Caged Warrior

by Lindsey Piper

  Leto jumped forward and hauled her away. “Put that away, you maniac,” he growled.

  Nynn blinked and . . . she did as she was told.

  Leto’s heart became a wild beast, beating and clawing, as she sheathed her weapon. If he’d needed any more proof that Ulia had changed Nynn, perhaps irrevocably, he had it now.

  NINETEEN

  Dr. Aster smiled, just short of repulsive. “My father informed me that tonight would be a special occasion. Our newest champion?”

  Leto nodded, his stomach lurching. “She is untested, but I believe her ready to honor the Asters.”

  “Good. Then many lessons were learned the other night.” He glanced at Nynn, who was puzzled. Or angry. Or sleepwalking. Leto couldn’t tell, but Dr. Aster seemed very pleased. “And what do you say, neophyte? What is your name?”

  “Nynn of Clan Tigony.”

  “Hmm. I thought you were called something else. Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Leto slowly let her go. Part of him was convinced this was some elaborate ruse on her part, that she’d attack and murder the reptilian man. Dragon be, part of him wanted that to be true. He was on the verge of caring too much. Nynn’s pain had been so obvious—nearly as obvious as the scars marring her gorgeous body.

  That scream. Instant recognition. Then gone.

  “And I’m Dr. Aster. A pleasure to meet you, Nynn.”

  Her fingers were tight around the hilt of her sword. Tight enough to clear the blood from her knuckles. Bone white. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m impressed, Leto. Few would’ve thought this one possible to tame.”

  “She’s not tamed, sir. She’s trained.” If Nynn could manage to be calm, so could he.

  “Exactly. I’m glad you haven’t taken it personally. You know now what had to be done.”

  “All I know is what you’ll see in the Cage.”

  “I look forward to it. Come along,” he said to the woman at his feet.

  The Pet didn’t leave right away. She glided toward them as if she floated rather than walked. Again she wore a bodysuit of skintight black leather. A spiked collar circled her neck, but Leto couldn’t tell if it had damping properties, or if it was just a jagged bauble to decorate a strange, beautiful creature.

  She stopped within inches of Nynn, who remained still. Although the Pet moved with unbelievable grace, her voice was sure and clipped. “The Chasm isn’t fixed.”

  Leto frowned and was glad to see when Nynn did, too. “I don’t know what that means,” she said.

  “Fight well, Nynn of Tigony.”

  Only when the woman departed did Nynn press two fingertips to each temple. She clenched her eyes shut. Sat heavily.

  “No time for that,” Leto said roughly. There was no time for patience. “We fight. Now.”

  She opened her eyes and blinked back what looked like tears. But her gaze was clear, strong, energized. “Good.”

  He led Nynn—a little dazed, but remarkably steady on her feet—toward a gathering anteroom where the combatants were given their assignments.

  Nynn stood at his shoulder, trying to read the paper he held. Her smile was brilliant, with teasing lips that bordered perfect, almost small white teeth. Whatever shock and possible memories from her encounter with the doctor had faded entirely. “So, who do we get to humiliate?”

  “You’re taking to this rather well.”

  “Careful, Leto. That almost sounded like a joke.”

  He stilled. Chills shivered beneath his armor. The hair atop his head itched with a sudden prickle of sensation. She had used his given name before, but now they had the promise of victory between them. All that could entail. He would hear her gasp his name when he entered her.

  Another weakness. And another reason to win.

  “The Pendray woman, Weil,” he said. “And Urman, sent by the Townsends.”

  “What’s his clan? I can’t recall.”

  “Tigony.”

  “Too bad for him. No trickster gets by another.” She walked an appreciative glance down his body, then back up to his face. A deep pulse of awareness radiated out from her smile, into him. “Let’s do this.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Nynn followed Leto. She had never been so overwhelmed.

  The crowd surrounding a real combat Cage was thick. Loud. Eager. Men in suits and women in evening gowns. Bodyguards and strange shadowy figures. Possibly even other Dragon Kings, if their distinctive bronzed skin and larger-than-life auras were any indication. That they would associate so freely among humans struck her as peculiar. She couldn’t make sense of it.

