The Scythian Trials

by Elizabeth Isaacs

  “When she finds out, I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive us.” Gia blindly stared ahead.

  He reached over and covered her cold fingers with his broad palm. “We have to have faith that she will.”

  The roar of engines hummed in the distance, growing louder as lights filtered over the road. Dust billowed around a convoy of cargo vans and box trucks as they sped toward the castle. Gia grabbed the binoculars and leaned forward, wiping condensation off the windshield. “They’re here.”

  “What are you up to, Sarkov?” Ike watched the first two vans pull around the broken circular drive. Their doors slid open, and Drahzda soldiers jumped out with automatic weapons, securing the perimeter. The next row of vans came to a stop, and others hopped out and started unloading supplies. A few minutes later, several buses pulled up with what appeared to be workers, most likely from a local village. Drahzda soldiers ordered the men in rows, handing them tools and hard hats before directing them up the stone steps and into the foyer.

  “Why the rush?” Gia’s voice shook as she handed over the binoculars. “They’ve had this property for a while. Why start renovating now?”

  Ike focused on the flurry of activity, Jax’s words coming back to him.

  “... Penn’s banking that Nya will break and come back to him on her own. That’s why the Drahzda are on the move. The sick bastard wants this to be their new home.”

  He shifted the binoculars, focusing on the leader by the door. “My bet is Penn wants to establish his own identity. The Astana Fortress was his father’s legacy. This will be his.”

  “He could have done that four years ago.”

  Ike glanced over. “He would have spread his resources too thin if he had.”

  More trucks poured in from the main road.

  He leaned forward, his eyes squinting through the lenses. “Text Jax and fill him in.”

  Surprised, Gia stared at his profile. “What about Alexandra?”

  Ike said nothing.

  Gia placed her hand on his arm. “You suspect something, don’t you?”

  He took in Gia’s pale complexion and desperate eyes. “Let’s hold off a while on the Chancellor.”

  She took out her phone and texted Jax. “And if she calls and asks about what we’ve found or anything about Jax?”

  “Tell her as little as possible.”

  Nya stirred to someone knocking at the door. She stumbled out of bed and turned the knob, still only half awake. “Xari, really. I’ve got another half an hour ...”

  Her voice fell away as males crowded the hallway. Victor shouldered through, his eyes assessing her bare legs and messy hair, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt. The warriors pressed in for a better look, and Nya stepped back.

  Victor glanced over his shoulder. “She’ll be ready within the hour. Until then, I suggest you make your way to the practice field.”

  Dumbfounded, she just stood there as Victor closed the door.

  “I’d say that went well, wouldn’t you?” His gaze stayed resolutely on her face. “Get dressed. We have work to do.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  He sighed. “A rumor surfaced last night that you have released Dr. Nickius as an official candidate. The press picked it up, and now it’s all over the net.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Who in the hell would do something like that?”

  Victor raised a brow. “I suspect one of the uncommitted is upset that a Tova is taking a precious spot as an official candidate, and yet he hasn’t been seen in days.”

  “Does anyone know Alexandra ordered Jax to Russia?”

  “I can’t be sure, but judging by the consulate’s response of ‘no comment,’ I’d say the matter has been deemed classified. If that’s the case, you may have to make a statement this afternoon to appease the council.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He watched her rub her thumb over her palm. “It means you may have to give them five candidates that are physically here.”

  Horrified, Nya shook her head. “What? No. Jax is mine.”

  “I’m sure he’d agree,” Victor dryly said.

  “I meant he’s still one of my official candidates.”

  He waved his hand, brushing her comment away. “Let’s call it a Freudian slip and move on, shall we?”

  A knock sounded in the room.

  “I ordered breakfast. Put some clothes on.” Victor strolled toward the door, and Nya scrambled to the closet to find something suitable to wear.

  What a nightmare. If the council forced her to name someone other than Jax, what would she do? Once a champion released a candidate, she wasn’t allowed to choose him again.

  If push came to shove, she’d threaten her dear old godmother. If Alexandra hadn’t told the Rovni Council, she sure as hell wouldn’t want the media to know that Jax was on a mission, either. It would cause a shitstorm, but Nya would be damned before she allowed politics to push her into a corner. She had the right to choose. And she still wanted Jax.

  Armed with that decision, she grabbed the only comforting thing she could find—black jeans, a matching turtleneck, and her rugged boots. She took out her Velcro strap and secured it below her knee before sheathing the small knife to the inside of her calf. Running her hand over the triple spire arm cuff that wound around her upper arm, she hoped Jax hadn’t seen the news. The last thing he needed was a distraction.

  But it would be helpful if he’d hurry his ass back to the consulate.

  The scent of bacon wafted through the room as she made her way out of the dressing area.

  “All black. A bit Tovarian, don’t you think?” Victor raised a brow.

  She sat down, grabbed a bagel, and slathered on some cream cheese. “Like I care.”

  Victor smiled. “Which will impress the warriors more. You really know how to work this, don’t you?”

  Nya’s bagel stopped midair. “What do you mean?”

