Page 39 of The Sun God's Prize
“That’s tomorrow,” Onu tells me with a squeeze of my shoulder.“And death isn’t inevitable.”
They go, then, rejoining their Dome’s stable, while I marvel at this whole experience and hope he’s right.I don’t know how much loss I can bear, now that I’ve made family of the women I’ve trained, and these two men I shared a connection with, brief or not.
I sit with Carrigan and Onu at the noon meal and let them chatter, though when I invite Brem to join me, she’s skittish and evasive, so I go alone.It’s not until I part from the two men, considering telling the Sarnian fighter who I am—since he’s been kind and will discover my identity tomorrow anyway—when the Zandish fighter finally makes his move.
When he approaches, my warrior friends tower over me, threatening and protective, as amusing as that is in the grand scheme of things, the irony utterly ridiculous, enough that I’m laughing when I send them on their way.As for the shaven fighter, he holds both hands up in a gesture of peace, stopping in front of me with a smirk.
I hadn’t noticed Brem, and now have yet another scowling and furious protector to deal with.She steps between me and the warrior in question, arms crossing over her full breasts.I’m equally amused by her need to defend my honor, though I don’t show him that, and wait for her to relent before I nod to him.
“Sukes of Zandir,” he bows to me.“And you are Remi of Heald.”
“I am,” I say.“We didn’t get to fight the last time we met.”
“I’d rather fuck you,” he shrugs.“But I see now that you’re not free for it.”He eyes Brem, who’s bristling still, inhaling to speak.
“I’m not, and of my own mind and choice,” I say, just as casually.“No one tells me otherwise.”
He bows to me, scalp-lock swinging.He’s quite handsome up close, and were things different—if the very idea of a man’s dick that isn’t made of stone or attached to a handsome blond Overprince or a gorgeous rogue inside me didn’t turn my stomach—I might have considered him as a lover.I admire him simply for his grace and the fluidity of his movements, no gesture wasted, lean and powerful and formidable.
“Then I will hope to see you on the sand,” he says, turning and walking off while Brem huffs her indignation.
“Arrogant prick,” she snarls.“I hope I get a chance to kill him.”
“I’m sure you will,” I say, no longer amused.For as much as this whole thing feels like some sort of party, a celebration, good-natured energy dominating, the truth remains.
There will be no quarter tomorrow unless requested.And has me wondering what kind of king celebrates his birth with death?
I refuse to believe, as the day winds to night and we return to our quarters, my mood growing gloomier by the second, that this can be compared to war, no matter how I try to twist and turn it into something I can understand.Even a long soak in the salt pool does nothing to alleviate my discomfort, and when I return to find the rest of my family drinking and eating and in high good spirits, I sneak away into my quarters to be alone so I don’t infect them with my disquiet.
Mother would love it, I know she would.Once she got past the fact that no one would give a fuck she was a queen, she’d have taken to this life like she was born to it.I have, in a way, but the conundrum of death as a game simply won’t settle.I struggle to reconcile my ideas of war, of the necessity of it, with this showcase of strength, the glorification of death landing on simply incomprehensible.
I’m so lost in the grim thought string leading me down a dark road that I almost miss it when Yiratille Rae returns, going to the door to observe her as she sweeps her way into the central chamber.The obvious unfolds, the women undressing her after getting her drunk enough that she’s able to excuse away her inhibitions, the orgy that follows much more my mother than any of them would ever realize.
Brem tries to lure me out, but I shake my head, kiss her.“Go,” I say.“I’m not fit for this tonight.Let me rest and you have your fun.”
She leaves me alone, though I know she’d willingly stay, but I need her to find her way now that I’m almost done.
Perhaps it’s that feeling of impending ending that holds me in thrall, the debate over death dealt from necessity, and the same carried out for the pleasure of others just a smokescreen to hide behind so I don’t have to admit I’m grieving leaving this place.
I am my mother’s daughter because, despite everything, I love it here.
It’s a hard thing to accept, and my psyche rails against it, but it’s impossible to debate and be honest with myself, and I finally have to accept it.At least that acceptance allows me to sleep at last, even through the sounds of sex and celebration just outside my door.
I wake to Brem curled up against me in the dim light of morning, and when she invites me to join her at the temple, I go with her, if only out of curiosity.I’ll be well served to gain my bearings in the city, after all, because I’ll be out and on my own by as early as tonight.That still floors me, floods me with anxiety, so I dress and join her and the long line of fighters who are allowed to file out of the gates of the Dome of the Sun and across the plaza to the massive temple there.
It's as golden and overdone as the rest of the city, the massive interior filled with benches stuffed with people, even balconies in tiers above our heads overflowing with celebrants.We’re not allowed near the front, where the Rae’s sit, the ruling class kept apart from the rest of us.But we have a clear view and the sound of voices uplifted in song reaches every corner of the massive space, bouncing from the painted domed ceiling I find myself staring at in wonder.It depicts the birth of the Sun God, I surmise, the face a kind and caring one, radiating the sun’s beams in long, wide rays of gold.I don’t understand most of the ceremony, though I do note the tall, golden throne, the man seated upon it no more a god than I am, even if they address him that way.He’s flanked by two lower seats, a woman on the left and a young man on the right, too far from me to make out much but those small details.
There’s a great deal of singing and speaking of the honor and glory of the Sun God, this one’s incarnation named Isthisahaloun Glae, a rather grand-sounding name for a small man.
Brem knows all the words and, when a small group of women in black armor, their faces covered in scarves that wrap their hair and only expose their eyes, stride down the aisle to prostrate themselves before the throne, she’s weeping.
These are members of her order, then, these small women she can’t seem to lift her gaze to watch, peeking only after they’ve retreated.I want to ask her more about them, but it seems unkind, so I leave it be.Because fuck them for abandoning their sister to thegladatte, to the Domes, and to death.
Just fuck them.
Now, who’s the protective one?
When the ceremony ends, we’re ushered back from the special seating where we’ve been held, off to one side and out of the reach of the ordinary citizens who eye us the entire time, our parade returning the way we came.But now we’re showered in flower petals, and the number of people who watch has grown, cheering met with waves from the warriors that I manage to mimic when Brem prods me.She’s fully recovered from her sorrow and is excited all over again.