  There was a lot she couldn’t make sense of lately.

  Like why seeing that doctor had propelled hand to hilt. She’d been ready to take off his head. She’d envisioned it. The spray of blood. The strike of metal against flesh, then deeper into bone. And then deeper still, into a place of satisfaction. Even justice.

  Those images were the remnants of some dream. Leto had done her a favor by intervening. Her opponents were in the Cages, not among the Asters.

  There was no mistaking the grandeur of where she would do battle. Leto had described it perfectly. Larger. Brighter. An ominous pall of significance made it far more than a place to spar and learn. This was a place where futures were determined.

  Probably a thousand people circled the Cage—a complete circle of spectators around the familiar octagonal framework. Lights shone with the brightness of day. Only then did she realize that each corridor since the one they’d entered upon arriving was slightly brighter. A slow means of acclimating them to what would shine down like another enemy.

  She kept her eyes on Leto’s boots. Better to ignore the crowd. Better to focus. She wore armor, carried a weapon and a shield, and climbed up eight webbed wrought iron stairs behind one of the greatest warriors among the Dragon Kings. Their names were announced.

  A Cage warrior. The stuff of legend and nightmares. Nynn didn’t feel like a nightmare; she felt like a blade. Sharp and ready to cut.

  Despite countless distractions, she waited for the moment she’d come to relish: when Leto stepped into the Cage. He tipped his head to the ceiling. His expression became as animated as any she’d ever seen. He was in his element and reveling in it. Holding his mace and shield, he lifted his arms as if to encompass the arena, then turned to stake his claim over the entire building. He roared back at the crowd.

  Part man. Part animal.

  Nynn followed him inside. The same gorgeous rush of freedom stole her breath. Power. Just power. This was what it meant to have full possession of her Dragon-given gift. Her cells quivered inside skin two sizes too small. The clay floor was like gritty mud beneath the soles of her boots. Glaring lights atop each of eight support posts bathed them in an unearthly shimmer. The visual echo of the Dragon, perhaps, as it dove into the fiery Chasm and birthed their kind.

  Two opponents entered the Cage. Weil was a short woman, as were most Pendray. She had wild red hair that stood out from her head as if zapped with electricity. But the one who truly commanded electricity was the Townsend warrior, Urman. Nynn’s allegiance to the Tigony did not exist here. The only person she wanted to please right then was Leto.

  Only when an official entered the Cage did she catch a shift in Leto’s posture. He stood straighter, chest out. Posturing. But bristling with something close to confusion.

  The official carried two manacles connected with a ten-foot length of chain. “Leto. Nynn. Your ankles.”

  “What in the name of the Dragon is this?” he asked.

  With a triumphant sort of smile, the human official nodded toward where the Old Man sat with that doctor and the strange girl in black. “You knew the Asters wanted to make these matches interesting.”

  “And fighting with a partner isn’t interesting enough?”

  “When the Old Man meant partners, he meant it. You’ll be chained together.”

  “Fuck that. We fight as we were meant to, not chained like dogs.�
��

  The small man—small compared to Leto, as most were—grabbed Nynn’s ankle. He affixed the manacle too quickly for her to protest. Frustration like she’d never seen tightened the tendons of Leto’s muscular throat. Then it was too late. They were bound together.

  “And our opponents?” Nynn asked. “What of them?”

  The official sneered. “Do you see another chain here, neophyte?”

  Nynn removed her sword from its scabbard and absently twirled it through the air. She fairly hummed with potential. Already she could feel the bubble of electricity—all those beautiful colors, a whole spectrum—building inside her body. “No one calls me neophyte but the man who trained me, and he won’t call me that after tonight. Shut your mouth.”

  She lifted her chin and found Leto’s gaze. Their gazes locked. Without the damping properties of their collars, they produced a burst of gold and even green and blue—right there in the five feet between their bodies. The crowd gasped. She almost felt the light on her skin. It was like staring down the length of a kaleidoscope. Colors didn’t wait for her at its end. Just Leto’s dark eyes. Her awareness narrowed. Centered. Focused.

  Only him.

  Spellbinding.

  “What is that?” Her voice was an awed whisper.

  “I don’t know.”

