House of Gods, page 17
They broke for lunch, tucking into the dining area out of the beating hot sun. Danae flitted at the outskirts, uncertain if she should come in or not.
Kerrigan waved her in. “Come on over.”
Danae took a seat next to her. “You’re getting better.”
“Have you been watching?”
“Everyone has.”
Kerrigan’s gaze roamed the gladiators, who were mostly avoiding her gaze, discussing their tournament wins and defeats among themselves. Theo wasn’t there, so she hadn’t heard how he’d done that morning in his bout. It was only Myron who was staring at her with open disgust. He sawed through his meat with a knife and glared at her. He’d won three meets in the staff fighting circuit and was heading into the finals next week. He had nothing to be upset about. The money was going to set him up. But it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with her taking his spot. He’d been glaring at her ever since.
Kerrigan made a point to not look away. After a few moments, he stabbed his knife into the table, got up, and left.
“Good riddance,” she mumbled under her breath.
Cordon followed Myron’s disappearing back. “Don’t rile him.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Besides steal his match.”
“He would have died in there,” she argued.
“Yes,” Cordon agreed. “Most likely. But now, he’ll never know.”
She sighed heavily. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”
Cordon nodded. “You shouldn’t worry about him anyway. You have more important things to deal with than a petty grudge. Constantine won’t go easy on you.”
“Let’s not worry about my father right now,” Danae said. “He’s not going to pull her from the tournament after training her for a week.”
Cordon raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? I’ve seen him do worse, and he has an alternative plan if this fails.”
Kerrigan’s mood darkened at that. “Well, that alternative plan isn’t okay with me, so I just plan to beat him tonight.”
“All hail the great and mighty Theo!” a voice called down the hall.
The gladiators shot to their feet as Theo flounced into the room, carrying a bag of money and a gold medal about his neck. He had a black eye and bruises up and down his chest and arms, but his smile was radiant. The gladiators thumped him on the back and congratulated him. Some asked if he was paying tonight when they went out to the brothels along the Liber River. He agreed wholeheartedly and then swept through the crowd to Kerrigan.
She’d risen to her feet to greet him. He picked Kerrigan up round the middle and swung her in a circle.
“I’m a winner now,” he said with his same ridiculous smirk. “I’m but a humble man …”
“Humble,” she scoffed as he set her down.
“But I will offer you my whole world.” He sank to one knee. “Marry me.”
Kerrigan laughed. “Have you already started drinking?”
“Maybe,” he said with a sly wink. “Does that mean you’ll think about it?”
“I don’t think you can afford her,” Danae muttered.
Theo chuckled as if none of that mattered. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Does that mean you’ll think on it?”
“Go bed a whore, Theo,” Kerrigan told him with a pat on the cheek. “You’ll have more luck there.”
The gladiators crowed at her words, but Theo just put a hand to his heart. “You wound me, love.”
She shook her head as he fell backward into the row of gladiators, and they pushed him out the exit. He had some sort of affection for her, but so much of it was a grand show. It made her sad and ache for the real thing.
Fordham was here in Carithian, and she hadn’t seen him since that night when his owner had taken him away from her. Six months. She closed her eyes around the horrible news. All she had wanted was to find him and run away from all of this, but they had endured being separated before, and they could endure this too.
“Any news?” Kerrigan asked Danae.
She had confessed what had happened at the party with Fordham and what he was … or had been to her. Their mating bond had snapped, but she still loved him with every inch of her body and soul. She would need to find a way to get him out of here as well once she won this tournament.
Danae frowned and then tipped her head away from Cordon. Kerrigan followed her to the terrace, and they huddled together out of the harsh, direct sun.
“I asked around about Fordham with the staff. Usually, they have more interaction with other households than I would. No one had heard that name. Though they all knew Augustan and Iris. One woman had come from their house. She was sold for hiding her Andine origins. They only have Domaran servants. And Iris has a fancy for … unique individuals.”
“Like Fae.”
“Like Fae,” she confirmed. “I’ll keep asking. Father is letting me go to your fight tomorrow. So, I’ll see if I can get more information about Fordham then.”
Kerrigan grasped her hand. “Thank you so much. It means a lot.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Don’t reveal to anyone what you are though. I don’t want you to risk your safety for me.”
Danae straightened. “I’ll be careful. Just worry about your fight.”
Which was what Kerrigan had been doing all week, and her final round with Constantine was this evening at sunset. The men were already placing bets among themselves to see if she could take the kurios down.
So, when she came downstairs in her pants and loose-fitted shirt that evening, she was surprised to find the training ring empty.
Kerrigan’s hackles went up. Was this another test? Was Constantine going to try to catch her off guard?
But he wasn’t here. No one was here.
She turned in a circle, trying to figure out what was happening. It felt like a trick. Constantine had never left her alone. Not truly.
She had always suspected that he feared she would leave, and he had every reason to suspect that. She wanted to leave. The only reason she stayed was because she couldn’t get into the tournament without him.
“Constantine?” she called into the open air.
No answer.
“Evander?”
Nothing.
“Danae?”
Where had they gone that even Danae would be absent?
She didn’t know.
A part of her hungered to leave. She knew Kinkadia like the back of her hand. Had been walking those streets, even through the Dregs, since she had been a child. But Carithian was a maze of unfamiliar roads and people. Divisions existed between the classes that she was sure she would never understand. Not fully. Not like they were her people.
As much as she hated the entire slave system here in Carithian—not to mention the fact that Constantine owned her—she wouldn’t know where to begin if she left. Her mother was here … or at least, her husband was here. But she couldn’t go to Vulsan and ask where her mother was. He had wanted her dead since birth. That seemed like a recipe for disaster.
