Page 64 of The Sun God's Prize
Sheelan hasn’t turned me in, then.Perhaps the kinspark keeps her from doing so, too.I can only hope that’s the case, though it doesn’t seem to be in her makeup anyway.On the other hand, it is her family that Hallick tasked me to murder.And her.
We don’t have far to go, my exploration cut short when I’m guided to a corner at the middle of the corridor and then to the left, stopping at the end of it in a small courtyard.It’s an arena, small but serviceable, most likely for the guards to use.I note the racks of weapons at the far end, but when I do, my warrior guide shakes her head, eyes grim and cold.
“No swords,” she says.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, and point at a metal staff propped up against the rack.“Is that all right?”
She stares at me without moving or speaking for several heartbeats, debating, I suppose.Her gaze falls to my right hand, and I find my own doing the same.Only then do I realize she wears the same band on her finger, and the significance of Brem’s gift brings tears to my eyes.
The warrior notes my reaction when our gazes rise at the same moment and lock.
When she nods, it’s slow, some decision about me made.Because of Brem?Or despite her?“Fine, but stay on the sand,” she says.“If you step off with that in your hand, I will kill you.”Not we, not the archers.Her, personally.She pauses, dark eyes meeting mine.“Highness.”She adds the title without sarcasm, level, and compliant to my request.
Well, I suppose I’m here.I might as well follow through with what I said I wanted.
It does help to swing the staff, to limber up and loosen my muscles, to burn off some of the nervous energy that’s been plaguing me since Sheelan fled.I step into a series of strikes, the perfectly balanced length of steel wrapped in two places, my hands molding to leather.Someone else has chosen this weapon more than once, the settling in the thick strapping fitting my hands, the surface worn smooth, but the grip sure.I don’t often get to work with a staff, my preference for edged weapons always my choice, so it’s fun, despite everything, to swing the length around me in faster and faster circuits, to parry and leap and balance over it as I flip, to go through the motions of war and an imaginary opponent falling with every stroke.
When I kneel in my last form, driving the end deep into the sand that is a man’s forehead in my mind’s eye, I hold for a moment, breathing deeply, sweat dripping from me, exultant and spent.I needed this, more than ever before, and when I stand again, I look up at last.
They’re staring, all of the guards who watch over me, mouths open, exchanging looks.Her stare isn’t awed, though, the black-armored warrior of the order Brem came from.Her eyes are tight and she’s been tracking my movements all along, learning my techniques.I’ve revealed more than I should have, but she’s trusted me with this.Hasn’t had me killed for last night or called me out.She could have by now, denied me this exercise.Perhaps she wanted a chance to see me fight, except she’s already done so, when I battled her former order sister in the throne room.
So, what’s going on behind that scarf, behind those silent, dark eyes of hers?
She finally lowers her head, one fist against her chest, then salutes me as she and her sisters had Brem the day before.
The guards, shocked at her act, follow suit.
“I had the honor of watching you fight in the Dome,” she says, “before your battle yesterday, in the throne room.But I’ve never seen anything like that, your highness.”
“You knew Brem,” I say.
She flinches.It’s the tiniest response, but tells me so much more than words could.“We grieve still the loss of our sister,” she says.
There’s so much about Brem’s story I still don’t know, I guess.She only told me she was sold, not why.“I can show you,” I say, holding the staff out to her, “if you like?”
She wavers, eyes lighting up, despite herself.But she finally shakes her head with a little laugh that startles me.“Temptress,” she mutters.When she meets my gaze again, her eyes are smiling.“I would be lax in my duties if I said yes,” she tells me, “and would join you with an arrow in my back.”
“A pity,” I tell her, turning and racking the staff again.“I guess I’m ready to go back now.”
I’m not, but what other option is there?I’m mid-debate on seduction—Mother, enough with your favorite tool after violence—when we arrive back at my quarters and the order warrior walks me to my room, the others taking up their places in the garden again.
“Thank you,” I tell her.“I don’t know your name.”
“Let’s keep it professional, highness,” she says.So, she knows what I had in mind?“I’m a faithful servant of the Sun God, in this life and every one that came before and will come after.”
“You truly believe he’s a reincarnated god?”I don’t wait for her to answer, waving her off, tired at last and just wanting a bath.“Go, then,” I say.“Slave to your beliefs and the order that discarded your sister.I’m done with you.”
She wavers.I’ve finally made her angry.But she fades back into the shade again, neither of us bringing up what happened last night.
I almost wish she had.
The water is the same temperature as the humid air, the lack of difference making the sensation of sinking beneath it strange and leaving me unsatisfied.Or perhaps it’s just me and this cage I’m in, again.I scrub myself clean, not once, but twice, though I’m not that dirty, and tackle my hair the same way, with vigor and aggressiveness.It’s heavy, and for a moment I’m tempted to seek out something sharp to shave it away, to free myself of it, at least, the burden of it.
If I had a blade, though, would I still be here?Grumpy, grumbling to myself, I emerge from the bath and begin the long, patient task of braiding.Perhaps the tight, blunt coils I create aren’t meant for beauty, without decoration wound into them, but they feel familiar, like home, like the battlefields I grew up on, and by the time I’m done, I’m calm.
I tuck the final end beneath the weighted weaving and clean my armor, with care and attention, using the expensive and fragrant body oils they’ve provided me, scented with flowers and spices, to oil the leather that I’ve killed in.Which also suits me perfectly.
It’s not until late afternoon that the warrior in black returns, through my front door this time, obviously in charge of my captivity, and now wary again.
