Sedition

by Raven Dark

  Pretty Boy gritted his teeth.

  Sheriff’s eyes smoldered.

  “Fine,” Hawk said tonelessly. “I’ll do it.”

  Saketh gave a crazy laugh. “All right, your second best man.”

  “You wanted entertainment. You wanted to see a Yantu fight. Let me do it.”

  “And let you slaughter my men one at a time?” He put his face in Hawk’s. “That’s no fun!” He tapped his chin with that cane and looked at Sheriff. “Pick another one.”

  “I’m not sending any of my men to be slaughtered—”

  “I have a better idea, King Dreg,” Steel said loudly.

  Saketh glanced at him, waiting.

  “Here’s the deal. I fight two of your best men. To the death. If I win, you let us go. The women too. If I lose, everyone stays.”

  My eyes widened. The dream I’d had earlier loomed large. Steel looked fine now, but I swore I had seen blood coming from his ear earlier. Just like in the dream.

  Do you want me to die?

  I shook my head at him frantically, begging him to stop.

  “Well, Saketh?” Steel prompted.

  “If I’m going to let them go, I want a better spectacle. You’ll fight three of my men. If you win, you’re all free to leave.” His gaze included all the Legion men, as well as Emmy and me.

  “Saketh?” Steel called. “Is it a deal?”

  “You’ll fight three men? To the death?” He tipped Steel’s chin up.

  “Yes.”

  “Master, no,” I said.

  “Stand up,” Saketh ordered.

  Steel stood, showing his full, impressive height. The Dreg looked at him like a prized bull. “Look at you. That build. Three men at once. You could only be a gladiator.”

  Steel’s face turned almost as cold and flat as Hawk’s. I swore I saw old memories in his eyes. Memories that it hurt me to see.

  “Untie him,” Saketh said.

  I reacted before I could stop it.

  “Saketh.”

  I said his name slowly and deliberately.

  “Onyx,” Sheriff growled dangerously.

  The Dreg king turned to me slowly, his eyes filling with surprise and something close to wonder.

  No woman had probably ever said his name to his face. It probably sounded as alien to him as a horse talking.

  “He won’t be fighting for your amusement.”

  “Princess,” Pretty Boy hissed. “Fuck.”

  “Excuse me?” Saketh stalked toward me, predatory.

  “I know you heard me.”

  “And how will you stop me? What will you give me in return?”

  I swallowed. For a fraction of a second, I looked at each of my masters, taking in their obvious horror. Then I looked right into Saketh’s eyes.

  “Me.”

  “Onyx, shut the fuck up,” Sheriff snarled.

  I ignored him.

  “One woman for the release of the Legion’s best men?” Saketh shook his head. “A prized fighter and a Yantu? The general of the infamous Legion? Now why would I do that?”

  Again, my throat worked. Here goes nothing.

  I lifted my hair, pushing it back. Letting him see my purple eyes, plain as day. A Violet’s eyes, the eyes of a woman worth the same as a thousand slaves.

  “Ahhh.” His voice was pure evil, a snake’s hiss. “Now I see. Only a Violet would bring the Legion in to save her.”

  Ripples of surprise and wonder passed over my head from the captives in the cages. Maybe it was just me, but I swore I heard someone say, “It’s her.”

  Steel gave me a look so dark I hadn’t seen a look like that since I’d first met him. Pretty Boy cursed. Sheriff went pale. Hawk’s face stayed as stone, but I could see the tension in him.

  “Brilliant,” T-Man muttered.

  “Onyx, holy shit, don’t do this. He—” Emmy let out a cry, and I turned to see that Dreg with the red hair gripping her nape hard.

  Saketh came to me and put his cane under my chin again. Looking into my eyes like they were rare jewels. “Tempting,” he said slowly. “The first Violet I’ve seen in months. But…” He shook his head. “Unless you have one of those…what are they called? A stari? Unless you have one of those, you aren’t worth it, woman.”

  Dread spiked in me, but I made myself say, “I do have one.”

  He raised a brow at my black hair.

  “It’s died black,” I said.

