by Jacinta Jade
‘Step out,’ she told Zalorand.
The golden-haired male took a quick step forwards, his shoulders straightening further, but Siraay moved on rapidly, striding briskly past Tamot and stopping finally at the last person in line, the dark-haired female.
She peered into the female’s face, weighing the risks she had identified from earlier memories, against the superior fighting skills and ferocity the female had demonstrated just moments before. ‘How devoted would you be to me?’ she asked the female quietly.
‘I would gladly die for you, lady,’ the female replied in a sure voice. ‘But not before I cut down any enemies who would dare to face you. Our goals would be the same.’
Siraay nodded, pleased at the answer. ‘Step forwards.’
The female did so, and Siraay turned and nodded to Herrin. Then she paused. ‘Oh, and I’ll have the one on the far end as well.’ Then she spun on her heel and began striding away across the sand, her yellow dress flowing behind her as Loce’s quiet voice sounded from behind as he gave Herrin some final orders.
As she marched past the lines of soldiers, Siraay heard Herrin’s voice raise itself once more in command.
‘You four—Wexner, Genlie, Zale, and Melora—report to the elite guard quarters in the palace for reassignment.’
Siraay smiled to herself as she exited the arena, pleased with her choices as Loce’s footsteps quickened behind her as he hastened to catch up.
No one would be able to touch her.
***
The four members of Siraay’s personal guard quickly integrated themselves into her routine. They worked in two shifts, one pair on duty while the other rested, ensuring she was always protected.
Not that she couldn’t handle herself, as she had proven multiple times already, but having a personally selected guard would deter any attempts on her life—either by the Resistance or rivals—and stop people bothering her when she did not wish for company.
And their loyalty to her meant that she could give her guards special tasks, and that they would report back to her on what they saw and heard around the palace. Indeed, even when her guards were technically off shift, she required them to make a couple of rounds of the palace so that they could inform her of any notable movements around the residence the next time they were on duty.
As the spymaster had once intimated, there was always more dirt shifting beneath the ground than what you could see moving on top.
And there were other benefits to having her own personal guard.
One night, feeling restless following a heavy training session surrounded by bare-chested and sweaty males, including Loce and Chezran, Siraay called in Zale and Wexner, who had been on guard outside her door.
The pair moved inside promptly, bowing their heads to her, then stood and waited for her command.
Siraay took her time eyeing them both, weighing the attributes of each carefully, before deciding.
‘You’re dismissed,’ she told Wexner, flicking her fingers at him.
The male immediately left the room.
Leaving Zale standing at attention by himself.
Siraay moved closer to him, surveying the press of his shoulders against his uniform, his fine face, and the strength in his legs, which even his thick fighting gear could not hide.
His physique pleased her.
Siraay began to circle him, moving closer still. She ran a hand lightly over the back of the male’s shoulders. As she walked back to stand in front of him, Siraay let her fingers trail gently down over his arm before stepping away.
While he didn’t have the dark power that attracted her to Chezran, his other attributes were enough to hold her interest.
Zale had tensed, and his breathing—much as he tried to hide it—had quickened.
‘Look at me,’ she commanded.
Zale’s eyes slid to hers.
‘No,’ she chided him softly, stepping back and lowering her hands to her sides. ‘Really look at me …’
This time, Zale’s eyes shifted from hers, down to the toned body that she knew he could clearly see through her sheer black robe. His eyes paused on her breasts before moving farther down …
His intake of breath was just audible.
‘Do you want me?’ she asked him.
His eyes flicked back up to hers. ‘Yes,’ he responded, his body tenser than before, barely contained lust lining his body as he fought to keep his face expressionless.
Siraay eyed him and shrugged the sheer robe from her shoulders, the delicate material gliding down over her naked body to puddle around her bare feet on the dark stone floor.
‘Show me,’ she commanded.
Zale’s shirt was off before he had taken two steps towards her.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
SO IT WAS that in the mornings Siraay trained with Loce, Pyron, and whomever else was around in the special training hall set aside for Chezran and his archons, and then she would usually go and train with Drosni and her elite unit after breakfast, or have them accompany her on a patrol.
In the afternoons, it was strategy sessions, or sitting with the archons and Chezran while Renhed relayed the latest intelligence on the Resistance army and the peacekeepers of the capital.
Slowly, their plans were coming together for their attack.
And most evenings, Siraay undertook other exercises with Zale. After all, if she was going to win and keep Chezran, and a place at his side in the new Kaslon they were creating, then she would need to know how to keep him satisfied.
And Zale seemed more than a willing volunteer as she took pleasure in his body.
This was not mating, Siraay knew. It was something rarely done now by Kaslonians, to take a lover before formally finding and mating with their chosen other.
But the desire to follow tradition had never been hers—it had been something the old Siray had wanted.
And apparently this new Zale was also more than happy to ignore previous social norms.
Siraay also enjoyed knowing that many of the high-ranking females who roamed the palace were envious that she had such attractive guards, and during one visit with Archon Renhed, the spymaster commented on her escorts.
