BLOOD OF THE LAST KINGDOM

The chains came off first. Gad's wrists still showed the marks from them, lines that never fully healed before the next fight. "Kill him or I kill you both," the guard said, pushing Gad forward into the ring. Opposite from him stood Ferro, a broad man from the northern mines, blood already dripping from a cut above his eye. They'd shared bread three nights ago. Now the household of Lord Doran wanted them to shred each other for coin and laughter. The crowd rested against the wooden rails above the pit, nobles and merchants leaning over to watch two slaves fight for their entertainment. Someone threw a coin down. It landed near Gad's foot. "Don't make me do this," Ferro said, low enough that only Gad could hear. "I'm not the one holding the whip," Gad answered. Ferro lunged first. Gad sidestepped, got his arm, and threw him into the dirt. Ferro rolled and came up swinging, a fist grabbing Gad's jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways. The pain was hell. He'd survived worse. He'd survived the last stand of Solenne, watched his kingdom collapse around him while men twice Ferro's size fell to Rebellion Surd blades. This was nothing. This was a show. Gad drove his elbow into Ferro's ribs. The sound it made echoed off the stone walls. Ferro staggered, and Gad grabbed his collar, ready to end it the way the guards expected, a submission, nothing fatal unless ordered otherwise. Then it happened. Something surged through him, fast and hot, starting in his chest and spreading down his arms like a current he hadn't asked for. His grip tightened without him deciding. Ferro gasped, feet leaving the ground as Gad lifted him higher than his own strength should allow. "Gad—" Ferro's voice cracked with fear. Gad let go immediately, dropping him to the dirt. Ferro scrambled back, clutching his throat, staring at Gad like he'd grown a second head. The crowd above erupted into applause, mistaking it for dominance rather than what it actually was. Something Gad didn't understand and couldn't control. The guards pulled Ferro out of the pit. Gad stood alone, breathing fast, staring at his own hands. That was new. Mira met him afterward in the corridor, a rag in her hands meant for his split lip. She didn't offer it right away. "You could have killed him," she said. "I didn't." "You wanted to stop before that happened. I watched you." Her eyes narrowed. "What was that?" "I don't know." "That's not an answer." "It's the only one I have." Gad took the rag from her hand himself. "You think I asked for this?" Mira folded her arms. "I think whatever's happening to you is going to get people killed. Starting with you." Rennick rounded the corner before Gad could respond, armor still bearing the household crest. His eyes locked on Gad, ignoring Mira entirely. "Lord Doran wants to see you," Rennick said. "Now." "For what." "He didn't say." Rennick's face hardened. "But he watched the whole fight from the upper terrace. Personally." Mira's hand found Gad's arm. "Don't go alone." "I don't have a choice." Rennick led him through the manor's back halls until they reached Doran's private study, the doors were already open. Doran stood by the window, back turned, a glass of dark wine untouched in his hand. He was younger than most lords Gad had served under during the war, sharp-featured, composed in a way that results from constant practice rather than nature. "Sit," Doran said without turning around. "I'll stand." That got Doran to face him. Something flickered in his expression, gone before Gad could name it. "You lifted a man twice his expected weight in that pit," Doran said. "Effortlessly, from what I saw." "Adrenaline." "Don't insult me." Doran set the glass down. "I've watched a hundred men fight in that pit. I know what adrenaline looks like. What you did wasn't that." Gad said nothing. Doran stepped closer. "How long has this been happening?" "This was the first time." "Are you certain?" Gad hesitated, just slightly, and Doran noticed it. "I see," Doran said quietly. "See what?" "You served in the final defense of Solenne." It wasn't a question. Gad's hands went cold. "You know I did." "Do you remember everything about that night?" "Enough of it." "Enough," Doran repeated, almost to himself. "That's unfortunate." "Why." Doran's composure cracked, something closer to dread than authority slipping through. "Because if what happened in that pit tonight is what I think it is, you're going to remember all of it eventually." "Remember what?" Doran focused on his eyes directly for the first time since Gad had entered the room. "That I was standing three feet away from you the night Solenne was destroyed," Doran said. "And I was the one who gave the order to fall back." The room went silent. "You were dead," Gad said. "Everyone said you were dead." "Everyone was wrong.”