Page 59 of Burned to Obey

He doesn’t flinch, voice low and fierce. “I’d rather live. But if it comes to that, yes. Your life is worth it.”

Tears threaten my composure. I scowl, half in anger, half in desperation. “I don’t want your name without you. Don’t do this.”

He leans in, pressing a brief, heated kiss to my brow. “No more debate,” he says softly. “I’ll see this done.” Then he steps back, turning on his heel. Davor motions for him to follow,presumably to finalize challenge details. The tension in the corridor hums with dread.

I stand there, fists clenched, heart pounding. The brand itches as if in protest. My entire body shakes with the desire to run after him, drag him away from this suicidal plan. Instead, I sag against the stone wall, breath uneven. Guards pass, trying not to stare at my tears. My assigned escort hovers uncertainly until I wave him off.

I slip away, needing air, needing to quell the panic that threatens to consume me. I find a quiet corner near a set of high-arched windows overlooking the Bastion’s outer courtyard. The early morning sun spills across the stones, but it does nothing to warm the chill inside me. Saru. The memory of his near death from poison, and now an arena challenge? If he’s not at full strength, Thakur’s champion could kill him easily.

A swirl of memories floods me: the hush of last night’s closeness, the forging of trust beyond brand or vow, how we gave ourselves to each other so completely. And now, the Senate might tear it all away in a single, brutal match. My ribs twinge with each ragged breath. The reckless part of me yearns to storm the Senate hall, shout my truth, watch their smug faces twist in fear. But that’s exactly what Thakur wants—a chaos-born monster for his lies.

A distant clang from below signals the fortress preparing for some official event. My stomach clenches. The Bastion’s arena stands at the center of the fortress, an ancient structure of towering stone seats and a sandy pit. The idea of Saru stepping into that ring, bleeding from a wound that’s barely healed from the poison, makes me sick. But if I try to stop him, I might doom us both.

I push away from the window, ignoring the sting in my eyes. I need to do something. Maybe gather any leverage we have—notes on Thakur’s contraband deals, the pitch crates weuncovered. If we can prove Thakur’s corruption, we might circumvent the challenge. But that would take time, and the Senate might push for a swift fight.

I roam the corridors, searching for any ally who might help. Davor is locked in with Saru, finalizing details. The only name that comes to mind is Vira Rhek’tal, Saru’s sister who holds a Senate seat. She might sway some votes. But contacting her is tricky. She’s not always in the Bastion, traveling for Senate duties. My chest knots with frustration. The fortress brims with watchers and Thakur’s spies, and Saru might not last if forced into a fight too soon.

My assigned guard trails me, warily observing my agitation. Finally, I relent, telling him I’ll wait near the old records room— a modest chamber lined with dusty scrolls. He stands outside as I slip in, rummaging through documents, hoping for a legal precedent that might override the champion’s duel. The room stinks of old parchment and stale air. My ribs ache from leaning over the wooden table, scanning text after text. But none of it offers a quick escape.

Hours pass, or so it feels. My eyes blur from reading. Each breath feels heavier, aware that the Bastion might announce the challenge at any time. Abruptly, a commotion stirs outside in the corridor. Boots on stone, raised voices. I abandon my search, rushing out.

The guard looks tense. “They’ve called an assembly in the arena,” he says. “Word is Thakur demands it happen now. They’re preparing the stands.”

My stomach drops. “Now? Saru’s still—” I can’t finish. If they’re hustling him into the ring with no time to recover, it’s stacked.

The guard’s expression is grim. “Yes, ma’am. The Warden insisted you remain guarded, but I suspect you’ll want to see him before the match.”

Terror and resolve war inside me. I nod firmly. “Take me to him.”

We navigate through throngs of murmuring minotaurs and a scattering of humans. The fortress buzzes with uneasy excitement, as if bracing for a spectacle. I catch glimpses of Thakur’s retinue, smug faces whispering about Saru’s downfall. Fury roils in my gut. Saru might be stepping into the biggest fight of his life, weakened by poison. All for me.

At last, the guard leads me to a side corridor near the arena’s entrance, where Saru stands conferring with Davor and two other loyal officers. He wears partial armor, polished but not as pristine as usual. Tension lines his brow. When he sees me, his horns angle slightly, relief flickering in his gaze. The officers slip away, giving us space.

I rush up, heart in my throat. “They’re forcing you in now?”

He nods. “Thakur demanded it. The Senate sanctioned an immediate challenge. No time to gather your evidence or petition. I said yes.”

My chest aches. “But you’re not even fully recovered.”

He holds my gaze, determined. “No alternative. If I refuse, they brand me unfit and order your execution. If I fight, at least there’s a chance. I won’t let them kill you.”

My vision blurs with tears. “You can’t do this. Please. Don’t risk your life again.”

He exhales, stepping closer so we’re almost chest to chest. “Listen,” he says quietly, voice like steady thunder. “I’d rather fight than watch them drag you away.”

I grasp his arm, desperation surging. “And if you lose? Then what?”

He sets a hand on my cheek, ignoring the passersby who pretend not to stare. “If I die, let my name shield you. My brand stands, even in death. They can’t legally harm you without the Rhek’tal line’s blessing.”

Anger and grief tear at me. I shake my head. “I don’t want a shield if it costs your life.”

His horns tilt, eyes flicking over my face. “I fight for both of us. Don’t beg me to yield. I can’t.”

Trembling, I meet his unwavering gaze. I sense the weight of centuries-old codes on his shoulders. My brand itches, reminding me how far we’ve come. Last night, we were fused in love or something close to it. Now, Senate laws might rip him away.

I swallow, tears streaking my cheeks. “At least promise me you’ll do everything to survive. Don’t throw your life away just to keep me breathing.”

He nods. “I promise.” A grim softness in his voice. “I’ll fight to win. But if fate stands against me… you must live.”

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