‘Your choice in males is … exemplary,’ the female archon purred, leaning back in her chair while observing the muscular forms she could see through the open door. ‘Almost seems a waste, really …’
Siraay smiled. ‘Not as much as you might think.’
Renhed raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m glad to hear it. But then—?’
‘Oh, my other plans are still in place,’ she assured the spymaster. ‘And near to being realised, I think,’ she mused softly.
The spymaster nodded. ‘Good, because soon we’ll be on the move, and then everyone’s complete focus will be on this war. Don’t wait too long,’ she warned, giving Siraay a pointed nod.
And Siraay did have it planned out. She knew that the time was drawing close to when she would have to declare herself to Chezran, although it would have been preferable if she had been able to make him approach her. Still, better for her to move at a time of her choosing before Atalia forced her hand.
Siraay scowled to herself. Atalia had been making subtle advances towards Chezran, wearing more daring outfits that showed off her thin, whiplike body, and lately, she had begun offering more advice than normal in meetings. She had even started making appearances at training in the morning, when previously the female archon had never turned up.
And while Chezran hadn’t responded directly to the female’s advances, he also hadn’t spurned them in any way.
So on a day not long after her chat with Renhed, Siraay decided that she couldn’t wait any longer. She could feel that Chezran was beginning to focus more and more on the battle to come, and she knew that soon his every fibre would be bent upon securing the victory he had planned for so many cycles.
A victory planned for by his family across generations.
And if Siraay didn’t establish herself as central to
him, and this war, before they left to conquer the capital, then she might very well just end up another archon, absorbed into Chezran’s inner circle once he was done with her.
Sure, at the moment, he thought that she was important to securing his win, due to her special talents and his belief that she was the one referred to in the prophecy.
And he had said, after her awakening, that she was his mate.
But saying this, and actually making it so, were two very different things.
A difference Siraay meant to rectify.
And that meant using every advantage she had.
It had started that morning. She had gone to training, at the usual time, and had been pleased to note that Chezran had only just arrived before her, warming up at the far end of the training hall with one of his own guards.
Siraay had turned to Loce. ‘Ready?’
Loce had nodded, and away they went, warming up first, then doing a few practice sparring rounds to limber themselves up.
Loce looked over and down at her a couple of times while they were still warming up their muscles with practice shots. ‘Different outfit today, I see,’ he said neutrally.
Siraay grinned at him. ‘Yes. Suits me better when we’re working up a sweat, I think.’ She bent down, touching her hands to her feet, the slits on the outside of her black pants showing the length of her legs from her ankle, where the pants were clasped with silver bands, to her upper thigh, where a black band joined the upper pieces once more around her lower abdomen.
The top she wore was sleeveless, its front crisscrossing over her breasts before it circled down over the outer edges of her stomach and around her spine and back again to tie onto the tops of her pants.
It was an outfit that suited Siraay’s attitude and purpose that day, and showed off enough of her to make the males in the room wonder what the rest of her might look like, but not enough that they forgot how lethal she could be.
And when she and Loce began sparring properly, Siraay didn’t hold anything back. When Loce went to hit her, she made sure that all he met was empty air before her counterattack sent him spinning away with a flash of her hands.
Loce stared at her, stunned. ‘You’ve been practising.’ A statement more than a question.
Siraay nodded. ‘Again?’
They went for three more rounds, with the same result each time, before Loce threw up his hands while his back rested against the training mat, laughing quietly. ‘I submit—please, pick another victim for a few rounds so I can regain some of my dignity.’
Siraay smiled and helped him up, knowing that he was actually pleased with the display of skill they had just put on.
But barely had Loce stepped away from his place when Herrin stepped forwards from the few people who had gathered around to watch.
Siraay was surprised, as the training master was rarely in this room—rarely in the palace, for that matter—since he spent most of his time looking after the training of the new division.
‘Care for a round?’ Herrin said this with his usual expressionless face, but his gait was swift as he walked forwards to stand before Siraay.
Still breathing heavily from her exertions with Loce, Siraay took the barest moment to assess her own remaining strength before nodding.
Herrin waited for her to set herself in a fighting stance, and the moment she was in position, he leapt forwards.
Whereas Loce was a careful fighter, Herrin was all force, surprise, and brute strength. And while Siraay couldn’t possibly stand toe to toe with him in a battle of strength, she also knew she didn’t have to.
So Herrin found his strength being used against him as Siraay was never where his blows landed. She would shift just enough to be able to grab and turn or brush aside the attacking limb so that the force Herrin exerted was turned back upon himself.
They went for four rounds, neither the outright winner, before Herrin signalled to stop.
Relieved and triumphant without displaying it, Siraay snatched up her towel from the floor, mopping the sweat from her face and neck, and thanking the Mother for the split pants she had chosen to wear that morning that allowed air to cool the hot skin of her legs.
‘Nothing left, then?’