  She wanted to know what Old Man Aster thought of their little party trick, but she didn’t want to look away from her partner.

  “Do this,” she said softly. With his senses, she knew he’d be able to hear. “Best fucking show they’ve seen in years.”

  The chain rattled between them, dangerous as a snake’s hiss. His jaw was a granite vise and his temple throbbed, pulsing that serpent to life.

  The roaring beast was gone, but the seething, outraged man remained. He would not bear this humiliation well. Nynn couldn’t wait to see what he would unleash. She only hoped that she could keep up. Because no matter how much she would depend on him to emerge triumphant, his only objective was to keep her alive.

  He’d do so by whatever means necessary.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Leto swallowed his anger. To be shackled again . . . chained, for the second time in as many days. Treated like an animal rather than a warrior of worth. Every fiber of every muscle protested. What good was a Garnis who was chained to a Tigony? His reflexes and speed would be useless with Nynn as his anchor.

  He grabbed her shielded arm and dragged her close. “Now who needs to keep up?”

  “Not ideal, is it? Think of something. Quickly.” She was deadly serious.

  Yes. Dragon be, yes.

  The cheers were growing in ferocity. Across the Cage, Weil and Urman circled one another, pacing, as if taunting Leto with their unencumbered legs. Weil used her long lance to spin practice circles—strikes that would turn deadly earnest in a matter of seconds. Urman held two sickles, without a shield. If he got the timing right, the Tigony trickster could use those sickles as electrical conductors.

  “I’ll stand in front of you,” Leto said. “We’ll leave as much slack as possible, to let me move. Weil is the least predictable when she rages, but we’ve trained against her. Urman is the one most likely to fry our brains. Watch my back and make sure you fry them first.”

  “How do I do that without taking you out, too?”

  The bell rang to signal the start of the match.

  “Figuring that out is your job.”

  Within seconds, Weil was on them. Pendray warriors had the gift of a rage so intense that it eventually earned its own name: berserker. The Nordic and Celtic peoples worshiped that power. Leto thought it the least graceful method of attack. Not that it mattered when Weil charged in. She spun in what looked like wild circles. In truth, they were perfectly timed and with a precise line of attack. She never faltered or tripped, and her lance didn’t dip as she became a living blender.

  Leto countered her with his mace and shield. He snatched out a hand. Grabbed the end of her lance. Pain shot up his arm, from wrist to shoulder. That stopped her momentum. He caught her by the neck and tossed her against the far Cage wires.

  The crowd’s appreciation added to the adrenaline of a match coming into its own.

  The collars reactivated, which reduced them back to hand-fighting. Weil had recovered, but her lance was in two pieces. She improvised with the skill of a long-trained warrior.

  Urman whirled his sickles and edged toward Nynn. She countered as well as she could with the high angle of her shield. The ferocity of her defense made up for any lack of technique. Even Urman seemed taken aback. He retreated a pace, then renewed his scissoring assault. Sweat made her blond hair spiky and her cheeks damp. A look of wild excitement blazed from the palest eyes he’d ever seen, as if she were lit from inside with a new color of fire.

  The collars flipped off and on and off again. And the chain binding him to Nynn didn’t give Leto the rhythm he liked to find during a match. But there came moments, gorgeous moments, when he knew victory was in hand.

  “Get behind me!” he shouted at Nynn.

  She obeyed. Instantly. Leto smiled tightly.

  “No more hand-fighting for you. Keep out of the way of the mace. Keep your shield up. And dredge up some Dragon-damned fireworks.”

  With his gift returned to him, Leto concentrated on keeping the two opponents at bay. Not defeating them. Simply keeping them away from Nynn. The chain was deadweight on the end of his leg. He’d once thought Nynn would be that sort of hindrance. Now he was relying on her to conjure more power than anyone in that arena had ever seen.

  A burst of lightning shot from Urman’s sickles. Leto took the bolt with his shield. Electricity shuddered up his left arm.

  “Leto?”

  “Numb. Can’t move it.”

  Urman attacked again but Leto was able to avoid it. He was born to Clan Garnis. He was a man fast enough to dodge lightning.

