Page 44 of The Sun God's Prize
Someone grabs me and I slam back into my body, Brem hugging me, the stable of my fellow fighters lifting me from the ground, screaming along with the crowd while they carry me bodily around the outer ring of the arena.I don’t resist, though I do release my swords and act as expected, waving to the thundering watchers, chanting my name now added toWar Queen’s daughter, sick to death of them all.I only want to retreat to the salt bath, to sink beneath the surface and submerge the ache, close my eyes and bob in silence and stillness and wash myself clean of this.
That’s not to be, not yet.When the circuit is complete, they set me down at the front of the sands, directly under the Sun God’s platform, where I’m forced to look up at him and hold my ground while he rises from his throne, while the crowd again falls silent.
“On this, my birthing day,” he says, voice echoing, “I grant this warrior freedom!”
The screaming will never end.
It takes far too long for us to return to our quarters, but it finally happens, Romouth and Yiratille Rae already waiting for us there.The following is a blur of hugs and kisses and drinking that I partake of, numb and wrung out, still living the effects of that odd separation from my body I experienced.I’m grateful for it, though, because it allows me to interact without feeling, to pretend I’m fine when I’m not, to show the appropriate responses they expect of me, all while dying inside.
I am a daughter of war.This is not what I was born for, and the truth is crippling.
They finally turn from their celebration of me to the obvious pursuit, clothing coming off, moaning beginning, even Prenese and the two serving girls joining in this time.It allows me to flee, to retreat below to the salt water pool, though when Brem tries to follow, I immediately block her.
Not harshly, but with firm denial.“I need to be alone.”
She lets me go, though the distress on her face only adds to my heartache.I’m unwinding my hair, tossing aside the crown with a violent overhand throw that sends it out over the water to splash and sink somewhere in the dimness, my armor shed in pieces along my descent to the pool.I can’t stand to wait any longer and plunge beneath the salty warmth, screaming under the surface until I’m forced to come to the top again and inhale as I choke.
I scream again.And again, emptying my lungs over and over into the warm embrace of the quiet water until I’m panting and collapsing into its arms, turning over to float and weep until I’m empty.
No less a slave now, despite my victory, than the filthy creature who did the same into the river water that washed me clean.This is just a different kind of bondage.
Flame.Her voice is so small that it barely reaches me, but for the first time in weeks, she’s there.It’s time.Come.And, as I felt only once before, my hand tingles.When I look down at it, the white mist from the bauble Zenthris stole for my father rises and writhes along my palm.It settles inside me again, under my skin, as a tug wakes.
Pulls on me.
Come, she repeats before going still again.
But the force of her will remains, if soft, more an urging, a plea, than a command.
I suddenly can’t bear to be here any longer and surge up from the pool, pushing hard through the water to the edge, leaping up onto the tiles.Whether it’s her magic forcing me to act or my own driving revulsion, I’m not going to question it, snatching a robe from the rack at the doorway, slinging it around me, and rushing back up to the quarters.I bypass the orgy going on, barely noticing the celebration, entering my room like it’s a battlefield.The small knapsack I brought with me holds therananI’ve earned, though the supposed bounty I’m meant to receive for my victory—along with my freedom—hasn’t made an appearance.If it ever will, that is.
I won’t wait, can’t.No one notices as I exit again, as many trinkets and coins as I can root out of the cupboard stuffed into my knapsack as it can hold, though I do make a stop at the armory.My unembellished set of leathers is still there, on a rack, the ones I’ve come to know well, Prenese’s fitted suit a match to the one I wore today, but without the crown on my chest, stained dark brown instead of purple.The embrace of the fitted pieces feels as familiar and comforting now as my old set of full armor always did, the two utilitarian swords that served me in the Dome of Women strapped across my back, a long dagger on my hip.
I’m ready and I will not wait any longer.
She’s waiting for me at the archway, hands trembling, lower lip, too.Brem knew, I suppose, or has followed me without interfering, and she’s the only reason I hesitate.But she doesn’t try to halt my exit, pressing something into my hand before she hugs me tight.
“I’ll see you again, my love,” she whispers in a hoarse voice.When Brem hurries away, her stride long and firm but her head down, I look at the circle of metal in my palm.
The coiled and braided ring is a simple thing, made of steel, some gifted trinket of hers, but with enough meaning to her that she’s chosen to share with me.It slides over my middle finger on my right hand, flattened where my hilt will rest.A warrior’s ring, then, made with love.
I close my fist, kiss the band.And head for the gate.
They don’t stop me, though the guards there appear startled to see me.I’m not slowing, and nor do I spare them even a moment of concern.I will go through the gate if they don’t open it for me.Which they do, both of them jerking out of their frozen shock in time to pull the heavy metal out of the way.
My steps do not slow as I exit, pivoting to the right, heading for the other side of the city.There’s a tug on me now that I understand, that has to be the dragon, and I will obey it.I need this to be over.
I need to go home.
I make it to the other side of the street in the darkness, the lanterns lighting the front of the Sun God’s temple, but no further.Golden-clad guards emerge and circle me, surrounding me, stopping my progress.There are ten of them, and more joining from the interior of the temple, the leader stepping forward and nodding to me.
Short in stature, but robust, she’s clothed in black leather with a scarf over her hair, hiding her face, only her eyes exposed.If she knew how deeply I despise her for what’s been done to Brem, she might back away.Instead, she shows no emotion as she speaks.
“Your presence is required,” she says in a gruff voice.
“I’m a free warrior,” I snarl back at her.“No one may command me.Or is this all a lie?”I wave around me, back toward the Dome.
“Your presence is required,” she repeats.Is that regret in her tone?There’s none in her large, dark eyes.“Princess of Heald.”
