harder, moved quicker, reminding himself of his looming fate. Tomorrow, you fight the Giant. Tomorrow, you die.
A swell of anger, or fear, or some other adrenalized emotion raced through him. As Leila lunged his way, he slapped his sword into her ribs, toppling her to the floor.
You ass.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” He dropped his weapon and hurried to her side.
Shaking the hair from her face, Leila pulled herself to her knees. “Don’t be sorry, you’re just getting good.” She stood and tossed him his weapon. “Again. But harder.”
“Oh wow, this is suddenly very arousing.”
Tobias groaned. “For the love of God, Flynn—”
“I’m just saying…”
“Remember, thrust.” Leila grabbed Tobias’s arm, driving his weapon forward. “Slashes are fine, but you want to stab. Stabbing kills.”
Her eyes grew larger as she spoke, and Tobias could’ve sworn there was a glimmer of hope in her stare.
“Yes, what Leila said,” Flynn added. “Think of it like thrusting your cock inside a woman. Except, you know, with a much less pleasant outcome.”
Tobias’s gaze floated up to the ceiling. Flynn, I swear to God...
Leila’s cheeks reddened, and she leaned into Tobias. “If we’re ever in a situation like this again, I won’t ask for his assistance.”
“Thank you.”
The training stretched on for hours that passed too quickly. The night dissolved, and though Tobias wished time would slow, it stubbornly inched closer toward his inevitable fate. Tomorrow, you die. No, today, you die, as it was the early hours of the morning already. He was improving, could see it in Leila’s eyes, but his fear never once wavered.
Flynn retreated to the side of the tunnel, leaning his tired body against the wall, but Leila was wide awake. She circled Tobias, her eyes lit with confidence, contagious if for a moment.
“It’s time for your final lesson.” She dropped her bardiche. “The kill.”
Kill. The word sounded fierce on her tongue, and the hair on Tobias’s arms stood straight.
“Don’t rush for the kill. Be patient. Eventually one of you will grow weary. Don’t let it be you.” She plucked his gladius from his hand. “Antaeus feels at home in the arena. But that means he might become complacent. He’ll make mistakes because he thinks he can. Your aim is to prove him wrong. Once he falters, you go for the kill. And if you go for the kill, you must commit. You must act quickly.”
Tobias watched as she studied the wooden sword, her piercing gaze setting his nerves on edge. She pointed the gladius at him.
“Obviously, there are many ways to kill a man, but given the situation, we’re aiming for a degree of certainty, yes? So I would suggest…” she paused, pointing the gladius at his neck, “…the throat…” she dragged the sword’s tip to his chest, “…the heart…” she pulled it down, pressing it just below his navel, “…or deep in the belly.”
Tobias wavered. “You speak as though you have experience.”
“I never said I was a saint.”
The tunnel went silent. Flynn’s face twisted into a look of repulsion, or maybe horror, and though Tobias assumed he’d feel the same, he didn’t.
“Are you all right?” Leila said.
Tobias flinched. “Apologies. I was in my head for a moment.”
She nodded. “All right, then. Take your stance.”
Tobias did as told, blatantly aware of a shift in Leila; her voice was softer, timid. Before he could pry, her gaze became fiery yet again, and she plucked her bardiche from the floor.
“Now fight to kill.”
***
The roar of the crowd was daunting, mocking Tobias’s nerves. He had been in this exact holding cell before, gazing at the gate ahead—and the arena behind it, along with its rows of howling spectators.
Don’t look at the people. Tobias stared at the semblance of light creeping through the gate. He hadn’t seen the sun in over a week, and though he should’ve welcomed the sight, it now served as a reminder of the battle to come. Don’t look at the sun, so he eyed his skin, clean and smooth; his wrists and shoulders, which were adorned in iron plates; and his chest, which was completely bare. Grumbling, he rested his head against the wall behind him. Yes, this entire moment was familiar, except this time it was worse.
This time, he was going to die.
The cell door rattled as someone on the other end hastily unlocked it. Wembleton. But in scurried a woman draped from head to toe in a black cloak with a satchel slung around her shoulder.
“Leila.” Tobias hurried to her side. “What are you doing here?”