The door was locked, and would remain so until their return. I remembered the arena and how Slither had graphically described what might happen. I saw in my mind’s eye the terrible Haggenbrood holding the grille with a taloned hand. Slither had stamped upon it and treated the creature with disdain, but it had never been defeated in previous trials. How would the mage fare when all three selves attacked him in the arena? And what of Grimalkin, the witch assassin? She was formidable and had dark magic at her disposal. She was so confident too – so very sure of herself. But if the Haggenbrood proved victorious, then my sisters would both die. I heard footsteps approaching Slither’s quarters, and the voices of the beast and the witch. Then a child crying. It sounded like poor Bryony. She must have been traumatized by the events in the arena, but despite that, my heart soared with joy. They were here. They had triumphed, surely . . . Otherwise they would be dead. They had won, and soon we would be able to leave this cursed city!
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