by E B Rose
Then, she’d reward every whispered conversation with hot, passionate kisses, and Lion would forget all about getting into trouble - at least until the next morning.
He was ever so hungry for her body. No matter how many times he took her, he could never have enough. The way she touched and kissed him was an indication of how she was craving for him too. Seeing how much she wanted him, how she shared his pleasure, was a thrill.
He blocked another rock and switched his feet. What was he going to tell her tonight? Her annoying game forced him to think deeply about himself. Get to know himself. Think of himself as more than a property. A person.
He shuddered.
Moreover, there was the eye contact component of the game. She was right; it did get easier. He wasn’t as terrified about it anymore, but he still found it hard. His body still expected pain and he physically felt sick afterwards.
It helped that her eyes were at least beautiful; nice to look at. It was just…
The rock hit the side of his head. He flapped his arms to catch his balance, failed, and fell. Air exploded out of his lungs. Before he could recollect himself, Joharin was towering over him, cursing nonstop.
“Injuries?” the old trainer barked between curses.
“No, Master,” Lion blurted out without hesitation. He hadn’t even finished mentally assessing his body, but the answer to that question was always ‘no’. He couldn’t have any injuries. He couldn’t…
He jumped up on his feet - ignoring the disturbing pang on his elbow - and stood ready in front of Joharin. He discretely moved his fingers, confirming nothing was broken. Joharin sized him up and down, dismissed the bloody graze on his elbow, and nodded.
“Good,” the old trainer snorted before punching him on the face.
Despite seeing the punch coming even before Joharin had curled his fingers into a fist, Lion didn’t move to defend himself. He stood motionless, hands down, with not so much as a flinch.
“If your Owners choose to inflict physical pain, you have to receive it with respect,” Astaldo had taught him. The slave breeder had beat him regularly, until he’d learned not to raise his hands or turn his head away.
Joharin’s knuckles connected with his jaw, sending a jolt of pain. He blinked it away. Joharin punched his stomach next, while Lion received it with respect. When he drew his fist back for a third time, Badimar stopped the old trainer with a hand on his arm.
“Prihjtivaviula,” Badimar said.
Lion collapsed into the pit of pain. Joharin and Badimar stepped out of the range of his thrashing legs. They waited coldly while he finished being tortured. As soon as the pain receded enough for him to regain control, Lion pulled his knees underneath, pressed his forehead on the ground, and wrapped his arms around his head, holding back a whimper.
“Up,” Badimar ordered and Lion jumped up on his feet, his knees still shaking from the pain and fear.
Badimar stepped closer until Lion could smell the staleness of his breath. “What is wrong with you, Lion?” Badimar growled quietly. The glimmer of fury in his eyes contrasted the fake calmness of his voice. “You fucked up your steps yesterday. You let Crow land a blow on you the day before. You don’t make mistakes. Ever. What is up with you?”
“I’m well, Master,” Lion hurried an answer.
“We have two months left until the next tournament,” Badimar continued. “Two months! Are you physically unwell?”
“No, Master.”
“Then why the fuck did you fall?”
The veins on Badimar’s neck bulged and his whole face flushed red. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then placed his hand on Lion’s shoulder. It was surprisingly gentle.
“Tell me, Lion,” he said with a disturbing softness on his tone. “I’m listening. Tell me, why did you fall?”
“I… did not see the rock coming,” Lion answered weakly, not trusting this fake patience at all.
“You did not see…” Badimar took another deep breath, visibly forcing himself to remain calm. “Why? Were you not looking?”
“I was looking, Master.”
“And you still didn’t see?”
“Yes, Master.”
Suspicion flashed across Badimar’s face as he glanced at the fading scratch mark near Lion’s left eye. It had almost healed completely. “Is there anything wrong with your eyesight?” he asked carefully.
“No, Master.”
Vanalten had already checked his eyesight after the event, confirming there was no damage. Badimar already knew this. He nodded thoughtfully. His next question took Lion by surprise.