  “Hmm.” He tapped his chin with his cane. “A village from the belly of one.” He put his face in mine. “Tell me. Could you give birth to a whole new Dreg nation, Worldmaker?”

  Worldmaker. The name alluded to a source of pride, but he made it sound like a curse. Not many people even knew of it. The only time I had was from my mother. I didn’t know what it meant until now.

  “Will you take the deal, Saketh? Me for the Legion’s freedom? For your captives?”

  His eyes widened. “All of them, too?” He gestured to the cages.

  Another ripple of surprise went up among them.

  “Less than thirty men and women for one woman?” Saketh grinned.

  The first tendrils of doubt tried to latch on. I pushed them away.

  “For a woman whose worth is thousands of times that of any slave on any market. Whose womb could supply you an army.”

  “Setora,” Sheriff gritted. “Maker fuck me, be quiet. Please.”

  I kept my purple eyes on the Dreg king. “I will do whatever you want. I won’t resist. You can have me day and night, and I won’t fight you. Just let them go.”

  Saketh gestured to me. “Come here.”

  Licking my lips, willing myself to be unafraid, I walked over to him. He pushed me to my knees almost gently. He caressed my cheek in an almost loving manner, and his eyes softened. Then he raised his voice to the others.

  “I have a better idea.” I nodded to Steel. “I’ll keep her and watch the gladiator fight. Three men. If you win, you and your men are free to go with the other women. But if you lose, no one is leaving.”

  Without waiting for anyone to agree, he gripped my hair.

  “This is going to be a hell of a night, Worldmaker. And when your giant of a master loses, all of them will watch everything I do to you before I slit their throats.”

  I closed my eyes.

  Steel, please be okay. Please, win.

  Chapter 18

  Bad Odds

  Saketh hadn’t been joking when he’d said he wanted a gladiator fight. He went all out to create one.

  It took about half an hour to set up. He’d sat Emmy, myself, and the five Legion men toward the west end of the camp, all our hands and ankles tied, with four guards posted to watch us while we sat in the dirt. If we moved or looked at the guards wrong, they made sure to poke us with sticks or kick us down with their boots.

  Four guards watched us, except when one or another would clutch his belly and run to the edge of the camp, while another guard took his place. Served them right that Doc and Crash’s mixture still had them out of sorts.

  Only Steel had Saketh kept separate from us, tying him to a post a few feet away. Steel’s hands were bound behind him, tied around the post, his feet bound together.

  Ten of the Dregs, those less affected by Doc’s mixture, cleared away the bikes and supplies, stowing them in the trees or leaving them around the perimeter, with drink and food platters set out like a banquet. This left a wide space open to serve as a “ring” with logs set up for everyone to watch from. Ropes were erected, strung across the edge of the ring, separating the fight from the spectators. The Dregs snuffed out two of the bonfires, leaving two burning at the edges of the ring, casting a bright light on the fighters.

  Saketh had set half the male captives free from their cages and put them to work cleaning up and stoking the fires, setting up the food. He’d given the naked men and women clothing to put on—burlap sacks of all things, ones that barely covered the women’s asses.

  Silver Eyes worked with the rest of the men
, moving two huge kegs of moonshine to sit among the spectators. The female captives who were fit enough were made to serve the men drinks and food or sit in their laps while the fight played out.

  Silver Eyes and another man moved a large throne of oak with a high back at the proverbial head of the spectator ring for Saketh, putting his seat right behind us on a foot-high pedestal.

  “I’ve always hated heroes,” Saketh growled, yanking my chin up and ignoring the struggles from my masters when he touched me. “You will pay the price for your sedition later in my bed.”

  I said nothing; I didn’t have to.

  “If I get my hands on you, King Shit, I’ll cut off your head,” Steel snarled.

  A horrible smile twisted Saketh’s lips as he straightened and turned to my mountain of a master. He stalked over to the post.

  “That will be difficult with your arms broken, Gladiator. My men will win, and when they do, I’ll have every bone in your body shattered one at a time.”