  “Think of it, the challenge you present. You are the last of Ares and Otrera’s line. The nata of a female who sits on the Chancellor’s council and whose father is the commanding officer of Fourth Gen. If they could take you from Jax, the only Tova that has entered the Trials in decades, and claim you as their equal, what a victory that would be.”

  Nya’s mouth went dry, and she dropped her bagel on her plate. “I hate this.”

  Victor sat back. “Why, Anya? Most Amazons would love to be in your shoes. And yet you look as if you are being tortured.”

  She glanced at him. “Strange choice of words, Doctor Ramova.”

  “I see we’re back to formalities.”

  She started to rise from her chair, and Victor held up a hand.

  “We’re not done yet. Sit. And please, eat something.”

  She flopped back down, and Victor crossed his legs as if to stay a while. “The past few days have given you a chance to get to know your candidates.”

  “Yes. And?” She tore off a piece of her bagel and stuck it in her mouth.

  “Are you satisfied with the warriors you’ve chosen?”

  Nya sighed. “Just get to the point, Victor.”

  He leaned forward. “I suspect the uncommitted will be out in full force this morning, demonstrating their abilities. It is prudent that you observe all the candidates with the eyes of an Amazonian warrior looking for her equal. When you declare your Chosen, there is no going back.”

  Nya closed her eyes. “This is crazy.”

  “No. This is tradition. And you would do well to respect the Trials as they are the reason our species exists.”

  Dread iced through her as Jax’s words came back.

  Keep an open mind, Vtachi.

  What in the hell was she going to do?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Penn stood at the end of the parapet, just behind the castle’s tallest spire. Saws and hammers drummed beneath his feet as hundreds of workers started in the upper rooms. He’d been there well before dawn, watching the road, hoping against all th
e odds the serum had finally taken its toll and his Ana was on her way home.

  “Sir,” Stephan spoke to his right, and Penn ground his teeth together. It would do no good to throw his assistant off the ledge. Stephan had been the longest to survive in this position. Good help was hard to train.

  “What is it?” Penn kept his eyes on the road.

  “As you have requested, the extraction room is now completely sanitized, and the plaster is being repaired as we speak. Everything in that space has been taken out back and burned. Would you like the workers to join the others on the top floors, or would you rather they start restoring the plaster and windows in the foyer?”

  “Have them concentrate on Ana’s and my suite. That will be the first set of rooms needed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stephan slowly backed away.

  Penn rested his elbows against the low wall that protected the parapet. The constant pain brought on by the Phoenix serum subsided as he remembered confronting his father on Ana’s treatments. She’d already undergone two weeks of conditioning that would have killed any man. And yet, amid the screams and whimpers, she never betrayed her kind, never uttered a word about her father or the chancellor, never spoke of anyone in the Society, even after she’d been injected with the Phoenix. Dmitri finally reached his limit and ordered Ana’s death, but Penn had endured enough of his father’s tyranny.

  When he burst into the room where Dmitri met with his council, no one thought a thing of it. They all knew how he felt about Anya Thalestris. Penn’s one condition for bringing her to Dmitri was that no one, Drahzdan or Scythian, would ever be allowed to touch his Ana again. Only Penn would know what she looked like unclothed. No one else would smell her sweet scent or feel her soft flesh.

  He reminded the council that Dmitri had decreed that very thing mere months ago. His father stood, stating that he had not gone back on his word. He promised Penn would be the only one allowed to touch Nya, and no one had. She had been beaten with whips and canes, and when she was sedated or moved, his men used gloves. Dmitri was an ethical man, after all. And so, it would only be fitting for his son to drive the knife through the young Scythian’s heart.

  Penn’s blood blazed at the order, making it difficult to stand.

  No one questioned it when Penn walked toward his father, pleading with him to reconsider. The guards hadn’t moved as he stepped closer, his hands placed together in supplication, begging Dmitri to change his mind.

  The Drahzdan Tsar laughed, calling his son weak, and Penn thrust his hands forward, lunging straight for Dmitri’s neck, the tips of his fingers crushing his father’s windpipe. Before the Drahzdan guards even blinked, Penn had grabbed his father’s head and whipped it from side to side, efficiently snapping his neck in two.

  Embracing the hell blazing through his veins, Penn stood over Dmitri’s lifeless body and let out a primal yell that reverberated down the corridors of the fortress.

  Yes, Penn smiled, his thoughts turning to the present as he looked at the road. The time his Ana had insisted he learn Scythian defense had taught him well.

  By Drahzdan law, the minute Dmitri died Penn became the new ruler. Which meant no one could touch him. Penn viewed it as the ultimate justice.

  That night, after he publicly had Dmitri’s council executed in front of the Drahzdan Army, Penn ordered the troops to swear fealty to him. Those that hesitated were thrown on the blazing pyre that already engulfed the dead. The new regime quickly replaced the old, and within the week Penn had his commanders in place. He took his Ana from the Astana fortress, and they made their way across Russia—to the castle that would become the head of the new Drahzdan Empire. One that no longer relied on Phoenix conditioning alone.

  Yes, his sweet Ana would return, and he would remind her of the time before the blood fires. A time when, in their innocence, they learned to love.