“Were you looking with your eyes, or with your mind?”
“With… my eyes, Master,” Lion muttered as he dreaded the next question.
“Then, what was your mind looking at?”
Lion didn’t want to confess what he was thinking. He shouldn’t have been thinking at all. He didn’t hesitate when the lie spilt out of his lips: “I don’t know, Master.”
Badimar’s eyes narrowed. He raked Lion’s face for meaning. “Your mind was occupied with something,” he muttered more to himself.
It wasn’t a question, neither it was an order, so Lion remained silent.
Badimar moved his hand to the side of Lion’s head, and tangled his fingers in his hair. “You were distracted,” Badimar decided, nodding thoughtfully.
Joharin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He glanced between Badimar and Lion. Purebreds were rarely distracted. Badimar’s statement still wasn’t a question, so Lion continued his silence.
Badimar clenched his fist, pulling Lion’s hair roughly. It was a warning pain. “Tell me the truth,” he ordered. “What is distracting you?”
An order and a direct question. Lion had no room to wiggle. He swallowed before answering defeatedly: “My other duties, Master.”
“The bitch.” Badimar nodded. Rage twisted his face, though he still kept his voice calm.
Next to him, Joharin scowled, disbelieving.
Lion cherished the opportunity to sustain his silence, though he couldn’t help but think, her name is Saradra.
Badimar didn’t press for an answer. He didn’t need one. He let go of Lion’s hair and stepped back. “Turn around. On your knees.”
Lion did as he was ordered. He rested his hands on his knees, ducked his head between his shoulders, and braced. He didn’t have to wait for long.
Badimar’s whip cracked in the air before landing on Lion’s back. He held back a gasp and breathed out slowly. The first one was always more tolerable. It usually started becoming too painful after the third. Lion locked his body in place and endured his punishment in silence.
Badimar could have inflicted more pain with Lion’s Pain Word. There was no other torture or punishment that could compete with the agony of that half a minute after the Pain Word was spoken. However, Badimar’s intention wasn’t just to punish Lion in the moment. He wanted him to learn a lesson, and he wanted it to be learnt over time. Unlike the Pain Word, the flogging was going to hurt for days, reminding Lion the consequences of not paying enough attention. Inspiring him to be more careful.
He was a damn good trainer.
Another crack, followed by a jolt of pain spreading across his back. Blood started trickling down between his shoulder blades, down his waist. His skin felt tight and on fire. Lion avoided counting the strikes - he’d discovered counting somehow intensified the pain - and tried to empty his mind.
Not my body… he repeated in his head silently, while focusing on breathing steadily.
He pictured the hidden, dark tunnel inside his mind, and imagined escaping through it, leaving his body behind. Disconnected from the moment, from all his thoughts and experiences, the burning pain on his back dimmed.
Lion returned to the present when Badimar grunted, “Get up. Get back on the pole.”
Breathe in, breathe out…
As soon as he moved, a scorching pain exploded on his back. All he could do was to gasp quietly and keep his
face neutral. He clenched his jaw and walked up to the pole, doing his best not to flinch.
Breathe in, breathe out…
He couldn’t distinguish the individual welts from each other. The welt marks crisscrossed, creating angry, red patterns, under a layer of blood. He climbed back up on the balance pole and wavered on one foot.
Breathe. Focus.
Raising his armguards, he shifted his weight until he was steady on one foot. Badimar borrowed a handful of rocks from Joharin. Together, they started circling around the balance pole, throwing their rocks at him, trying to catch him off guard. Lion tracked their movements out of the corner of his eyes and raised his armguards in time to deflect every one of their projectiles.
He made no further mistakes.
After the balance pole, Badimar ran two more training drills with him, pushing him ruthlessly. Lion endured it all in a haze of pain.
Several times, he came close to passing out; on each of those occasions, he barely managed to hang on to his consciousness. After the other beasts were finished with their exercises, Badimar had Lion run laps around the training yard. It was only after the sunset Lion was excused to go and have his dinner.