  Steel kept his eyes facing forward, giving him nothing. Sadness pulled at me for him. He’d hated his time in the ring, forced to kill on command for the thrill of others. I could see him shutting down, a dark, closed off look in his eyes I’d briefly seen in some of the men Damian had trained as killers in his J’nai. His gaze looked dead, as if he’d turned off the light inside himself.

  “Here you are,” Saketh added, close to his ear. “A slave who fights to the death on command. How does it feel?”

  Hawk looked up from his place on the ground, and I saw the empathy in his eyes before his face cleared. Hawk hated killing; this must have been hell for him to watch. Pretty Boy looked like he wanted to cut Steel free, his eyes wild, his arms tense with the effort not to snap the ropes on his wrists and leap to his feet.

  If he did, a guard would slit his throat in an instant.

  Steel didn’t rise to Saketh’s bait, however, and kept silent.

  “It’s done, Master. We’re ready to begin.”

  I looked up to see Saketh turn to Silver Eyes.

  Hearing a man call another man master threw me. It was surreal.

  “Go sit with the others. And Utar.” He got in his face, and the heavily bearded captive lowered his eyes. “I’m allowing you and your broken-down excuses-for-men out of your cages only so you can see the futility of resisting us. No one has ever won against the Dregs. But if you or any of the men put a foot wrong…” He made a slicing motion across his throat.

  “Yes, Master.” Silver Eyes—Utar—barely raised his voice above a soft rumble. With his eyes downcast, and his voice so quiet, he looked submissive, but his muscles were tense, and there was a strength in his voice that a slave who looked that broken wouldn’t have.

  There was no longer any doubt in my mind that he was the male prisoners’ former leader. Concern and protection for his men poured off of him. He was doing this to keep his men alive.

  “Master.” He nodded and left, his wide, bare back slightly hunched forward.

  Beside me, Sheriff watched him with a calculating look. Of course. He must have come to the same conclusion about Utar as I had. As the General of the Dark Legion, he would have looked on Utar as his counterpart.

  Saketh went over to speak to two of his men—lieutenants, by their cuts. The name Hellhounds was embroidered on the backs. Once he was gone, I leaned into Pretty Boy on my left. “Where’s Diamond?” I hissed.

  “She’s safe, Princess.”

  Thank the Maker something went right.

  I tried to catch Sheriff’s eye, but he wouldn’t look at me. Beside him, Hawk mouthed something I couldn’t make out, and he inclined his head.

  The thought that Sheriff was angry with me, of the conversation that might lay ahead of me if we got out of this, made my chest hurt.

  If we got out of this. Maker, I’d deal with whatever punishment he’d bring on me if only all of us made it through this alive. I’d liked to have believed that, had he been aware of Steel’s condition as I was—that I was trying to save his Brother’s life—he would have forgiven me, even understood why I almost sold myself to Saketh. But I wasn’t sure if any of those reasons would have helped. We were in this situation now because of me.

  I leaned over and put my forehead on my knees.

  A short time later, Saketh released the rest of the captives from their cages so that they sat among the Dregs. With their captors on all sides, and guards posted everywhere, they wouldn’t gain any advantage, but then I wasn’t sure it would have made a difference. Most of the slaves looked too broken and resigned to act.

  Exactly how long had they been with the Dregs? The thought had me grinding my teeth.

  Saketh seated himself on his throne, five of his highest ranking men in chairs to either side of him, like a panel of judges at some twisted contest.

  At the Dreg leader’s command, two men untied Steel and brought him to the middle of the makeshift ring. They held his arms and pushed him to his knees before their general.

  “And now to choose your opponents.” He looked around his crew, tapped his chin, then nodded to three of his largest, burliest men among the spectators.

  “Shit,” Pretty Boy muttered.

  My eyes widened at the look of those men.

  Steel’s shoulders tensed, but with his back to me, I couldn’t see what he might have thought.

  The shortest of the men was the same size as my master, inch for inch, and just as heavily muscled. Sheets of armor covered the Dreg fighters’ legs, arms, and chests. The biggest one carried a long staff. The one with long blond hair bound at his nape carried a sword, and the last one, a man with a reddish beard, was unarmed, but he flexed his fists in a way that suggested those were his weapons.

