I didn’t wait around to see what other emotions surfaced. I leapt to my feet and scrambled toward my sword.

Rodric was swift behind me.

He took one long swing at me just as I grabbed my sword. He put all his weight behind that swing.

Cion had been right. Not only had Rodric been counting on his sword as the only weapon he needed, he didn’t think I’d know how to wield a blade with my shield hand.

I waited until the last possible moment to duck under the blow and toss my sword to my left hand. As his momentum exposed his entire right side, I rammed my sword right under his ribs. Just as Cion had taught me to do with my dagger.

Rodric’s momentum carried him a few feet away. He fought to stay on his feet as his sword arm dropped to his side. The twin tips of Cion’s sword dragged in the dirt. He took a few stumbling steps back toward me. Blood dripped out of his side and left a trail. He attempted to raise his blade. Instead, it fell to the dirt. He crashed down next to it.

I watched his body until I was certain he wouldn’t rise.

My chest heaving, I picked up Cion’s sword from where it had landed and turned back to the chaos of the arena. People were streaming toward the exits, but amidst the chaos I spotted Cion in the stands. He’d acquired a spear somehow. But he wasn’t pointing it at any threat. He was screaming something and pointing it at me.

No, behind me.

I turned just in time to see the remaining tiger heading right for me.

I dove out of the way as it snarled past. I rolled to my feet, sword at the ready to attack.

But when the tiger turned back toward me, there were no bars separating us. I could look directly into its eyes. No reflections of flames stared back. Instead, all that was reflected was me—crouched low, sword in hand, ready to pounce.

I inhaled, watching the tiger’s paws in the sand, waiting for the smallest movement hinting that it was about to leap forward. But the tiger made no move toward me. It stared as if it were judging me, as if it were looking through my eyes into my spirit. No, not my spirit. The spirit of the desert that swirled inside me. The one I’d brought back with me when the desert sands had sent me back into the city. The one it recognized because the same spirit lived in it as well.

Slowly, it lowered its gaze, staring at the sand. The longer it stood there, the more and more its sides heaved. It panted, exhausted from the day’s events and the desert heat. Or maybe it was simply as tired of fighting in the arena as I was. It lay down in the sand only a few feet from me, its white whiskers pulling back as it sucked in air.