than we got it at the Slat.”
Nina looked at the people screaming and shouting, the barkers walking the aisles taking bets. The prisoners of Hellgate might line up to fight, but Pekka Rollins made the real money.
“Helvar doesn’t … Helvar doesn’t fight in the arena, does he?”
“We aren’t here for the ambience,” Kaz said.
Beyond slappable. “Are you aware that I could waggle my fingers and make you wet your trousers?”
“Easy, Heartrender. I like these trousers. And if you start messing with my vital organs, Matthias Helvar will never see sunshine again.”
Nina blew out a breath and settled for glowering at no one.
“Nina—” Inej murmured.
“Don’t you start in on me.”
“It will all work out. Let Kaz do what he does best.”
“He’s horrible.”
“But effective. Being angry at Kaz for being ruthless is like being angry at a stove for being hot. You know what he is.”
Nina crossed her arms. “I’m mad at you, too.”
“Me? Why?”
“I don’t know yet. I just am.”
Inej gave Nina’s hand a brief squeeze, and after a moment, Nina squeezed back. She sat through the next fight in a daze, and the next. She told herself she was ready for this—to see him again, to see him here in this brutal place. After all, she was a Grisha and a soldier of the Second Army. She’d seen worse.
But when Matthias emerged from the mouth of the cave below, she knew she’d been wrong. Nina recognized him instantly. Every night of the past year, she had fallen asleep thinking of Matthias’ face. There was no mistaking the gilded brows, the sharp cut of his cheekbones. But Kaz hadn’t lied: Matthias was much changed. The boy who looked back at the crowd with fury in his eyes was a stranger.
Nina remembered the first time she’d seen Matthias in a moonlit Kaelish wood. His beauty had seemed unfair to her. In another life, she might have believed he was coming to rescue her, a shining savior with golden hair and eyes the pale blue of northern glaciers. But she’d known the truth of him by the language he spoke, and by the disgust on his face every time his eyes lighted on her. Matthias Helvar was a drüskelle, one of the Fjerdan witchhunters tasked with hunting down Grisha to face trial and execution, though to her he’d always resembled a warrior Saint, illuminated in gold.
Now he looked like what he truly was: a killer. His bare torso seemed hewn from steel, and though she knew it wasn’t possible, he seemed bigger, as if the very structure of his body had changed. His skin had been gilded honey; now it was fish-belly white beneath the grime. And his hair—he’d had such beautiful hair, thick and golden, worn long in the way of Fjerdan soldiers. Now, like the other prisoners, his head had been shaved, probably to prevent lice. Whichever guard had done it had made a mess of the job. Even from this distance, she could see the cuts and nicks on his scalp, and little strips of blond stubble in the places the razor had missed. And yet, he was beautiful still.
He glared at the crowd and gave the wheel a hard spin that nearly knocked it off its base.
Tick tick tick tick. Snakes. Tiger. Bear. Boar. The wheel ticked merrily along, then slowed and finally stopped.
“No,” Nina said when she saw where the needle was pointing.
“It could be worse,” said Muzzen. “Could have landed on the desert lizard again.”
She grabbed Kaz’s arm through his cloak and felt his muscles tense. “You have to stop this.”
“Let go of me, Nina.” His gravel-rough voice was low, but she sensed real menace in it.
She dropped her hand, “Please, you don’t understand. He—”
“If he survives, I’ll take Matthias Helvar out of this place tonight, but this part is up to him.”
Nina gave a frustrated shake of her head. “You don’t get it.”
The guard unbolted Matthias’ shackles, and as soon as the chains dropped into the sand, he leapt onto the ladder with the announcer to be lifted to safety. The crowd screamed and stamped. But Matthias stood silent, unmoving, even when the gate opened, even when the wolves charged out of the tunnel—three of them snarling and snapping, tumbling over one another to get to him.
At the last second, Matthias dropped into a crouch, knocking the first wolf into the dirt, then rolling right to pick up the bloodied knife the previous combatant had left in the sand. He sprang to his feet, blade held