He skipped his bath. He couldn’t imagine soaking his aching back in warm water. He put his tunic on, cringing at the friction of the fabric against his back, and went straight to the kitchen. He forced himself to eat, despite having no appetite. His head down, he focused on his breathing; on not letting out any sound louder than an exhale.
Not until he returned to his room.
As soon as he closed the door behind him, he collapsed on his knees, letting out a raspy moan.
Saradra had opened her mouth, a grin and a teasing remark on her lips. Her face paled when she saw him.
“What… What happened?” she exclaimed before rushing to his side. Kneeling beside him, she placed a hand right in the middle of his back.
Lion cried out in pain, hitting her hand away. He squirmed to take his tunic off, recoiling every time the clothing brushed against his back. Standing up, he walked to the basin and filled it with cold water.
Behind him, Saradra gasped at the sight of his back.
“Merciful Alunwea!” she gasped, walking up to him. “Who did this to you?”
Lion ignored her. He soaked the towel in water and reached back to dab it gently against his back.
“Here, let me do that for you.”
When Saradra tried to take the towel off him, Lion pushed her harshly. She tripped and fell onto the bed. A look of hurt flashed across her face.
Lion didn’t know why he was angry at her, but he was. He didn’t want her near him right now. He didn’t want to be in the same room with her.
He scowled at himself. There he was again, wanting and not wanting things. Making mistakes. Getting distracted. What was she doing to him?
He reached as far back as he could, lightly touching the cold towel against his burning skin, desperately trying to ease the pain.
After watching him for several minutes, Saradra wiped that wounded expression off her face and replaced it with concern. Once, she stood up hesitantly. She opened her mouth to speak to him, then changed her mind and sat back down. Her shoulders sagged, and she looked smaller than she was.
Pushing her away turned out to be the smartest decision Lion had made today. When Badimar barged into the room with no warning, they were at opposite sides of the small room, not even looking at each other’s direction.
Lion straightened up to greet him. Saradra did the same.
The Master of the Beasts must have been hoping to catch them doing something they shouldn’t have been doing - like chatting about Lion’s favourite food or weapons - because his eyes flew between the two slaves, narrowed with suspicion. His gaze scanned the room next, dismissing the bloody towel on Lion’s hand, before returning to Saradra’s face.
Lion’s stomach twisted when Badimar walked up to Saradra. Her bruises hadn’t even recovered from his last beating. Lion bit inside his cheek. If Badimar started beating her again, he wasn’t sure if he could simply stand idle and keep his eyes on the ground, like he did the last time.
Don’t piss him off, he thought in his mind desperately.
Saradra looked at her toes, trembling slightly under Badimar’s irritated gaze. After torturing them both with his silence for half a minute, “You will go to Vanalten in the morning,” Badimar finally growled. “Have him check your cunt, or whatever he needs to do, to confirm you’re with child. So I can get rid you.”
“Yes, Master,” Saradra said without a beat. Her posture and her voice were submissive enough to please Badimar.
The Master of the Beasts scanned the room one more time, with slits for eyes. Not finding anything out of the ordinary, he stormed out.
Saradra lowered herself on the bed, shuddering and breathing heavily. She dipped her head and started sobbing at her hands. Despite trembling uncontrollably, she asserted enough self-control to keep herself quiet.
Where was that feisty warrior who’d challenged Lion several nights ago? She looked so fragile now. Shattered.
With a helpless sigh, Lion went to her. He sat on the floor, with his head on her lap. Without hesitation, her hands came down, her sobs stilled. She cradled his face in her arms and landed a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Before, you asked me why I was doing this,” she whispered in his ear. “Blackmailing you to speak and look. I’ll tell you why.”
She paused and graced another kiss at his temple as she collected her words.
“If I give them a son, they will send him to a slave breeder and they will do what they did to you. They will raise him to be like you. I need to see if what they do can be reversed. If my child can ever be free.”