  Weil shrieked—that wailing sonic attack. Her voice alone was enough to pierce Leto’s sensitive hearing. She’d burst his eardrums before the match was over. He braced for the strike of her lance, but the clay floor was giving way. His boots slipped. He took hit after hit, where the violence shook from his shield into his numb, paralyzed arm. Only the ball joint of his shoulder directed the shield now. Graceless. No precision. Still he held the position, ready to stay there all night in order to fend off Weil.

  Heat gathered at his back. At first he thought it was another burst of Urman’s lightning, come to separate more of his nerves from his brain. But Urman was lying on the clay floor. Nynn’s sword was embedded in his thigh. When in the Dragon’s name had that happened?

  That heat increased. Popping showers of sparks shimmering around. A waterfall of light.

  Nynn.

  “Get down!” she shouted.

  Leto’s knee hit the Cage floor. He pulled the shield over his neck and head. Pure instinct. The concussive blast propelled his face into the clay. A scream ripped through the noise of the crowd. He groaned in pain at that unearthly sound—the sound of Nynn ripping the roof off the Cage. The crowd shrieked its awed panic. Even among that chaos, Leto was disgusted by their hypocrisy.

  You wanted to see us fight. This is how we fight.

  Lights on the octagonal posts burst. Only the crackling sizzle of Nynn’s gift lit the arena.

  When Leto lifted his head, he grinned. Flat-out grinned. Urman was still on his back. Smoke trailed up from his thigh, where Nynn’s firestorm had touched the man’s sword. May the nastiest Tigony win. Urman hadn’t stood a chance. Weil was shivering against a Cage post. She held stumps that had once been the pieces of her lance. Her eyes were wide disks. Had her chest been still, instead of furiously pumping, Leto would’ve assumed her a corpse.

  Leto turned to congratulate his partner, only to find her equally felled. Nynn lay sprawled on the clay. Her shield was a burnt-out hollow.

  The chain still connected their ankles.

  He dropped his weapons, knelt, and looped the slack chain around his for
earm, which was slowly regaining sensation. He grabbed Nynn beneath her arms. Dragged her upright. Shook her until she gasped. Her eyes had lost their silver shine, yet that strange, colorful glow was still there. Quieter. Maybe even spent. It was still breathtaking.

  “Can’t.” She coughed and nearly fell. “Can’t walk.”

  “Yes, you can,” he said, fierce and low. “I’m not carrying you, neophyte. You have to stand on your own to accept this applause.”

  In truth, it was the loudest applause Leto had ever heard.

  TWENTY

  Nynn could only hold on.

  Leto held her hand aloft. The crowd bellowed its approval, in shades and waves of noise she couldn’t process.

  She held on to his sweaty, tense shoulders as the official unlocked the manacles binding their ankles.

  And barely, just barely, she held on to her sanity.

  Her only focus was that she had survived. More than that, she had devastated their opponents. The Pendray named Weil limped out of the Cage, while the Townsend man—some Tigony whose name bounced through her head and slipped free—was carted away by what looked to be medics. Nynn’s sword was on the ground where his body had been.

  “Stay with me,” Leto growled. “You pass out and I’ll find some new pieces of your soul to steal. You stand here and behave like a Dragon-damned champion.”

  He’d hit that particular timbre, even among the crazy cheers—the tone of voice that she recognized as hypnotic but was powerless to resist. She nodded. With his hand at her back, she was able to refashion the numb lumps at the bottoms of her legs into feet. Feet in boots. Boots on scuffed floor. Leto still scowled down at her. How could a victor appear so dissatisfied and angry? Well, in her case, how could a victor feel ready to vomit and lie down on the clay?

  That wasn’t Leto, and that wasn’t her.

  She grasped his hand and lifted her chin. “I told you. Astonishing.”

  His lips quirked. “So I’m to trust your word now, neophyte?”

  She hadn’t wanted to let go of his bare shoulder, so she didn’t. This was not a gesture of necessity, but one of greed. She wanted the feel of his flexing muscles and pulsing blood where she dug her fingertips into his flesh. His eyes briefly fluttered shut. She raised up on tiptoes and pitched her voice above the echoes in the Cage room. “I am no longer your neophyte.”