by Terina Adams
“Looks like it’s me and you, girlie.”
I met his eyes briefly before looking out through the cracks in the giant door that led into the arena and the roaring crowds.
“I think I should feel insulted that they should pair me with a girl. I’m champion, have been for weeks now. My last fight was supposed to be with the master of the arena, and now I get a girl. What does that say about the king’s appreciation of my skill? Unless you really do have something special you’re going to show me.”
“Is taunting me your way of mentally preparing?”
He laughed good and hard. It rippled through his body, shaking his shoulders and his stomach. “Maybe it should be. So let me guess, your special trick is to make me laugh so I forget to chop your head off?”
“None of the others have fought to the death. Why must we?”
“Because it’s what the prince asked of me.”
My head snapped around to face him. “You knew I was fighting you?”
“The prince gave me special instructions this morning before the feast. He wanted me to start light, give the crowd something to watch, make you think you stood a chance.”
“And then he asked you to finish hard?”
“He said you weren’t to leave this arena alive. I balked, I tell you that now. There’s no sport in killing easy. But what can I do? He’s the prince. It’s your head or mine, and no offense to you, girlie, but I value my head.”
The tears prickled the back of my throat, but I swallowed them away.
“So, any requests? I’ll do it how you want it.”
“Swift.” And I looked away toward the door as the crowd let out a united roar. Dear Cerac. I felt I had failed him in some way.
35
At the ringmaster’s call, the scarred warrior entered the arena first, striding out with sword raised, shield in hand to raucous cheers, the crowd eager to see their champion once again. The deafening roar of jubilation rang through the air in an endless song. The ringmaster gave the crowd what they wanted, time to adore their champion, before he signaled to me with a jerk of his head. “Out you go,” he said, like I was heading off on some harmless errand.
I didn’t realize my feet were moving until I was leaving the shelter of the anterior chamber and out into the sun. From loud cheers to silence, which rippled its way down my spine. I looked up at the faces of the people staring down at me, expressions of shock, horror, curiosity, some even looked annoyed, no doubt feeling cheated they would not get the fight they were hoping for.
I glanced up to the king’s box, my eyes scouring for Cerac. My heart cried out when I found him, surrounded by uniformed men, soldiers, but not the king’s regular army. These were his marked soldiers, distinct by their black dress with gold banding around the neck and wrist. They were here to make sure the master of the arena behaved himself.
I was grateful I was unable to read his expression from this distance, for I knew the pain I would see, the same that tore through my heart this very minute. The evil of Hunrus and his father to force Cerac here to watch, the pain in my heart flooded with equal amounts of hatred, a hatred so vast a strong heat rose up within me, flushing through my body and turning me to fire. I’d never hated so much in all my life.
I would not look that way again. Nor would I look out onto the crowd, for all I saw were hundreds of eager faces peering down at me suspended in fascination. To kill for sport was disgusting. Not even animals did it, which reduced these people to something less than animals.
The scarred warrior spun his sword through an arc, limbering his wrist as he squared himself to face me. I’d yet to pull my sword from its sheath, and when I did, the tip caught the end of my buckle and it flung out of my hand to land in the bloody sand. A wave of laughter rushed around the circle of the arena like a corralled beast. I retrieved my sword and wiped the hilt on my pants, for the blood-red sand had stuck, coating the hilt with fine grains, which made it slippery to hold.
We were taking too long to begin and the crowd started to chant their impatience. Against my will, I glanced to the king’s box to see the king slam his hand downward through the air, which could only mean his signal to begin.
The scarred warrior circled me, sword at the ready. It seemed wrong that I should have had a congenial conversation with this man only moments ago. And now he’d shed that conversation like a snake would its skin. In his eyes was nothing but victory, which meant my death.
In those few short seconds before he attacked, my body drowned in my overwhelming panic. It punched through my body, coring out my insides, leaving me feeling wobbly and insubstantial. I couldn’t be like this. I couldn’t give up before the fight began. I bit down hard on my bottom lip, hoping the pain would wipe my stupid fear. I had no use for it here.
The warrior rushed toward me, sword arced high. I waited until the last, then ducked sideways, raising my shield as defense, and slipped under his swing. His strike glanced the top of my shield and the power behind the blow sent me to my knees, throwing my sword across the sand. I scrambled on all fours through the bloodstains to my sword, then rose, diving left as the warrior’s blade came down again and embedded into the ground.
When I dived for my sword, I lost my shield, which now lay too far for me to reach. The warrior bared his teeth on seeing me shieldless and raced toward me, bellowing a war cry. He was big and strong, but I was nimble and fast, although I could not spend the entire fight dodging his blows. A slice to his leg while I ducked was the best option I could come up with.
The crowd was behind the fight now, cheering, gasping and roaring with equal enthusiasm for every move the scarred warrior made. It seemed none of them were backing me.
I waited for the next attack, but the warrior seemed in no hurry. He had the crowd laughing at the way he had me scrambling on all fours. This had turned into an amusing game for both him and the spectators, for a champion to be a good warrior and entertainer was a champion who won the hearts of the people and thus was favored by the king.