Lion opened his mouth to tell her the boy would be lucky to have a life like his. He was well-fed, dressed, cared for. He worked out with the best trainers in the country. He slept on a real bed! Even his punishments were fair - including the flogging he’d endured today. He’d made a mistake during his training. He’d deserved the punishment. It was his fault. Not Saradra’s. Lion’s.
Instead, he whispered: “He can be free. If he’s good enough to win Twilight of Infinity.”
Saradra sniffled. “Is that a tournament?”
Lion nodded. His eyelids were feeling heavy.
“Have you ever met anyone who won it?” When Lion nodded again, she whispered eagerly: “What was he doing?”
Her voice quivered with excitement. She sounded… Hopeful. Not for herself, but for her child; someone she doesn’t even know yet.
Lion wondered if she knew she wasn’t even going to spend a minute with the baby.
Yet, her affection for the unborn child was so devastating. Lion couldn’t relate to the feeling.
He closed his eyes. Somehow, he knew Saradra wasn’t going to like the answer to her question.
The freed slave who’d won the last Twilight of Infinity, was still serving the same Owner. He was still following orders and keeping his eyes on the floor. It was a good thing the tournament was only held once every four years. Purebreds who won it didn’t know what to do with their freedom.
Lion shrugged. “His tattoo was removed,” he whispered sleepily.
Saradra’s hand trailed down his neck; her fingers circling the faded lines of Lion’s tattoo. Lion tensed. He didn’t want to talk about Twilight of Infinity, or freedom, anymore. He was exhausted from the pain.
Saradra must have sensed it. She hooked her hand under Lion’s arm and helped him to the bed. Lion sprawled facedown, gasping and moaning quietly. Saradra retrieved the towel, rinsed it, and cleaned his back, gentler than Lion could have done himself.
Once the water in the basin had turned pink, she put the towel aside and crawled into the bed, careful not to touch him.
The thought struck Lion unexpectedly. This could be their last night together!
The last time he’d ever see Saradra.
The soft gasp that escaped
his lips had little to do with physical pain. He put his arm over her waist and pulled her closer to his chest. When she turned to face him, her eyes met his. Lion embraced the familiar nausea and the anticipation of the pain. The more real pain at his back made it easier to ignore the discomfort of looking at her eyes.
He fell asleep admiring them. Beautiful. Sad.
Saradra stayed awake all night, kissing his face every time he gasped and groaned in pain.
12
LION
Hopper was one of King Leonis’s freeborn beasts.
He was more agile than would have been expected from someone his size. He was clever enough to use his appearance to mislead his opponents in battle, make them believe he was slow, then prove them fatally wrong. His little strategy didn’t work on beasts who were familiar with Hopper’s actual agility.
Lion was one of them.
He was wielding a Lor’Kas against Hopper’s battle axe. Both weapons were blunt. They were both wearing breeches that ended at their knees and nothing else.
Salty sweat trickled down Lion’s back, leaving a trail of fire behind them. Some of the welt marks had started bleeding again. The purple bags under Lion’s eyes were an indication of the quality of sleep he had last night, from tossing and turning with pain all night. His back was sore, yet he didn’t let it distract his movements.
If anything, the pain reminded him to keep his mind on his work.
The other beasts had formed a circle, sitting on the ground. Joharin was supervising the fight, while Badimar and the other two trainers stood behind, studying.
Joharin shouted instructions every now and then; “Where’s your bloody defence?” or “Don’t you see he’s bloody open?” or “You’re staying in his range for too long. Keep your bloody feet moving!”
‘Bloody’ was Joharin’s favourite word.
Favourite words. That could have been a potential conversation topic to discuss with Saradra tonight…
Except, she wasn’t going to be there when he returned tonight.
When Hopper lunged forward like a viper and swung his battle axe low, Lion barely had a chance to dodge back. Without losing any more ground, he countered immediately, forcing Hopper to retreat.