  “Maker, he’s in trouble,” I rasped while the men took up position in front and to either side of Steel.

  “It’ll be okay, Princess.” Pretty Boy kept his eyes on Steel. “You’ve never seen him fight like this. He’s got this.”

  But his cheeks looked too pale.

  Saketh’s raised voice caught my attention. “This is the kind of fight I’ve been waiting for. The Great Dark Legion pitted against my best fighters. Choose your weapon, Gladiator.”

  So, they wouldn’t make him do this unarmed. I glanced at Hawk and whispered to him. “They’re arming him?” Why would they give him such an advantage?

  “They want a bloodier fight. It’s more entertaining for them,” Hawk whispered back.

  A few feet from where we were sitting, Saketh’s men had set up a table with weapons laid out, just like the set up in a real ring would be, I assumed. Steel turned and stalked over to the table. He looked over the weapons but not before lifting his eyes to me.

  When I’d seen his eyes before, they’d looked cold, without emotion. They looked just as dead now, but I swore I saw him give the smallest nod.

  A nod that seemed to tell me everything was going to work out.

  I wanted to believe him. Desperately, but I couldn’t shut out the memory of his face covered in blood in that dream. Facing off with three men…

  Our eyes only connected for an instant, and yet in that moment, his promise echoed in my mind. His promise to marry me. Marriage was illegal, and yet here and now, I couldn’t help thinking of him as if he were already my husband. I could almost feel the ring on my finger, the warm steel heating my skin. Maker’s Light, I loved him, and now I might lose him.

  I nodded in return, wishing I could do so much more. That I could put my arms around him and feel his lips on mine, hot with passion and the promise of more. Instead, I sent him all the love I could, straight to the Maker to deliver, like a prayer.

  Steel looked over the weapons again. A mace, two short swords, a longer one like Hawk’s, and two clubs. He chose none of them, instead slipping on a steel glove like the one Sheriff used. This one strapped on, held in place with leather buckles instead of being activated and covering his arm with scales. Steel buckled it on and jerked the buckles tight with his teeth.


  Then he turned, holding up his armored fist for Saketh to see. He walked back over to the center of the ring.

  Was he moving too slowly, or was my fear just playing havoc with my head?

  Steel’s three opponents took fighting stances, weapons at the ready. Steel looked at each of them, taking stock, then turned to Saketh. Waiting.

  Saketh inclined his head, his lips a smirk. “Begin.”

  The blond with the sword came at him, swinging to take off my master’s head. Maker, why hadn’t Steel chosen a sword?

  But then I saw why. Steel rolled backward away from him, and when the man swung again, he kicked the sword out of his hand. The blade flew across the ground, forcing his opponent to go after it and buying Steel time to deal with the other two.

  Just as well, because the Dreg with the club swung at him. Steel dropped to his knees, bent backward so that it missed him. The man swung the other way, and Steel rolled forward out of its path. Then he came up and threw his fist into the man’s face.

  The crowd of Dregs erupted in shouts and calls and boos.

  The man with the club dropped his weapon and fell, rolling up onto his feet. Steel rose slowly to his feet as well, turning to eye all three of his opponents.

  Maker, he was moving slowly. Dread pooled in my belly.

  “Come on, Steel,” Sheriff murmured. “Stay on your feet.”

  The Dreg with the sword got ahold of his blade and went at Steel from the left, the one with the club coming from the right. Steel rolled to the left so that the man collided with him. He got his arms around the man and heaved to his feet, turned and threw the man’s body at the other fighter. The two Dregs slammed into each other, dropping to the ground, weapons flying.

  My masters whooped. The crowd exploded in rage. I turned to look at Saketh just as he shouted something. He pounded his fist on his throne with a huge grin on his face.

  He was enjoying every moment of this.

  In the ring, the third man, the one without a weapon, ran at Steel from behind. He threw a fist at his head. Steel spun and caught the man’s hand, then punched him hard in the chest with that armored fist.