by Jacinta Jade
Tall, strong, and swift, she knew now why the chief archon was revered as a fighter by the soldiers of the army.
But she was swifter still, and would show them why she was the one the prophecy spoke of.
Siraay knew that her and Pyron’s hands were a blur as they both continued to attack, defend, and deflect. The world around them could have crumbled at that moment and they wouldn’t have noticed, so wrapped up were they both in the need to win. To prove themselves. To be the strongest.
To survive.
Siraay waited, timing her attack, and when her next set of deflections caused Pyron to raise both his hands up before him, she acted.
Grabbing both his hands and using them as pivoting points, she flicked her legs up off the ground, using the strong muscles in her core to bring them up in order to wrap her ankles around the chief archon’s neck.
At the same time, she let her upper body fall downwards, her feet and legs still gripping tightly around Pyron’s neck, the weight of her body pulling his head down towards the ground.
And as Siraay’s own upper body dropped farther towards the floor, she was able to wrap her arms around Pyron’s lower legs, using this new grip to exert more force with her own legs, bending Pyron in half.
With her opponent’s face and neck thus exposed, Siraay swung her legs free and backwards over her own head, using the falling momentum of her lower body to flip herself upright, her head and shoulders lifting, her fist rising for Pyron’s face as she landed.
With a resounding crack, Siraay’s fist connected with Pyron’s jaw, snapping his head up and back.
Another rapid spin combined with a drop onto her haunches, and Siraay’s back leg swung around to knock Pyron’s feet out from under him before anyone had even registered the first blow.
The chief archon hit the ground, his body loose and bouncing, his face dazed.
Siraay remained in a crouch for an instant more while she assessed her opponent. Then, sure he was down, she straightened slowly, watching him try to roll onto his side … and failing.
He was done.
Siraay looked up at the watching crowd that was looking at her in silent awe.
Loce kept blinking, glancing from her to Pyron and back again.
Herrin’s face was predictably blank, but his stance was loose and off-balance.
Even Renhed was looking at Siraay as if she had never quite seen her before.
Meanwhile, her guards, Wexner and Zale, were standing tall and proud.
But none of them mattered, for as she turned nonchalantly away, breathing and sweating hard, blood running from her cheek where Pyron’s first blow had landed, and her stomach cramping with pain, Siraay’s eyes came to rest on someone who was looking at her in an entirely different way.
This wasn’t the time to smile, so she didn’t, merely raising her chin, not in challenge but to emphasise her message.
That she was a force to be reckoned with.
She held Chezran’s gaze for a long moment, then she twisted away, swept up her towel, and strode quickly from the room, leaving silence in her wake.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
IT TOOK THE entire walk down the corridor from the training hall to the grand staircase for Siraay’s breathing to slow, and the journey up the stairs and down the hall to her room for her heartbeat to normalise, Wexner and Zale trailing her every step.
She left the pair outside the door to her room, eager to bathe and dress for the next part of her plan.
Trelar had the bath ready and waiting, steam rising from the surface of the water.
Once undressed, save for her usual accessory, Siraay walked up the steps leading to her bath, smiling smugly at her reflection in the mirrored wall beyond the steaming waters.
And froze.
Her eyes.
They were yellow. A deep, almost golden colour that nearly matched her necklace.
Siraay breathed in deeply, closing her eyes to shut out the startling sight as she forced herself to focus, carefully honing in on that place deep within her where her power usually slept.
It was awake. And roiling.
Concentrating harder, Siraay mentally stroked it, calmed it, until it settled down to slumber.
When she opened her eyes again to peer into the mirror, they were once more light blue.
Letting out a sigh of relief as she took the first step down into her bath, Siraay reflected with concern upon this new occurrence.
Going by what others had told said, her eyes always stayed blue in her animal forms. So that couldn’t be the reason for the colour change.
As she sunk down into the warm waters up to her chin, she considered that it might have something to do with how she’d tapped, just a little, into her sevonix strength, agility, and reflexes during the fights this morning—a feat that had proved difficult to manage and was dangerous to employ.
But the slight advantage she had gained had been worth the risk.
Yet her eyes … why would her eyes have changed like that? And had it happened during her fight with Pyron?
She didn’t think so, but then, even if it had, no one but Pyron had been close enough in those final moments to notice.
‘And he won’t be remembering too much anyway,’ she mused out loud.
‘Sorry, lady, did you ask for something?’ In the middle of the room, Trelar straightened up from where she had been bending over to pick up Siraay’s sweaty training gear from the floor.
‘No,’ Siraay responded curtly before smiling once again at her own reflection and ducking her head beneath the water.
***
She had bathed, dressed, and was having Trelar fix her hair when she heard a knock on the door.
Not expecting anyone, Siraay frowned, but Trelar said, ‘I called for refreshments, lady, knowing you would have a long training session this morning.’
