Minerva woke from her nightmare screaming and in the dark. Where am I? Beneath her body, she felt a thin layer of carpet over stone. Her hands scrambled to peel back the layer and find her dagger underneath. A light flashed, revealing paper screen partitions and Pyra standing guard.

Minerva shied back, cramming herself into the corner with a blanket hugged around her.

"Are you well, my Lady?" Pyra's voice came.

Resting her head against the wall, Minerva responded. "Yes, I'll be fine."

In the dark, she heard murmurs, rustling, and the hushed sound of breathing. She remembered where she was now, beneath the Pyrogon with the metal ceiling over her head being the bottom of the sand bowl. She listened to the faint thunder as the fights continued above.

Just when she thought no one had heard her screams, Brenna and Kodak stepped into her alcove.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," Minerva whispered. There was plenty of space below the pit, but paper and wood did little to block sound.

"You didn't wake us," Brenna said, sitting down a few feet away. "We finished our fights not too long ago." Her braided hair dripped water on the carpet.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Kodak asked, standing behind Brenna.

Minerva pulled her blanket closer, trying to calm her heart. She hadn't brought Mala. Forcing the manticore to stay in the Pyrogon where her kin killed and died would have been too cruel. "Yes." And no. The nightmare ... the dream held her in its grip even now. The muscles of her hands clenched as if they could keep her from falling. As if they could regain what she'd let go of.

"Will the second round begin soon?" Minerva asked, her voice gravely like the granules of sleep crusting her eyes.

Pyra nodded. "I planned to rouse you soon, only ..."

Only Minerva had told the woman not to come anywhere near her if her sleep appeared restless. She'd lashed out before when the land of slumber merged into reality.

"You should get some sleep," she said to Brenna and Kodak. "The time gap between rounds will only get shorter from here." Then she nodded to Pyra. "Lead the way." She brought her blanket with her. The guard's orb of golden flame lit their path, casting light and shadows on the thin panels that set aside personal boxes for sleeping. They climbed the stairs and emerged on the floor level with the gates.

Here a number of nobles congregated around low wooden tables. Dice clattered and coins clinked. They'd gotten a barrel from somewhere, probably the arena wardens. As long as they kept away from the center stadium, Minerva didn't care how they occupied their time.

She and Pyra continued along the curve of the arena until they arrived at one of the gates. Between the bars, Minerva caught sight of Tobias. His fire burned brown like copper and arced in the air before smashing back to earth, sending his opponent tumbling and spraying hot sand in its wake.

"Will you be ready to fight?" Pyra asked when Minerva squatted on the ground.

"Who is to be my opponent?"

The tap of Pyra's finger on her sword hilt echoed against the empty walls. "One of the commoners. General Kavighn called her the most promising of the set."

Something like jealousy stirred in Minerva before she crushed it. Jealousy hatched into a dragon called envy whose jaws would swallow her whole.

She must have drifted back toward sleep because Pyra had to shake her shoulder. The woman took her blanket. "It's time."

This time Minerva stepped out to find a grey sky. The torches blazed in the night, Phoenix's brightest among them. The girl Minerva was to fight looked to be a couple summers younger—tall, with a pretty nose and round doe eyes.

They met in the center and bowed.

"It is an honor, Heir Apparent."

Minerva didn't mean to, but she yawned.

The girl's smile vanished and something hard took hold of her eyes.

Despite the chill in the air, the sand remained hot from the match before—some of the specks glowing like fireflies. Minerva heard the calls of the referees counting out the paces, but they were drowned out by the press of her dream, insistent that she should remember before it vanished. Even the ring of the gong sounded remote.

The girl—Uta the letters of fire read—released a single blast of flame. Brilliant violet, it sped at Minerva faster than should have been possible.

She barely brought her hands up in time. The spiral hit the air just in front of them. Her feet skidded back from the force of it. On the sand she had no grip and the missile pushed her until her back hit the gate.

She landed hard on the surface of the bridge, flung like a sack of rice by an adversary she couldn't see.

Gasping from the heat, Minerva flattened her palms against each other. Her hands shook as she spread them apart, parting the ball of fire around her. A second bullet of flame struck the tail end of the first.

Another blow sent her sailing over the edge of the glowing bridge. By some miracle, she managed to grip the slick surface, hanging over the black abyss.

Uta wasn't as young as she'd thought, not if she'd already manifested the skill of rapid fire. Had her eyes been golden? Minerva couldn't say what color they were. She split the second ball and dodged to the side as another slammed into the bars and burst into purple sparks like stars.

The cold air pricked her skin, cold like the mocking stars swirling far above her head. Her fingers started slipping. A face peered over the edge at her, only it wasn't a single face.

The air burned around her. The high temperature created visible waves in her vision. She couldn't stay on defense. Uta would wear her down. Even if she won in the end, she'd have spent all her reserves on a single match. But she hadn't fought Uta before, not like her noble classmates. The girl wouldn't underestimate her.