Siraay’s hands dropped slowly from her face, the towel clenched in her fists. She twisted her head slowly, raising her chin as she regarded Pyron. ‘Even exhausted, I can fight you, and win.’
Her bold words were quiet, but they drew appreciative chuckles and murmurs from the other archons, captains, and senior guards who were in the training hall.
And the exchange made Chezran break off his own sparring match at the end of the hall to see what had caused the rest of the room to stop training.
Pyron’s eyebrows lifted, and Siraay noted the sweat that was rolling down the sides of his temples. It appeared he had also been working hard this morning.
‘Such confidence,’ said Pyron loudly, pretending admiration, which vanished in the next instant before he said quietly to her, ‘Let me disabuse you of your own sense of worth.’ The chief archon reached down to his waist, grabbed the edges of his shirt, and pulled it up and over his head, using it as a towel to mop his own face before throwing it off to the side, the sweaty material barely missing Loce, who stood watching with the others. Then Pyron opened up his palm to her, gesturing to the space before him.
This was it, Siraay knew, feeling all the eyes in the room on her as she moved forwards to face him. This would make or break her plan to place herself at Chezran’s side tonight. Because Pyron was rumoured to be one the best fighters—next to Chezran and Herrin, that was—in the Xarcon army. True, she had saved him that time on patrol, but then he and his small unit had been significantly outnumbered that night.
So now, she knew, he had something to prove.
Wiping her moist hands off on her towel, Siraay balled up the cloth and threw it sideways before moving closer to Pyron.
He grinned at her right before he lunged.
The chief archon was so quick that Siraay didn’t register any of the usual warning signs, his lightning-fast moves too fast to give her the necessary time to dodge, and Siraay’s face exploded in pain as the back of Pyron’s hand whipped across her face, making stars appear in her vision.
She reeled, for just an instant, gasps accompanying her stumble, but she shook off the blow and only increased her focus, her vision clearing quickly enough for her to dodge Pyron’s follow-up attack.
As she ducked, Siraay let herself fall to one knee, driving one fist deep into the muscles of her foe’s abdomen, before letting her body fall and roll to the side. As she rolled back up onto her feet, Siraay forced her body to move faster, swiftly stepping behind Pyron as he tried to straighten up from her blow.
She had just gotten her arm around his throat when he reached over to grab that same arm and, dropping down onto one knee, leaned forwards and flipped Siraay onto her back.
Groans sounded throughout the room from the watching faces at the sound of Siraay’s body being slammed into the ground, but she blocked out the pain and instead arched her body up into a wave, letting her feet and calves flip up and back until she had them locked around Pyron’s neck.
Then she used every bit of strength the Mother had given her legs and torso to pull him forwards and over her.
As Pyron hit the ground, Siraay arched her upper body up over his, aiming to drive an elbow deep into the centre of his chest.
But Pyron managed to roll slightly so that she only managed to land the blow against his side, the tip of her elbow connecting harshly with his ribs, eliciting a grunt of pain from them both.
Surging to her feet again, Siraay straightened a mere breath before the chief archon did and, focusing, threw herself forwards and down. With her increased sense of balance, she had no trouble cartwheeling on her hands before using her momentum to spring forwards again, landing with one foot on the ground.
The other, with perfect precision, arced through the air and connecte
d with a satisfying thud with the side of Pyron’s head, spinning him around and to the ground.
Siraay lowered her leg, triumphant, but it hadn’t yet touched the floor when Pyron scissored his horizontal legs, kicking hers out from under her and sending her crashing to the ground.
Siraay barely noticed the gasps, mutters, clapping, and groans that sounded around her as she scrambled once more to get to her feet, Pyron doing the same.
This time, however, he was faster, and he managed to step forwards to deliver a brutal kick into her stomach that actually sent Siraay tumbling a full body length away.
She, in turn, tried to go with the fall, tucking her chin and arms into herself as she fell backwards, using the momentum to help herself somersault backwards and rise smoothly to her feet once more … while her stomach roared in agony, of course.
The crowd watching them had grown, a distant part of Siraay’s mind realised, as if the noise had drawn other senior soldiers and servants into the room, but the spectators had also retreated to the edges of the room to give her and Pyron more space.
Now, Siraay prowled forwards, scowling as she circled towards Pyron, her blood thumping with her eagerness to take down her arrogant adversary.
Even better if she could do so and give him a lasting injury.
He was also stalking her, his movements cautious and measured as his icy-blue eyes glared right back at her, the silver mask making them seem more intense than ever.
Siraay had the impression of a creature gathering its strength for the final assault upon its prey. Only, she was no prey.
Circling until they were just a body length apart from each other, they exploded into action at the same time, their movements sharp, quick, and aggressive, their bodies moving with deadly intent, no effort wasted.
Siraay could spare no thought in her mind except to maintain her focus as lethal blows were thrown at her face and head, her reflexes helping her to dodge even while she threw her own deadly attacks at Pyron’s neck and face.