It had taken me three nights to succeed. But I could still remember the look on my father’s face on the mornings he found new burns on my skin. His eyes would narrow, and his lips would thin. He’d straighten, pulling away from me. “Not good enough.”

He’d dutifully rubbed a salve into the burns after I was released, understanding that injuries had to happen in order to learn. He’d tolerated my mistakes during training. But mistakes couldn’t happen now, not when I was on display, not when my strength was a reflection of his.

I’d never gotten injured in an arena fight before. But now I’d disgraced him. I’d done the one thing I was never supposed to do. I’d made him look weak.

Beneath my breastplate, sweat slid down my skin. And in the middle of the desert, I went cold.

I searched for something I could do to show him I was good enough. I’d won, after all. But there was nothing. The damage was done.

I swallowed as my father rose from his chair. He looked oddly indifferent. Or maybe he was trying to control his anger like he’d always told me to do.

The crowd quieted.

“Hardesh has failed,” my father said. “He is hereby banished to the desert. His survival will depend on his skills.”

Guards came forward and picked up Hardesh under his shoulders and dragged him away, but not before the screeching of two young girls cut through the noise of the crowd. The girls attempted to scale the railing before being pulled back. I knew they were his daughters. I couldn’t bring myself to look.

“My daughter is victorious and one step closer to proving she is strong enough to lead you. She will face one more challenger on her birthday next month,” my father called, his voice hollow. He stared down at me, but I couldn’t read his expression.

As my father exited the arena, I sheathed my sword and bowed as far as I could without causing pain to shoot up my leg. I was already rehearsing what I could say to my father to try and make this right.

I slowly made my way to the door I’d entered by. I waved to the crowd as I went, walking as if I had never been wounded.

Inside the shade of the tunnel, I slumped against the wall. The stone was cool against my body. I closed my eyes and let the heat seep out of my skin.

“That was not the fight I was expecting,” Rodric said, emerging from the darkness.

My eyes shot open at the sound of his approach. Instinctively, my body tensed as he neared, expecting an attack that may or may not come depending on his mood. Oddly, he seemed happy.

His eyes went to where blood ran down my leg. “You were faster than him.”

“He was older and more experienced,” I said.

“Is that an insult to my teaching?” he asked. “Or a testimony to how you should be training harder?”