Risk. Minerva had never liked the word or what came with it—she preferred to play things safe. Matsudo had scolded her for it before. When you fought only from an advantage, always took the well-worn path instead of the one less trodden, it made you predictable. Was that what he'd seen in Uta? Something he hadn't seen in her?

The face belonged to Kodak. To Kaolin. To Brenna, Shika, Kaage. It morphed between them, shifting features from dark hair to white, golden eyes to brown, to blue.

"Help me. Please," Minerva begged them, clinging to life with failing hands.

No time for thought, for well-weighed decisions. Minerva charged forward, meeting every other blast of flame with a sluggish one of her own. White met violet in a clash of fire and fury. She managed to dodge the rest by a narrow margin, warding off the worst of the heat with her free hand. Her hair sizzled and she smelled char.

"Would you help me if I were in your place?" Their voices blended together, passionless like their hard eyes. All they needed to do was stretch out their hand to save her.

Every inch across the sand was a grueling march. But soon Minerva felt it—the shift. Uta tired.

"Yes. Yes, I would help you," Minerva cried out. She hadn't pushed them away and held them at arm's length because she hated them. Not even because she hadn't trusted them.

She didn't trust herself. Didn't trust her love for Brenna's laugh or the light in Kaage's eyes when he unveiled his latest work. Shika's confident smirk, Kaolin's self-assured posture when she drew her bowstring to her cheek. The warmth of Kodak's hand before she set it on fire.

Minerva had watched too much that she loved pass beyond recognition to trust herself again. She couldn't save any of it. She couldn't even save herself.

The barrage of attacks stopped. Uta wiped her arm across her mouth, sweat dripping from her forehead.

Minerva stalled, catching her breath. She wasn't used to drawn out fights like this. Her hands felt empty without the comforting hilts of her daggers. "You're strong," she called across the remaining distance.

Falling into lion stance, Uta retorted, "Oh, so now you find it worthwhile to speak to a commoner?" Her eyes burned in the dusk. Gold glowed in the veins of her skin, as if her body were a secret mine and the fire within were a raw treasure waiting to be unearthed.

Silent, Minerva closed in.

A hand pulled her up and over the side of the bridge. Minerva knelt on the glass surface, limbs quivering. When she looked up, a single face watched her, a face she knew well.

Auntie Dina.

Smoke stance existed in legend. It was not a living thing, like an animal. It crept forward, unfeeling but certain of the kill. But the reason it stayed in legend was because no one lived to tell the tale firsthand. The stance left you completely vulnerable, a play where you exposed yourself as bait. It had one purpose, to give your opponent the first strike before taking them down to the grave with you.

Minerva had used smoke stance often, but only in combination with the hollow place. Now she crept up on Uta with it—the peculiar balance of a relaxed, open posture and a daring surety that the counterattack would land.

In this situation, the strategy wasn't lethal to either side. They were not allowed to kill. But the stance caught Uta off guard, just as the vague hint of it had unnerved Keegan. Even lacking formal training, a combatant could understand the mentality behind the action.

The one who used smoke stance had nothing to lose and everything to gain—they'd learned to let go. They did not fear death but instead posed the question to their opponent—do you?

Auntie Dina's hand cupped Minerva's cheek, her voice both honey and a song. "Let me go now, little blossom. Do not let the past steal away your future. Don't let fear rob you of living." Her hands slid down and gently opened Minerva's tight fists.

A bundle of light nestled in her palms. Minerva watched as Edina untangled a single thread. "This one."

Minerva clasped the thread to her heart, crying. But one by one, her fingers loosened their grip and finally—

She let go.

Sand scraped Minerva's teeth. Uta had struck, but Minerva had taken the both of them to the ground. With the girl's leg locked between hers, ankle by Minerva's head, it was only a matter of who tired first. Continuing to struggle, Uta tried to call fire but Minerva absorbed the weak spurts into her skin without harm.

Grit stuck to the sweat of their bodies, in their hair. "How badly do you want this?" Minerva grunted.

"As badly as you do," Uta snarled, twisting to break free.

"I don't want the champion's crown or the recognition that comes with it."

Uta's struggling slowed. "What in Ash's name are you fighting for then?"

Minerva looked up at the balcony. "The right to challenge my mother." If she won the tournament, became the champion of the arena, then she would fight in a final match. Kovine, the champion of the last generation, against the newly crowned victor.

To her credit, Uta didn't give up without a fight. But in a few minutes, the girl's hand reached heavenward.

"Cease fighting!" The crowd cheered for her this time.

Minerva stood, spitting sand from her mouth. The rough grime chafed everywhere, on her face, under her shirt, even in her pants. She helped Uta to her feet. "It was an honor to fight you," Minerva said.

"And I you." Uta bowed over their joined hands. "Please do your best to triumph, Heir Apparent. I did not yield just so you could lose."

"I will." Minerva looked to the balcony again. The space lay in shadow, but she thought she could feel the heat of Kovine's watching eyes.

I'm coming for you, mother. And when I do, you will tell me everything you know.