The second guard looked over at her and nodded. “Very well. We need some entertainment today. Get her.”
The first guard unlocked her cell and roughly dragged Lysandra out by her hair. Her first instinct was to fight, but she held back. This might be her chance to escape, and if so, she needed to pretend to be weak and docile. Locked behind the stone walls and iron bars she had no chance, but if he were to take her outside, she might be able to flee—although the thought of leaving without Gregor gutted her.
But he didn’t take her outside. The guard led Lysandra down the dim and narrow corridor to another cell. He shoved her through the door and she fell to the floor hard enough to bruise her knees.
Though it was very dark, she knew someone else was in there.
The two guards stood on the other side of the iron bars, grinning. One threw something metallic into the cell and it landed a few paces away from her on the dirt floor.
A knife. She flicked her gaze up to the guard.
“You like to fight, rebel?” he asked. “Give us a show.”
Suddenly, another prisoner came surging out of the darkness, rising to her feet and shoving Lysandra hard in her chest, causing her to stagger back into the wall. She was a girl, taller and more bulky than Lysandra, with a dirty face and matted hair. She snatched up the blade and stared at it for a moment with a wild look in her eyes.
“Go on, then,” the guard urged. “Whoever wins gets to eat today. Let’s see some blood.”
The other girl’s gaze snapped to Lysandra’s. Then, with a cry, she charged at her, clutching the knife.
Lysandra was hungry and weak, but she hadn’t lost her mind—not yet. She’d arrived here two days ago with three other rebels who’d survived the battle—Tarus, Cato, and Fabius.
She knew King Gaius had ordered them here to be publicly executed, to be made an example of. She didn’t expect to be pardoned for her crimes. And she didn’t expect anyone in shining armor to break in to rescue her.
But those had been her expectations her entire life. She was different from other girls who dreamed of strong husbands and a houseful of drooling babies. She’d been a warrior from the beginning. She would be a warrior till the end.
And that end was not going to be today.
She dodged the knife easily and shoved the girl away.
“What’s your name?” Lysandra asked.
“My name?” the girl said, her gaze narrowing. “Why?”
“I’m Lysandra. Lysandra Barbas.” Introductions could make friends of strangers, and this girl—she wasn’t her enemy. They were both prisoners here; they had common ground.
“I don’t care who you are.” The girl lacked skill but was determined in her attempts to stab Lysandra.
“Need a little help, rebel?” The guard opened the door and shoved another prisoner in. He was short and skinny and wore a fearful expression.
Before Lysandra had a chance to say anything, the unmarked girl attacked and cut Tarus’s arm.
Seeing the gash on his flesh was enough to incite Lysandra. She launched herself at the girl and punched her in the stomach, making her grunt with pain.
“Are you all right?” Lysandra barked at Tarus.
He clutched his injured arm. “Yeah. I think so. Be careful!”
The tip of the blade darted at Lysandra’s chest. She dodged it, and this time she punched the girl right in her face. Blood trickled from her nose.
“Stop it,” Lysandra hissed. “You’re better than this! Don’t give them the show they want. Don’t let them win!”
The girl’s eyes were red with tears of rage. “I haven’t eaten in days!”
“Take her down,” the guard snarled. “Kill her. I’ve put my silver on you, rebel. Don’t make me a loser.”
The girl continued to strike at them relentlessly until Lysandra finally knocked the blade out of her hand and grabbed it for herself. The girl fell hard to the ground and scrambled back into a corner, raising her hands to shield her face as Lysandra drew closer.
“Please! Please, no. Spare me. I’m sorry—I’m sorry!”