Page 24 of The Sun God's Prize
For now, my bare feet will carry me as they have all along.
The central area has lured in more of the fighting women, no men in sight, I note, though I avoid them as I circle toward the exit, counting eleven other archways.Are they all small quarters like mine?They must be, though only six women sit on the cushions and observe me as I leave without comment.
It’s fully dark now, the ring empty, too dark to admire the paintings I pass beneath.I’ll take a moment tomorrow to do so.The lanterns lighting it still glow, casting golden illumination over the already yellow sand.I step inside, a small gap in the wall an invitation I accept, and I’m slowly stalking the circle, taking its measure, the depth of the footing, the feel of this place.It’s not as humid here, some trick of construction, perhaps, though that will change when the sun rises.I stop in the middle and look up at the twinkling stars just emerging into the carpet of velvet black overhead, exhaling, relaxing myself into the moment.
I can do this.Of any challenge I’ve been presented with, I know this I can accomplish.
Confidence buoyed, I carry on, crossing to the other side and stepping over the wall, poking my nose into the kitchen doorway where a small woman in a leather apron and a short tunic stirs a giant pot over a fire.She grunts at me when she sees me, not speaking as she pivots and grabs a bowl from a shelf, ladling some sort of stew into it before turning and extending it toward me.
“Thank you,” I say, stepping in and taking it from her, while she immediately spins and reaches beneath the counter where a variety of vegetables and meats are spread out, a large knife set to one side.Of course, I eye its presence, but she’s already straightening and thrusting a chunk of flat bread at me, forcing me to juggle the quickly heating bowl to the palm of one hand so I can hold the warm and fragrant slice in the other.
She shoos me out then with both hands waving, silent as she does, her wrinkled face twisting into an irritated frown when I hesitate.I do as I’m told, ending up in the eating area a moment later, finding a seat at the periphery, away from two women who linger over large cups they sip from.
There’s no spoon, but I don’t need it, the thick, heavy sauce scooped on the bread I’ve grown to love thanks to Vunoshe’s feedings, the arena’skurrieeven more flavorful, though it’s hot enough in spice that I’m gasping a little even as I lick the bowl clean.I feel the two women approaching, but don’t acknowledge their presence until something thuds down in front of me, a bit of liquid splashing my hand.When I do look up, the two fighters are already sitting down like I invited them to, one across from me, the other right next, though giving me enough space that she’s not meant the decision to bring me discomfort.
The cup that’s been brought brims with what they’re drinking as my new seatmates salute me.
“You’ll be needing that,” the first says, winking at me as she smiles.Her teeth are short and blunt, as though filed down to stubs, and she’s had her ear lobes pierced and stretched out, a narrow oval of wood filling the gaps on both sides.A thin, black tattoo lines her eyes and nose, disappearing into her dark hair straight up her forehead.But her eyes are blue, like Atlas’s, a startling color in contrast, and they smile at me as much as her full mouth does.“Gerthi’s food can burn the gilt from a Rae’s pussy.”
They both laugh at that, and I can’t help but grin back, nodding and accepting the drink, taking a sip.It’s water, mostly, but with a hint of citrus, and when I swallow, it burns a little.Alcohol, then, so I’ll be mindful of how much I drink.And yet, it’s refreshing, far too much so.Are they planning to get me drunk?It will serve me to be wary, no matter how kind the gesture appears on the surface.
“It’s delicious,” I say, not specifying which, and finish the last of the food with my final bite of bread.
“You were bought in Lenad,” the second woman says, voice quiet and high-pitched.I’m surprised by how delicate it is, considering she’s taller than me, though she’s lean, long-faced, skin so dark that she fades into the shadows but for the whites of her eyes.She’s shaved her head, a single steel ring piercing the center of her nose, hanging down to her upper lip.
“If that’s the name of the place I landed,” I nod.“I don’t know this country’s geography.”Perhaps I shouldn’t be honest about it, but they’ll find out soon enough, no doubt, that I’m not Sunnish.
“You’re from the north,” she says, nodding to her friend.“I told you so.”
“You look like one of us,” the other squints at me.“Never seen eyes like yours before.”
“I’ve seen yours,” I say, pointing at her face.“In the north.”
She shrugs, leaning back, though I can tell she’s pleased I noticed.“Makes the patrons generous,” she laughs.“They’ll love your eyes, too.And that hair.”
I haven’t bound it in braids yet, still long and loose.It’s tempting, the thought of shearing it like the woman beside me an option in the heat, but I’m far too vain, and braids will keep it from being used against me.
“Your first Dome?”The woman next to me asks, but answers for me.“We marked you.Don’t worry,” she says then, with haste.“We keep fighting for the ring, as we aught.”
Her friend is nodding in response.“The other women, they like their drama.We stay out of it.”
“No men?”I haven’t seen a single male since we passed the gate to the arena.
They both laugh like I just said something hilarious.
“No men,” they both say together.
“Too distracting,” the tattooed woman says with her eyes rolling to the sky.
“Too touchy,” the sweet-voiced one says with an edge to it.
“Just once,” her friend nods, taking a sip of her drink.“Then never again.”
That has me grinning because we share the same attitude for such things, it seems.“I’m Remi,” I say.Not trusting, not yet, but I might need allies here while I work toward freedom, and these two seem more than amenable to it.
“Hloraine,” the smaller, tattooed woman says, “of Benes.”
“Morinthi,” the other tells me with a little smile, “of the elder tribes of Dulun.”
