Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(93)
More worry filled Sullivan’s face. “With that much power, he could do almost anything. Kill a dozen people with a single blast of lightning. Crush solid stone to splinters. Even knock this entire terrace right out from under us.”
“Or flatten an encampment and everyone in it,” I whispered back.
Understanding flashed in his eyes. “You think he was going to use the caladrius against you, against Bellona.”
“Yes. Otherwise, why bring it all this way from Morta and risk losing it?”
Sullivan hesitated, as though he didn’t want to give voice to his thought, but he finally said the words. “Do you think he has more of them? More caladriuses?”
I glanced over at the Mortan king, who was still sipping champagne and talking to Nox. “I don’t know. But I hope not, for all our sakes.”
*
Down below, Cho strode out to the middle of the arena floor to announce that the final bout of the tournament was starting. Everyone on the terrace took their seats, as did the people in the bleachers.
No one wanted to miss the championship fight.
The crowd quieted, and a low, rolling drumbeat rang out. The sound went on and on and on, and everyone leaned forward, eager for what was coming next.
“And now,” Cho called out, his voice booming through the arena, “our first finalist and the reigning champion. Prince Mercer Maximus Morland Morricone of Morta!”
Cheers erupted, and people yelled, screamed, clapped, and whistled for Mercer, who strode forward and lifted his arms out to his sides, just like he had during the first bout this morning. The prince was wearing the same dark purple fighting leathers as before, and his silver shield and sword gleamed in his hands.
On the terrace, Maximus rose from his seat, smiling and clapping. Nox did the same, and the rest of the Mortan contingent clapped along, as did Maeven, although she didn’t look nearly as thrilled as everyone else did.
Mercer stepped into the center ring and started swinging his sword, warming up. Cho ignored him and turned toward the opposite end of the arena.
“And our challenger, Paloma the Powerful of Bellona!”
Paloma appeared and strode to the center of the arena. She was wearing her light gray fighting leathers, with her silver mace in her hand and her silver shield strapped to her forearm.
I surged to my feet, as did Heinrich and Zariza, who were sitting beside me again, and we all yelled, clapped, screamed, and whistled at the top of our lungs. Sullivan, Serilda, Auster, Xenia—they all joined in, and our cheers were among the loudest in the arena.
Paloma looked up at us, grinned, and stabbed her mace into the air. The she dropped it to her side, stepped into the ring, and faced Mercer.
Cho held up his hands, asking for silence. “This is the final bout to determine the winner of this year’s Tournament of Champions and the best gladiator in all the kingdoms. This fight is to first blood only. Remember that.”
Cho looked at the fighters. Mercer predictably sneered at him, but Paloma merely nodded.
The ringmaster raised his hands again, and an expectant silence dropped over the arena. Ever the showman, Cho glanced back and forth between the two fighters, drawing out the moment for as long as possible.
“And begin!” he yelled, and stepped back out of the way.
Mercer snapped up his sword and lunged forward like he was going to charge Paloma, but instead of moving out of the way, she simply lifted her shield and waited for him to come, as though she wasn’t worried about any attack he might make.
Her utter lack of fear, panic, and motion seemed to surprise Mercer, and he pulled up short and almost tripped over his own feet before he managed to right himself. Laughter rippled through the arena, and an ugly red flush stained Mercer’s cheeks. Not the start the crown prince wanted, and he didn’t appreciate the chuckles at his expense.
Mercer snarled and went on the offensive, lashing out with his sword. Once again, Paloma simply stood there and blocked his blow with her shield. Then she swung her mace, going on the offensive, although Mercer used his shield to block her blow.
And so the battle began in earnest.
Mercer and Paloma fought back and forth through the ring, hacking and slashing at each other with their weapons and blocking blows with their shields. It was an intense fight, and the two of them were evenly matched when it came to their skills. But as the fight dragged on, it became apparent that Paloma was stronger and had more endurance than the prince, and that he was going to wear out long before she did.
Mercer must have realized it too, because he changed tactics. He raised his sword as though he were going to swing it at Paloma again, but at the last moment he dropped his shield and snapped up his left hand.
The hot, caustic scent of his magic filled the air. I surged to my feet to scream a warning, even though I doubted Paloma would hear me over the continued roar of the crowd. But I was already too late.
Purple sparks erupted on Mercer’s fingertips, and he blasted Paloma with his lightning.
The bolt hit her square in the chest and threw her back five feet. Paloma lost her grip on both her mace and shield and landed flat on her back in the center of the ring.
She didn’t move after that.
Everyone in the bleachers leaped to their feet, and the noise grew more raucous than ever before. But I only had eyes for Paloma. Finally—finally—she pushed herself up onto her elbows. I let out a relieved sigh that Mercer hadn’t killed her outright with that blast.