Swallowing past the dryness of my throat, I said, “I spoke poorly. I have every intention of walking out of that trial as an insufferable winner.”
Arin punctuated his words with a glare. “Trust your instincts. Your magic will sense the threat, even if you do not. You’re stronger than them. You’ll be fine.” It sounded like he was talking to himself as much as me.
I fluttered my hand, infusing my voice with a confidence I didn’t feel. “Save me a dance at the Victor’s Ball, Your Highness.”
His smile was small and fleeting. “I would have to learn first.”
I gasped, clutching my heart. “Have I stumbled across a fault? In the magnificent Commander, the lofty Nizahl Heir? Impossible. I cannot believe it.”
Arin sighed. “That’s quite enough.”
The arena curved high on the sides and lower in the center, shaped like a high-sided bowl. Black and violet columns encircled the arena, and a stone statue of Nizahl’s raven and swords towered over the arriving guests.
I motioned to where Diya disappeared beneath a violet awning. “I have to go alone from here.” I swept a dramatic bow to Arin, gratified when exasperation broke across his tense face.
Every step away from him weighed heavier than the last. This trial posed a double-edged threat. Though Diya seemed to like me and might hesitate to deliver a killing strike, she was the deadliest Champion of the lot. Meanwhile, Soraya lurked somewhere, preparing to kill me before the Mufsids and Urabi could whisk me away.
There was a real chance I would not see him again.
I spun around. Arin cut an imposing figure against the frothing clouds, boots glistening from the rain and coat lifting against the wind. He stood there, watching me leave, even though the storm raged around us. “Tell your guard to turn again,” I called. It barely carried.
Arin raised two fingers and slashed them to the side. The guards gave us their backs a second time. I trotted to him, stripping off my cloak. I held it out. “Would you take care of this for me?”
An agonizing beat wherein I was certain he’d refuse, and I’d have to impale myself on Diya’s sword from the humiliation.
He took the cloak, folding it carefully over his arm. “I’ll treat it like my own.”
“Better,” I said. Without hatred’s spool at the center, the fondness in his eyes was unraveling me. “Wool—”
“—is a difficult material to launder,” Arin finished. “I remember.”
“Good.” Now would be an excellent time to jog away. My feet stayed rooted.
It was just. He remembered.
A raindrop slid along his jaw. “Is there anything else?”
“I am going to try something.” I squared my shoulders. “Don’t stab me.”
I meant to approach precisely, place my arms at preapproved locations and angle my head just so. We were both wary, and Arin seemed to relish touch about as much as I did.
Instead, I launched myself at the Nizahl Heir. He caught me with a surprised grunt, arms winding around my waist. He was too tall, leaving my feet dangling in the air. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
Arin exhaled, warm against my neck, and held me fast.
“I have a joke about an Heir and an orphan. It’s so ridiculous, even your mighty stoicism will crack,” I whispered. I buried my face in his collar. “Would you like to hear it?”
His breath ghosted across my skin. “Probably not.”
“That’s all right. It’s funnier in my head.”
I wanted to stay there. I wanted to tell him that I had not easily embraced anyone since Soraya bid me farewell the morning of the Blood Summit. That with him, every aversion was a craving. That even though one day I would kneel before Jasad’s judges in the afterlife to account for it, I would not renounce a single moment of loving the Nizahl Heir.
I pulled away reluctantly. I patted the cloak, avoiding looking at Arin. I had looked my lot at him, and the beating creature in my chest could not withstand another indulgence. “You should start practicing your steps. I’m a wonderful dancer.”
The arena in Nizahl took three thousand men to build. The oval-shaped structure stood two stories tall at its peak, each tier moving farther back, like levels in a staircase to the sky. The bottom of the arena, where the competitors emerged, was roughly a thousand feet. The lowest seats rose above the long walls surrounding the competitiors, shielded from any stray arrows or knives by a thick glass divider. Each kingdom had its own section, marked by a pillar at the very top level, and their unique crests were carved into the pillar’s front. The section to the right belonged solely to the royal families. The Supreme, Sultana Vaida, King Murib and his Queen, and Queen Hanan sat in the front. Behind them were their Heirs, and behind the Heirs were younger siblings, cousins, and their assorted spouses. I glanced past the empty seat next to the Supreme and focused on the task at hand. One more trial.