The Valiant (The Valiant #1)(91)

Aeddan let out a choked gasp as he realized who he had been fighting.

The world seemed to spiral out and away from us.

Time stood still . . .

The world crashed back down on me, and the walls of the Circus Maximus closed in. I was losing the crowd—I could feel their mood souring against me—and I felt a swell of panic. It didn’t matter anymore if the spectacle had been intended as pure pageantry. The mob smelled blood, and would have it. I raised my swords again, and Aeddan went stone-still, staring up at me. The hurt in his eyes washed away, and a calm acceptance took its place, almost as if he had been waiting for this moment.

And I couldn’t do it.

High up in the stands, I saw Caesar stand beneath the crimson canopy and take a step forward. He lifted his arm high, fist clenched. His brow was creased in an angry frown beneath the laurel crown he wore, and my stomach clenched in an icy knot.

The crowd fell silent and held their breath.

This was not the way the spectacle was supposed to end.

And then the war horns sounded a third time, louder and harsher, a strident battle call. Aeddan and I both looked over to see the iron grate at the mouth of a cavernous archway grinding upward. Through it rode a nightmare.

The Morrigan made her entrance onto the field of the battle of Britannia in a chariot black as despair.

Standing on the deck of the chariot behind her driver, Nyx was impressive and terrifying to behold, costumed in black armor with a long cloak tiered and tattered to resemble wings flowing from her shoulders. Her face and limbs were painted with garish blue designs, and her eyes were ringed in thick black kohl. And they were fixed on me.

Her teeth bared in an animal grimace, she suddenly lunged forward and yanked her chariot driver up by the shoulders. She flung the driver from the chariot, seizing the reins herself. With a howl, she drew a whip from her belt and lashed the black horses madly, steering the war cart straight at me and Aeddan, who still lay sprawled on the ground at my feet.

“Daughter . . .” The voice of the goddess shuddered through my mind like thunder—and suddenly I found myself grinning savagely. The Morrigan had not forsaken me. She wasn’t against me.

The true Morrigan had shown herself to lead me to victory.

“Get up!” I snapped at Aeddan, sheathing my swords and thrusting out a hand to help him stand.

“Fallon, what—”

“You’re going to prove to me that I didn’t make a mistake by not killing you just now.” I hauled him to his feet, ignoring the sting from the flesh wound under my armor. “You’re going to help me show these people what it means to be a warrior from the Island of the Mighty!”

Not fifteen feet away from Aeddan and me, one of the swift, light chariots stood bereft of its driver, hitched to a pair of ghost-gray horses. I grabbed for Aeddan’s wrist and ran, dragging him with me. Nyx’s own chariot was almost on top of us.

“Come on!” I shouted. “Move!”

I heard cries of outrage as the crowd realized that we weren’t waiting for Caesar to render judgment. I certainly wasn’t. The mood of the mob was balanced on the edge of a knife—and I knew in that moment that was just where I wanted them. With Aeddan’s help, I would take their outrage and turn it into wild exultation.

“You’d better pray to all the gods that you’re even half the chariot driver Mael was,” I said, grabbing the reins. I leaped up onto the chariot deck and tossed them to Aeddan and snarled, “Now drive for all you’re worth!”

There was an answering gleam in his eyes, and he wrapped the reins around his hands, braced his feet, and shouted, “Hyah!” to the sleek ponies. They bolted into a gallop as he slapped the reins on their rumps.

The crowd roared at the sheer recklessness. Aeddan steered so that we would pass within arm’s length of Nyx’s chariot on our right. I shifted over and braced myself, drawing a sword with one hand and gripping the chariot rail with the other for balance.

Nyx’s whip cracked, and I ducked instinctively. I wasn’t quite fast enough, but neither was she. The wasp-kiss of the whip left a crimson welt on my upper arm. At the same time, I struck at Nyx’s shoulder with my blade and drew blood. Our chariots were so close that the wheel hubs screeched as they scraped against each other. Then we were past, thundering toward a group of fighters who scattered out of our careening path. I glanced back to see that Nyx was already driving into a hard pivot. Her mouth was open wide, and she was screaming curses. She was the best charioteer the Ludus Achillea had, the best I’d ever seen.

And she was on us again in a flash.

Thrashing her horses mercilessly, Nyx caught up with us and rammed her chariot against ours, almost knocking me off the deck. With only one hand on the reins, she slashed at me with a gladius drawn from a sheath at her belt, and I slashed back. There was no finesse to our mad duel, no technique. It was all down to whoever landed the first lucky blow.

The crowd gasped and shrieked in salacious horror.

The chariot wheel hubs sparked, grating against each other. The horses screamed and fought the traces. In the distance, near the end of the arena, where the chariot track curved and doubled back, I saw Elka’s familiar blonde braids—and the sunlight glinting off the head of her oath-gift spear.

“Aeddan!” I shouted. “Drive straight! Straight!”

“There’s a wall straight ahead!” he shouted back. He tried to haul the horses to the left but Nyx headed us off. She was hemming us in with her chariot, trying to drive us in the direction of the wall—exactly where I’d just told him to go. Because, yes, there was a wall, and if we hit it, we’d crash and very likely die. But between us and the wall, there was Elka—and her spear.