After the brands broke, Volkov sealed the arena and spent a day summoning the tower lords while the liberated tenders regrouped behind Linnea’s shield. At noon on Day 44, smoke from the shattered judging chairs still drifted past Platform Eighty-Four.
Grandmaster Volkov stood at the edge of the ruined dais, his eyes blazing with fury. His question hung over the arena like a poisoned blade. The thousands of spectators in the upper galleries held their breath, waiting for the lazy furnace boy to answer.
Beneath his straw hat, Kaelen did not even raise his head.
He calmly turned another page of The Bandit King’s Secret Bride. The smooth salamander leather cover rested against his crossed knees.
Twenty-four hours left until my forty-five-day milestone, Kaelen thought with quiet satisfaction.
If I have to listen to this old man scream all morning, I am going to need more roasted peanuts.
“Tower Lords!” Volkov bellowed, his voice vibrating with raw murderous intent. “Kill that saboteur! Scour Platform Eighty-Four from the earth!”
Two figures stepped forward from the shadows behind the northern pillars.