In the lull, my attention diverted to the king’s box again. I’d promised myself I would not look, but my weakness got the better of me and that is when the warrior struck. He was champion because his focus stayed singular, and he’d caught my diversion.
I saw it in his eyes, the power behind his strike. His face twisted with effort, his teeth bared. The moment stalled as I watched the blade move swifter than I could dodge. My only course was to defend. Without my shield, I raised my sword, and on the upswing, a rush exploded through me. Something unexplainable pumped up and out from my chest and down the length of my sword. When the two clashed, a deafening chink ignited a light warping up my blade and into the warrior’s sword, which was flung from his hands. A gasp magnified by the unity of people flooded around the arena.
The warrior staggered back to grab his sword. I should’ve used that moment to gain my advantage, but instead I looked up at the king’s box to see Hunrus had sat forward in his seat. Cerac had not moved and still I could not read his face.
Movement in my periphery, and I turned to find the warrior bearing down on me with another blow. His humiliation drove fury to his face. He bellowed that fury as he closed the distance. Inside, I’d become the spark that had ignited the light in my sword. I could feel it writhing and growing, spreading down my limbs from my fingers to my toes. When I inhaled, it was sucked down into my lungs and turned my chest to fire. When the sword struck, I saw it as if in slow motion. It bore down from above. My own sword became light as a grain of sand as I lifted it to mark his blow. A wave pulsed through me, funneling up my arm and out through the extension of my sword.
This time it was not only the warrior’s sword that was sent flying, the warrior himself left the ground and arced with his sword backward to land with a humph on his back.
The crowd was on their feet, chanting in anger. This time I did not look to the king’s box but raced to the warrior’s side and leveled my sword at his throat.
�
�Now it is I who must make the choice whether to spare your life.”
“Witch,” the warrior bellowed and knocked my blade aside.
I wasn’t ready for the blow and the sword left my hands and skittered to the dirt, feet away. We both dived for our weapons, driven by the roar of the crowd. When I came around, the warrior was already closing the distance, his fury transformed into manic rage. This would be his killing blow.
I braced myself, readying for the onslaught. When before I would’ve dodged his strike, now there was a fire inside, burning away the girl who’d been destined to die, replacing her with someone else; someone who felt capable, someone who felt powerful and in control.
The warrior’s sword sliced the air with a swoosh. The wind generated by its arc brushed against my neck as I shifted my head to the right. With the momentum of his strike carrying him through, he opened up his side to me and I took the opportunity to slice deep, opening him from front to back.
Blood oozed from the wound as the warrior dropped his sword and staggered sideways. I finished him with a kick behind the knee, which sent him to the ground. This time I placed my oversized boot at his neck and my sword at his chest.
“Yield now, or I take your life.”
His anger bled out with his blood, soaking the sand. “What are you?” he gasped through held breaths.
I could not answer him, for I could not answer myself.
The crowd was on their feet, roaring in rage that he could be replaced by the champion they did not want.
I looked to the king’s box and saw the signal the king gave when he marked a warrior’s end. He wanted the man dead. The prince was on his feet, sword in his hand. I could not read his expression from here, but hatred could travel many miles and still be felt clearly enough.
I looked back down at the warrior, whose neck lay under my boot. “The king wants you dead, but I will let you live.”
“You, a girl, have bested me. I choose death.”
“Don’t be a fool. You are a great warrior and the army has need of you. Have the courage to face your humiliation.” I took my boot from his neck. “I will not kill you. Get your sword and leave the arena.”
The crowd booed as the warrior rolled to his side and reached for his sword. I would’ve helped him to stand, but he was disgraced already. I did not want to make it any worse for him.
The arena servants rushed into the ring, but the warrior would not allow them to help him leave. Blood covered one side of his body, soaked into his linen pants and ran down his leg, beading into the sand as he hobbled out of the arena. My first instinct was to follow him out and insist on him showing me the wound so that I might prescribe some tinctures and salves. Instead I gave my attention to the king’s box.
The king sat still, mug of wine lifted halfway to his lips. I’d disobeyed him and let the warrior live. Hunrus had yet to sit down. He fingered his sword in his hand. Then in two bold strides, he was at the edge of the arena. One more stride and he flew over the stone wall and landed on the sand with grace beyond normal. In the king’s box, Cerac launched to his feet, but the marked guard surrounded him. I heard his cry, but it soon turned muffled as he was overcome.
I uttered my own cry at the sight of him, but forced my focus to Hunrus. This would be a different fight, for he was not a simple man. He was a marked.
He undid the clasp of his coat, throwing it behind him, then discarded his jacket and shirt, exposing his muscular torso. Tension vibrated through his muscles, which bunched into hard lumps as his rage at being denied my death coursed through his body. He readied himself for the fight, sword poised to strike, eyes locked on his target. His mark glowed bright across his sword.
I waited for him to come. Having such a lethal opponent near, my body zinged with energy, and my hands trembled with anticipation, not fear. It was like a haze had been removed from my sight and I could finally see. At the center of the energetic storm within, I felt a calm that settled my focus.
