Blood dripped down her arm and back, the remnants of her shredded cape fluttering in the breeze. She pulled her sword from her scabbard and a wickedly long dagger from the sheath at her left hip that Dima had gifted her.
She said a little prayer, thankful that Maxim had taught her to dual wield. Before she could talk herself out of it, Tempest grinned wildly and attacked the lion before her pain and terror froze her in place.
Time slowed as Tempest closed the gap between herself and the lion. Sound faded in and out—the crowd screaming, and then only the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. She palmed the blade and made a split-second decision.
Please let this work.
She slung her blade, and it struck true. Bile flooded her mouth as her dagger sunk into the left eye of the lion. He screamed a horrible sound—one she was sure would haunt her nightmares—and wildly clawed at her. Tempest ducked beneath what would have been a killer blow to her head, but, instead of darting away, she swung beneath him, slamming her sword upward into his neck.
Tempest gritted her teeth and held on as the lion gurgled. He swayed, and she scrambled back as he collapsed onto her, his massive head on her chest. Her stormy eyes met his dulling amber ones. But sadness overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t find it in her heart to let the poor creature suffer. With a flick of her wrists, she ended his pain. A clean death.
Several agonizingly long seconds passed, and the lion slumped against her, all light disappearing from his fierce eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she choked out, tears thickening her voice as buzzing filled her ears.
He didn’t deserve to die. Tempest stared at his still form, feeling like she’d just lost a part of herself. With care, she wiggled her legs out from under her opponent and pulled her blades free.
She staggered to her feet and then fell to her knees, her bloody palms pressed against the earth. Tears threatened to burst free, but Tempest battled them back. She refused to give anyone else in the damn arena another part of herself.
Tempest lifted her head, the chants of the people starting to make sense.
“Tempest! Tempest! Tempest!” the people screamed.
They were chanting her name.
Sheer disbelief washed over her.
She’d defeated a lion.
And she’d passed her third test.
I just became a Hound.
Tempest
Time halted, and the world turned watery at the edges. It was almost as if she’d taken a plunge into the sea—her senses had completely cut off from the surrounding universe.
She slowly blinked as a shadow covered her, and Madrid’s handsome face floated above her. Vaguely, Tempest realized he’d pulled her to her feet, not that she could feel them. The people in the stands moved like undulating waves, their arms swaying back and forth in celebration of her victory.
“Please welcome our Kingdom’s newest Hound!” Madrid’s deep voice bellowed.
The ground lurched beneath her feet, but she managed to hold steady. Just barely. A dull ringing filled her ears, drowning out the screaming crowd as deep-red blood dripped down her pale skin and onto the dirt floor. A tremor worked through her body, and her hands began to shake. If she didn’t make it to the healer’s tent, there was a good chance she’d pass out. Tempest knew that was a bad thing, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care as Madrid put pressure on her wounded shoulder.
“Bow,” he muttered underneath his breath.
Painfully, she bowed again to King Destin, who was watching her with an unreadable expression that made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. He was her sovereign, and, yet, there was something she didn’t like about him.
“Mother of Darkness,” Madrid swore. “Drop your gaze, Tempest, before the king notices your disrespectful sneer.”
“Sneer?” she murmured, dropping her gaze nonetheless. Temp didn’t even know she was sneering. She needed to work on that.
Her eyes grew heavier as Madrid escorted her from the arena and toward the healer’s tent. Tempest gagged as a sickeningly sweet smell greeted her, so cloying that she staggered out of Madrid’s grasp and banged her hip against a sturdy wooden table, jarring glass bottles. Her lip curled as she got a good look at the bottles. The ones from her Trial.
“My dear—Tempest, just lie down,” Aleks soothed, apparently mistaking her imbalance for injury.
It was probably both. She hurt and the world was tipsy.
The man grinned at her, pride and delight plain as day on his face. Tempest couldn’t help but return the smile, even though her adrenaline was wearing off and the pain was really setting in.
“You bested a lion, lass. A lion. You must be mad.”
Tempest choked on a laugh, another tremor wracking her body as Aleks helped her to lie belly-down on a rickety cot. He had no idea how mad. She almost hadn’t made it out.
“Whoever set it as the final task must be mad, you mean. Another few seconds and the beast would have broken my skull in two!” she joked, as she pressed her cheek to the cot so she could watch her uncle buzz around the tent as he gathered supplies.
“And, yet, here you are, almost entirely in one piece.”
He gently lifted the cloak from her back and a deep unpleasant throb worked its way up to her shoulder. His expression pinched and then smoothed out as he noticed her watching him. That wasn’t a good sign. Her back must be a bloody mess.
“No worries. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.” He glanced at someone over her head. “Now hold still—Mimkia stings when applied directly to wounds.”
A set of masculine hands on her other side pinned her arm and hip down. Her eyes widened.
Oh Dotae, no. This is going to hurt.
Tempest clenched her jaw and spoke through gritted teeth. “Can’t possibly sting more than a lion clawing through—oh, hell!” Her body bucked against the restraining hands. Tears flooded Tempest’s eyes, and she panted as fire licked up and down her wounds.
“The worst is almost over,” Madrid’s deep voice rumbled from her right side.
She slowly turned her head and stared up at the Hound master, not ashamed in the least by the tears dripping down her cheeks. Aleks had healed many men with Mimkia as she’d grown up, and most screamed bloody murder until they passed out. A small smile pulled her lips up a touch.
“What are you smiling about?” Madrid asked, eyeing Aleks over her shoulder as the healer continued to work.
“Just something one of my friend’s mums said once.”
“What was that?”
He was trying to distract her, and Tempest appreciated it. She hissed as Aleks probed her arm, but she forced herself to continue. “That men are babes when it comes to pain, and that women can bear almost anything.”
Aleks snorted. “That’s the truth if I ever heard it. Many a man pass out when they experience pain, let alone witness a woman giving birth.”
Madrid smiled at her. “There’s a reason why women bear the children. The all-knowing understood that we couldn’t handle such pain or such glory. We’re wicked, vain creatures as a whole. Could you imagine how men would act if they actually had the power to create life?”
“Unimaginable. You lot are difficult enough to live with,” Tempest muttered as a needle pierced her skin. “So I need stitches?”