““Aelin dropped into a swagger, her hips shifting with each step, rolling her shoulders as if loosening them. The crowd grew louder, restless. She sidled up to the willowy pit-lord, who looked her over and said, “No weapons.” She merely cocked her head and lifted her arms, turning in a circle, and even allowed the pit-lord’s little minion to pat her down with his sweaty hands to prove that she was unarmed. As far as they could tell. “Name,” the pit-lord demanded. Around her, gold was already flashing. “Ansel of Briarcliff,” she said, the mask distorting her voice to a gravelly rasp. “Opponent.” Aelin looked across the pit, to the crowd gathered, and pointed. “Him.” The Valg commander was already grinning at her.””