  Memories of Ireland took their toll as heat roared through him, reminding him that Dmitri had chosen his triggers well. Cursing his father for the thousandth time, Penn’s hand shook as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial. He popped a few pills under his tongue, closed his eyes, and quieted his mind, allowing the meds to soothe his raging body.

  He’d need to conserve his strength. Soon, his Ana would be home.

  Aren rested his hand on the small of Nya’s back as he led her across the foyer toward the front doors. He stopped several times, speaking to warriors that milled in and out of the dining hall. Nya nodded at the right times, not really paying attention.

  It had been a hellish day with Victor taking hidden passageways and back corridors to avoid the press. She’d eaten meals with her official candidates in a secured conference room, and Xari was the only one other than her males allowed to speak with her.

  They finally made it through the foyer, and Aren opened the front door. Lights blinded them as bulbs flashed from all directions.

  “Anya Thalestris, have you released Dr. Nickius as an official candidate? And if so, which warrior has taken his place?”

  “Anya, have you spoken to your mother about the move? Is she the reason you’ve released the Tova?”

  “Anya! Will you consent to an interview before the ball tomorrow night?”

  Aren held up his hand, and the reporters fell silent.

  “This is my official time with my champion.” His voice rang with a thread of annoyance. “I’d appreciate it if you would respect the rules of the Trials. If you will excuse us.”

  Aren nudged her forward, and Nya kept her head high.

  God, she hated the media. They had been the reason her mother struggled with doubt. Nya had watched similar scenes like this her entire life as reporters questioned if her mother was the best choice for the last of Otrera’s line. And every fall her father’s final round was like some sick sports reel they splashed over every Scythian channel. The most scandalous trial of the century was followed by the first broadcast of the shocking news that the infamous Ike Thalestris had settled for someone other than a champion. Year after year, the constant barrage acted like water over stone, slowly eroding Gia’s spirit until she was a mere shadow of her former self.

  Nya would be damned if she’d do the same.

  Aren led her away from the consulate and into the night.

  Fresh anxiety rolled over her like salt on a wound.

  Why hadn’t she thought of it before? No matter who became her rovni, the press would never leave them alone. But if it was Jax? God. He was just as notorious as her father.

  The media would be relentless, much less Zander who would never let her forget that she was the reason for that big scar across this face. Even though he openly approved of the match, privately, he’d probably spend the rest of his life reminding her she wasn’t strong enough to be a Tova. Eventually, Jax would start believing it, too.

  A cool breeze brushed across her face as Aren guided her farther into the woods, towards the planetarium.

  “Penny for your thoughts.” He wove his fingers between hers.

  Nya’s cheeks flushed, and she was grateful the trees blocked the moonlight. “It’s nothing.”

  “Oh, I think it’s something all right. I’m guessing it has to do with the one candidate who isn’t here.”

  She sighed. “I’ve seen Jax almost every day for four years. He’s been an instructor, counselor, and friend. He’s helped me through things—I’m close to him.”

  “Ah.” Aren led her past the path that led to the stables. “And are you attracted to him, as a female is a male.”

  Nya kept her eyes forward. “Yes.”

  They came to a clearing, and Aren gently turned her to face him. “Attraction is a response to pheromones and physical personal preference. Nothing more. Are you attracted to any of your other candidates?”

  Nya swallowed. “It’s different, but yes.”

  “Are you attracted to me?”

  She grew quiet. “I think so.”

  He stepped closer, his scent wrapping arou
nd her.

  “Do you know why the Moors choose to stay among their own when finding a romni?”

  The question surprised her. “No.”

  His fingers slipped through her hair. “It isn’t because we’re an exclusionary culture, or that we find differences sexually unappealing. Scythian Moors view love differently.”

  Nya’s shoes sunk into the soft earth. The rain had finally cleared, but heavy gray clouds still hung low in the sky. “How so?”

  “The Allos are shallow, hunting for love as if it were the ultimate prey. Or they resent love, seeing it as unjust because it finds only those that cannot appreciate its beauty.”

  Nya raised a brow. “That’s rather cynical.”

  Aren smiled. “Yes, it is. But most Scythians believe that love doesn’t exist at all. It’s a manifestation of awareness and the mind’s way of making sure we procreate.”

  “And that’s rather scientific.”

  Aren’s smile grew. “Yes, it is.”

  He curled his fingers around the dip of her waist, and they started forward again. “Moors, however, believe in love so deep it can form connections that transcend consciousness.”

  “You mean an intima bond?”

  “Both Maori and the Moors call it something else, but yes.”

  “And is that what you want—to find someone who shares more than just their mind and body?”

  Aren took her hand and brought it to his chest. “I had it once, and until recently I never thought I’d find it again.”

  A small crease appeared between her brows. “But you can’t create a bond like that with just anyone.”

  “True. There has to be chemistry between the partners to achieve that deep of a connection. But, like is drawn to like. And my tribe, my people, we have a saying. A love received demands love returned.”

  Nya’s breath caught as he stepped closer. “So you think love is a choice.”