While Trelar went to get the door, Siraay leaned back in her chair, again tilting her head this way and that as she admired in the mirror the way her red locks had been arranged to tumble down over her shoulders.
The female servant hurried back into the room, sliding the tray of refreshments onto the round table that sat in the middle of the room.
Lifting her chin, Siraay breathed in the scent of warm bread and freshly sliced fruit as Trelar took up a position behind her again, picking up a brush and applying it to sections of Siraay’s hair once more.
Moments later, Trelar had finished, and Siraay fingered the ends of her hair. Although the majority of her newly washed and dried hair had been left loose, Trelar had braided sections back from behind her ears, bringing the two sections together before twining them into another loose braid that was almost absorbed into the rest of Siraay’s red mane. Then the servant had used the brush to add volume to the section of hair at the back of Siraay’s head. It was a look that spoke of both a seductress and a warrior.
Trelar stood back a little, twisting the brush nervously in her hands. ‘Is this the type of style you were after, my lady?’
Siraay looked away from her reflection and stood, allowing a small smile to play about her lips. ‘It is. I’m pleased.’
Trelar’s lips pressed together carefully, trying to hide the hopeful smile that was always just beneath the surface on the rare occasions when Siraay praised her.
But the next bit was always the most fun—for Siraay.
‘Now bring me my boots, and don’t sweat all over them with your fidgety fingers,’ she ordered, fighting the temptation to laugh as Trelar’s face fell once more.
The female never learned.
Siraay watched as the servant hurried across the room to a chest, reaching in and sorting through the various footwear inside for the items she was after.
While Siraay waited, amused, she walked across to the table where the refreshments had been placed, the long dark-green skirt of her dress rasping over the floor behind her, while the front of the dress had one long slit so that her legs could move freely.
Trelar had tightly laced up the strapless corset that formed the top part of the dress, so that Siraay felt she could move securely in it, without the front of the dress slipping to expose more skin than planned.
Picking out outfits for particular purposes was one of her favourite things these days, Siraay mused as she eyed the platter on the table. Selecting a particularly delicious-looking grape, Siraay hoped that this dress would be the one that Chezran would take off her—much later that night, if all went to plan. She knew the dress complemented her skin and eyes nicely, and her eye makeup had been done in deep shades of green, making her blue eyes stand out. Thankfully, she had been able to cover up the cut and bruise she had received to her cheek that morning with some careful application of powder, although she wished she’d had time to heal properly in her sevonix form.
And, unfortunately, she didn’t seem able to call on her new healing talent at will either.
Frowning slightly at that small nuisance, Siraay regarded her reflection in the mirror across the room, popping the grape into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully.
Only to spit it out abruptly a moment later, causing Trelar to look around in alarm.
‘My lady?’
‘You clod of dirt!’ Siraay spat the last of the grape out of her mouth. ‘The fruit is rotten!’ She reached for the glass of nectar that sat on the tray beside the platter, wanting to rid the taste from her mouth. She took a large gulp, then swallowed quickly.
‘I’m so sorry, lady!’ Trelar’s face was a tight knot of worry as she hurried to the table.
Siraay’s wrath flared, and she slammed the glass back down to the table, almost breaking it in her anger, and then took a swift step towards her servant. ‘How dare you present me with rotten food!’ She whipped her arm out, catching Trelar across the ear and cheek with her hand, making the female squeal in pain.
‘Please, lady, I did not know!’ The servant cowered in submission, her hands raised to her face. ‘The kitchen prepares the trays, I do not oversee the process.’
Glaring down at her servant, Siraay raised her hand again, of the mind to teach the female a sound lesson, but then the bitter taste of the grape came back to her. Ugh—she needed another drink to wash that ill flavour from her mouth.
Dropping her hand, Siraay grabbed up her glass and the nearby jug to re-fill it. ‘Take away the food, and don’t you dare come back with anything that displeases me, or by the Mother, I’ll make an example of you!’
Trelar nodded, her eyes streaming with liquid fear as she bowed low and cringed her way out of the room.
Siraay took another drink from her glass as she watched the female depart, glaring as she swished the nectar around in her mouth a little before swallowing.
That was better—the taste was fading.
One of the doors to her room opened again, and Genlie stuck her head in, scanning quickly. ‘Is everything alright, my lady?’ It was the afternoon shift which meant that Genlie and Melora were on duty.
‘Yes,’ Siraay confirmed. ‘But make sure that wretched creature has tasted the food herself before it gets brought in to me again.’
Genlie nodded and, stepping back into the hallway, closed the door behind her.
‘Rotten food,’ Siraay muttered angrily as she set down her half-empty glass and turned away from the table.
Or tried to.
As she pivoted, she overbalanced and stumbled slightly. Blinking, she put out a hand to steady herself against the table, but she misjudged the edge and missed, collapsing to the floor.
What was wrong with her?
Siraay tried to sit up and call out to her guards but found that she had no control over her body, that all her strength had left her.
