Those were the questions racing through Allyra’s mind as the Sentinels picked themselves up and started stalking back toward her. But her mind struggled to come up with a good answer or even a practical one. Perhaps it was just one of those brainteasers with no good answer. She felt frozen in place.
Jason seemed to know something of the questions running through her mind. Perhaps the same questions were consuming his mind too. “We know that others have won The Five Finals,” he shouted to her. “If they can do it, then we can too.”
Jason was the first to move. With a gesture that seemed too graceful for the situation, he flicked his wrist and pulled a stream of Fire directly from the Wellspring and sent it flying toward the Sentinels. For a moment, it seemed like it might work, that it might slow them down. But then the Sentinels emerged through the wall of Fire Jason had created—unscathed and perhaps moving even more quickly.
“Well, shit,” Jason said, uncharacteristically crass. His jaw hardened and the indigo in his eyes seemed to darken. His fingers tightened around his twin swords, and he stepped forward to meet the Sentinels. Allyra was only half a step behind.
The heavy axe clashed against Jason’s swords before the Sentinel pushed him aside. The Sentinels’ interest was fixed on her, and they brushed Jason aside as if he were no more than an annoying distraction. A fly buzzing around their heads.
Allyra steeled herself for the contact, her muscles tightening, her back straight. Both her swords met weapons, half a heartbeat apart. The first against an axe, and the second against a sword so heavy it threatened to push her into the ground. Strength alone wouldn’t win this fight. Allyra didn’t linger in the contact, and she spun away, twisting her body to avoid the sharp edges of their weapons. But as fast as she was, they were faster still, and both weapons sliced into her body. Shallow cuts that would bleed but not incapacitate, but they hurt more than she cared to admit—like fire searing through flesh.
She didn’t slow down.
She couldn’t slow down.
* * *
Ten minutes, then fifteen, and then twenty. Time moved slowly, and each minute seemed to come with its own pain. Small cuts not serious by themselves but together slowly bleeding her dry. She reached for the only weapon that worked against these ceaseless opponents—a rush of Air driving the Sentinels away. She’d been careful to use her Gift sparingly; each time seemed to take more power and energy to drive them away. Even so, her Gift had drained away as surely as her physical strength.
Jason reached out, taking hold of her arm and steadying her. “It can’t be too much longer now,” he said, worry seeping through his voice.
Her hands shook, and her body trembled with exhaustion. A layer of sweat coated her palms, and the sword hilts threatened to slip from her grasp. She nodded, tightening her grip and bracing herself—she would be strong enough. She was strong enough. There was too much hanging in the balance.
Striding forward with a grace and elegance that Allyra envied, Jason moved to slow them down as best he could. But as hard as he tried, the Sentinels’ attention was totally focused on her. And as the Final had progressed, understanding had fallen like a veil over her—this was not about teamwork anymore; they were here to test her. Jason was her second, but she was the first; it was her strength that mattered. Finally, she understood why Alex had cared so deeply for Mandla—it went beyond just friendship; Alex had been responsible for Mandla. Just as she was responsible for Jason. Because, if she failed, they would both fail.
Swords clashed together once more, and she slashed and swung instinctively, going for fatal blows even as her logical mind told her it was no use. Allyra did her best to drive them backward, to avoid their blades. But she was a little slow and a little clumsy, and the sharp edge of the axe sliced through her thigh. It cut deep and Allyra fell backward with a barely smothered cry. She landed on her back, and the Sentinel hovered over her. Through its transparent form, she could see the pale blue winter sky and thin white clouds drifting overhead. The Sentinel raised its axe, and the shape of it was made more visible by her blood coating its edge.
The Sentinel brought the axe down with spectacular speed, showering tiny drops of her own blood down on her face. She tried to roll away, but before she could, Jason’s blade swept the axe out of the way. With incredible strength, he pushed back against the Sentinels.
Jason spoke without turning his attention from the Sentinels. “Push them away,” he said. “You can do it, Allyra, one more time.”
There was faith in his voice. Faith in her. She found strength in it and called for her Gift—a swift wind rushed through the Arena once more, parting around Jason before lifting the Sentinels away.
Jason reached down for her, gently pulling her to her feet. She leaned against him, doing her best to keep her weight off her injured leg.
“Call it,” Jason said. “Concede.”
They only had seconds. Allyra shook her head. “You’re willing to give up the win?” she asked. “We’re so close.”
“I’m not willing to lose you,” he shouted, something like panic in his voice. “Call it, Allyra!”
Blood poured from her leg. She couldn’t defend herself if she couldn’t move. She understood that they were backed into a corner, that there was no winning this thing—not anymore. Yet, she hesitated.
The Sentinels moved closer—menacing despite their translucent forms. Allyra opened her mouth, a concession ready on her lips. Her breath hitched, the words choking her.
“Allyra!” Jason shouted once more, desperate urgency in his