When the prince attacked, it was from afar. A marked did not need to be near to deal a killing blow. The power that razed through his sword rose the fine hairs along my spine. I’d become sensitive to the energy he gave because it was within myself. This meant I was prepared for the blow and countered with my sword, funneling my own defensive protection, which rebounded what came my way. My own strike was swift and assured. When it rose within, I felt a darkness well in my heart, turning a defensive strike into the desire to kill.
But it wasn’t just the desire to kill that had me lowering my sword and staggering away, it was the evil that flowed with that desire. I hated Hunrus with all my life, but a sickness had taken hold inside. It felt wrong as much as it felt right.
Hunrus gave me no time to think this through. He’d closed the distance between us, intent on making this a show, intent on striking a magic blow that would split me in two. Our swords clashed and sparks flew. Energy wound around us, wrapping tight as both of us met each blow, countered each attack and drew on energetic reserves that were met halfway.
I’d ceased to hear the crowd anymore, ceased to remember where I was. Instead there was only this man in front of me. Pure fury transformed his face into an ugly beast and gave his attacking energy the power to scorch the sand beneath my feet into hard shards. But for every attack he made, I was his equal. I countered in every way. His energy was my own energy. His hatred was my own hatred. As much as I hated to feel this wicked evil inside of me, it was the exact drive I needed to defeat my foe.
Scorch marks now covered the stone walls of the arena. The sand was a brittle battleground. The crowd had either fled or hid below the parapet of the stone walls. Breaking through the barrier of my intense concentration came the screams of frightened people. This was not something they had come to see.
We were evenly matched; only our motivations would allow one of us to prevail. Hunrus was driven by madness and a desire for revenge. I was driven by hatred and a desperation to survive. I’d not wanted to die at the warrior’s hand, but I was damned if I would die by Hunrus’s sword.
We clashed and heaved our magical might. All the while I dived deep inside myself, searching, calling upon a great force that would give me the edge. That’s when I hit the wall, an invisible fortress inside my mind. Once found, it became an unimaginable lure. I knew what I had to do. Feeding my repulsion for this strange and dark power locked me on the outside of this wall. To unite and become this potential, I had to accept that which lived inside of me. When I opened my heart and let it in, I felt like my body was no longer there and that I floated above the ground and looked from afar. And I was light. There was no distinguishing me from the sun. It lasted a short time, but it was enough for me to project that which I’d gained into the might of my sword.
Hunrus left the ground, his sword arm on fire, his sword flung up into the crowd. His body bounced as he landed. I was running with the first impact he made and standing over him with my blade angled over his heart.
I could be lenient and spare his life as I had done for the warrior. But Hunrus was no warrior. He deserved no such treatment. And I was swept away within the coils of darkness that had now invaded my mind. It begged for his end. Or perhaps I was the one doing all the begging. I stabbed down, piercing my sword through his chest. The blood spurted out, then gushed around the blade and onto the sand. He grabbed either side of the sword with both his hands, slicing his skin on the sharp blade as he looked up at me.
“Who are you to be able to do this?” he cried, his voice already weak with coming death.
My last words spoken to the prince were uttered with conviction. “I am the wraith’s whore.”
36
I sat in the anterior chamber, sword discarded to the floor, wearing my blood-flecked clothes, head bowed. All energy had fled me. Not just my own but the power the wraith had given to me. For that’s who owned me now. The ugly darkness that had welled within while I fought in the arena was his gift to me. His power came with his kiss and the w
ild vibration and heat I’d felt with his lips on mine. It was the price I’d paid, enhanced when I ate the flower.
When I closed my eyes, I replayed the fight through another’s eyes, the eyes of the wraith. It was not with the mind and body of a girl I’d wielded the sword and drawn upon the power, it was with the body, mind and desire of the wraith, hollowing me out with his malevolent desires. I felt dirty and sick.
I could hear the departing crowd, but I could not determine if their raucous noise was due to their dissatisfaction or joy at having seen Hunrus killed.
He was dead. The prince was dead. I should feel a moment’s relief that the man I hated most in the world was gone for good. Even so, if I’d had my own mind, I would not have killed him in such a way, filled with the wicked evil of the wraith. My victory would haunt my days.
Running footfalls drew me out of my dark thoughts. I looked up just in time to see Cerac burst into the room. All dark thoughts were swept aside. I was on my feet and running. We slammed together midway across the room, our lips finding each other’s. I kissed with the fever of someone denied for eternity. In his arms, everything was forgotten. I was no longer the tainted soul, I was loved and cherished and I loved and cherished back, and here he was in my arms, the man I’d thought I would never see again.
He wiped my sweat-covered hair out of my face. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said as he gazed down into my eyes.
“Is this real?” was all I could say.
“If this is a dream, I’m right there with you.”
I lost interest in talking and pulled him down for another kiss. Only his lips and his body, pressed firmly against mine, would persuade me of the truth. Somehow we’d survived our nightmare.
Cerac led me to the bench and pulled me down on top of his lap. “When I saw you…” He closed his eyes, struggling to continue. “They came for me, told me there was to be a fight in the arena the king wished for me to see. I had no idea…” He took a breath. “I did not know if you were still hiding in the arena dungeons. I was so afraid you were hungry and feeling lost down there.”