Her heart began racing inside her chest, and for the first time since she had been awakened, Siraay felt real fear spark within her.
Still, she had not come this far to be overtaken by any kind of weakness, so with an effort that only the Mother could have appreciated, Siraay reached up in a final attempt to grab at the edge of the table.
Again, she missed, but one hand did manage to connect with the glass she had put there, sending it sliding off the table to smash against the stone floor and break into a thousand pieces, the remaining nectar inside spilling and scattering the jagged fragments still further.
Siraay collapsed back down again, now unable to move her head from its position on the ground as she watched the liquid from the broken glass spread across the floor towards the door.
The door to Siraay’s room had started to open once again at the sound of the chalice smashing, and this time it was Melora’s voice that called inside.
‘Lady?’ The door opened a little wider. ‘Lady, is everything—’
She heard a gasp, and then, from the corner of her eye, Siraay glimpsed Melora’s form enter the room at a run, Genlie close behind her.
‘My lady!’ Melora dropped to her knees beside Siraay, carefully avoiding the glass splinters, and lifted Siraay’s head and shoulders from the floor while Genlie moved to a defensive position.
Siraay felt her hands hit the cool ground below her, glass digging into the back of one hand, but her mouth and face were steadily going numb.
From her new position, Siraay watched a bit of her spilled drink drip from the sharp edge of a glass shard.
That was when she realised. The grape had indeed been rotten. Perhaps most of the food was. And purposefully placed on the tray to ensure Siraay drank her fill of the nectar. The poisoned nectar.
‘Poison,’ she managed to gasp out hoarsely.
‘What did you say, lady?’ Melora bent over her, but now it was as if Siraay were just a passenger in her own body.
Her already bruised stomach was raging against her, her body was going cold, and her mind was not her own. She could feel it spinning her around and then shutting down, as if walls were slamming down around vital parts of herself so that she couldn’t touch them.
She tried to reach for that core of power within herself, knowing that if she could just touch it, she might withstand the effects of what had been done to her long enough to survive.
But another wall slammed down, cutting her off and cornering her in a small section of her own mind. She couldn’t see anything now, could barely hear what was going on around her or feel the touch of whomever was holding her.
She was left with only one word, which she repeated numbly a final time, just before a final wave of darkness slammed into her.
‘Poison …’
The word echoed in Siraay’s mind, a final torment in the blackness before even that word disappeared.
Then there was nothing.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
NOISES CAME TO her sometimes. The sound of an angry and commanding voice. Then the mixed murmur of voices that she was unable to distinguish between. Sometimes she could tell if they were male or female, and sometimes she barely registered anything.
But each time the dark walls that kept her prisoner opened just enough to let something in—a sound, the feeling of her roiling stomach, a brief sense that someone was touching her—Siraay would try to shout through those walls that kept her cut off.
But what came out was never what she was trying to say.
Someone’s poisoned me, she tried to yell at the person whose hand she felt, just for an instant, on her shoulder. Please, help me!
‘P-poi-oison,’ she heard herself gasp out, her body doubling up in pain at the effort. ‘He-help.’
Sometimes, when she managed to break through the dark just enough, she could hear a response, just a few words, before those walls once again shut her off from the world around her.
‘We know, lady. Keep fighting, we’ll—’
But those walls were ruthless as they slammed down again, and so Siraay never learned what it was that her servants or the healer’s were trying to do.
It seemed to go on forever, that nothingness, only rarely broken by snatches of the real world, which would then ceaselessly
loop through her mind, until, exhausted, she collapsed almost gratefully back into the dark nothing.
Only sections of Siraay’s mind seemed available to her, so that she couldn’t even piece together what was happening.
So she hung on to the precious words that did manage to pierce the walls.
Fight. System. Chance. Strong.
At first the words would come through to her every so often. And then they started to slow. And the less frequent the words got, the worse they became.
Unknown. Nothing. Investigate. How.
The small part of her mind that still worked puzzled over these words, but she could make no sense of them.
Fading. Unlikely. Looking.
It was like being told just a couple of lines of a story, but from random places throughout, so that she couldn’t understand the plot in its entirety.
Then she heard the last words.
Nothing. Mother.
And even though she didn’t know what their usage meant, Siraay could feel the dark walls around her inching in closer and closer, and even as she backed away from the never-ending darkness of those walls, she knew what would happen at the end.
Her mind, this last, small part of her, would be crushed.
She would cease to exist.
She was huddled in that blackness, the walls only a body length away on each side, when it happened.
They stopped.
Siraay didn’t know how, but she could feel that they had halted their advance. If she had been able to take a breath in that place, she would have held it.
And held it.
In that darkness, she turned, watching the black walls as they began to tremble.
Were they about to explode towards her, driving her forever into unknown and unrecoverable depths?
And then she felt them move.
Away from her.
Then they halted again.
All of her that she had access to was alert and trying to piece together what was happening.