in all directions and obscure its point of origin.
"Behind the post."
Someone emerged from behind the wide pillar that was next to the cage door and that supported the ceiling in the gloomy corridor. Someone she recognized immediately. Short black curls, dark clothes, and light eyes that stood in stark contrast to his somber appearance. It was the guard who had brought her something to drinkthat morning. The way he was sneaking up to her could only mean that no one knew about his visit.
Casually, she ran her hand over her eyelids to make sure no tears were glistening in her lashes. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard what you said to Henc."
"Henc?"
"The one who brought you here."
Ava stiffened. "What do you mean?"
He fixed her with his light eyes, which were not only blue but also had a fine yellow shimmer to them. "You should know that many of us abhor violence. But if it weren't for sorcerers like Henc who are willing to defend us, we'd all be dead by now." With these words, he held out a cup to her. The vessel was so warm that Ava recoiled before she was able to grasp it with her ice-cold hands.
"What is it?"
"Herbal tea."
"For me?"