Likewise, she didn’t know where Fordham was. Iris and Augustan lived somewhere in Carithian, but locating them without guidance, without her magic to guide her to Fordham, would be impossible.
A tear tracked down her face as she took her first step into the sand. She had just confirmed that staying with Constantine was her only option. And it burned to admit. That after everything she’d gone through, she would still be owned by a man for his own gain. They might have come to an arrangement about the tournament, but ultimately, this benefited him, and she was gambling on the gift from the gods.
But that was all for a later date. Today, she moved through her paces. The ones she’d been doing the longest were the easiest, like dance steps she had learned as a child at Waisley, her family home. She moved from one to the next to the next, ending with the Andine steps Constantine had drilled into her. They truly were beautiful. Poetic in their fashion. Built out of love.
As her mind settled, she could almost feel Fordham across the distance. He was out there somewhere, doing the same thing she was, feeling the same loneliness and need.
She never reached for her magic. Let that emptiness disappear into the movements. This time with more precision and more heart. She didn’t think about any of them. Instead, she was just present as they moved from her subconscious into her body. Muscle memory took over, and her mind was clear.
Which was how she moved out of the way of Constantine’s first attack and spiraled through the Andine style to avoid the second. She continued her steps, never breaking as air, heat, electricity flowed down toward her, trying to erase the pattern she had drawn into the sand.
Finally, when she was finished with the last pose, she let the pull of the movements leave her. Her mind returned fully to the present, and she looked up to find Constantine standing on the balcony overhead.
“Well done,” he said. He dropped down into the sand, letting his magic cushion his landing. “That was precisely what I want from you tomorrow.”
She put her fist to her chest the way the rest of the gladiators had done so many times—her first act of deference—and he smiled.
“Get some rest. You’ll need it.”
“Yes, Kurios.” She walked across the sand, prepared for everything that was coming.
“And Kerrigan?”
She turned around, startled by hearing her true name on his lips. He must have heard Danae call her that and saved it for this moment.
“Yes?”
“Give ’em hell.”
Kerrigan tipped her head at him and then walked back through the empty corridors of Constantine’s house. It was strangely, eerily quiet. He must have wanted the peace for her to master the final part of his teaching. It wasn’t just about fighting. She could see that now. It was the inner strength and knowledge to make herself one with her training.
It was an Andine ritual. She could feel it despite having no prior knowledge of the fact. He had welcomed her with this like he would any of his men back home. Despite their history, she was thrilled at that.
When she returned to her empty room, she slunk out of her attire. A small basin of water had been left behind, and she sponged the sand off. She wouldn’t get to head to the baths until after she survived the first fight, but this was good enough for now. The weather was so hot and sticky that when she finished, she pulled on the smallest shift and fell back into bed. Exhaustion pulled her under immediately.
It was why she wasn’t ready when a hand clamped down on her mouth and a knife dug into her throat.
24
The Ambush
“Don’t move,” Myron growled against her ear.
She had no plans to move. He had her fully incapacitated. She hadn’t even heard him come into her room.
Stupid.
Utterly stupid.
Myron had made his intentions clear from the start, but she’d felt safe in Constantine’s house. She should have stayed alert. She should have done anything but what she had done tonight. Now, she might die for her own stupidity.
“And don’t scream,” he growled.
His insanity was clear to her in that moment, and she wasn’t going to provoke him. Well, at least not like this.
Slowly, he withdrew his hand from her mouth. His face came into focus. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. The sex that permeated his clothing. He’d been out with the others then and decided to kill her after his good time. Great.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious,” she said, meeting his watery gaze.
The knife dug in deeper. She coughed as warm blood trickled from the wound and down her neck.
“Shut your insufferable mouth.” He glared harder at her. “I have you under submission. I could kill you at any moment, and you’re still running your gods-damn mouth.” She met his glare without fear or apprehension. That was long past. She had left all of that in the sand earlier with Constantine. She would face this as she had faced everything else. “The general gave us all earnings and told us to have a good time. Everyone is still out there. It’s just me and you now.”
“And what do you plan to do? Kill me?”
“Eventually.” He relaxed his hand marginally, as if he were preparing to sit in for a while. “Andine women don’t fight.”
“I’m not Andine.”
“And you’re not a bloody Doma,” he snapped.
“I never claimed I was.”
“But they all treat you like one.” He glared as if it were her fault. “You come in as a whore, and within a few weeks, you think you can replace me? I’ve been here for years, working my way up into the general’s good fortune. I’ve been training with him for the last year to get into this tournament. You think one challenge and a week of training mean you’re going to win the whole thing?”
Kerrigan said nothing as he continued is ridiculous tirade, ripping into Constantine for his bad choices and even going as far as suggesting she was sleeping with him to get to this point. She couldn’t see how that would make a difference. If they were sleeping together, wouldn’t he be more inclined to keep her around than sacrifice her to the gladiator ring?
But with Myron’s focus obscured by his own need to be right, his hand slipped. She didn’t wait for another moment.
Her arm whipped up, cracking hard against his forearm and knocking the blade away from her neck. She gasped in a startled breath, ignoring the growing flow of blood. When she’d moved the blade, it had cut in slightly deeper on one side. Myron roared, and she ceased thinking about the pain.
He brought the knife down in one fluid motion. She rolled sideways to the other side of the bed. The knife plunged into her feather comforter. A plume of feathers exploded from the impact just as she dropped to one knee. Myron vaulted between her and the doorway, cornering her. She threw herself the other way across the mattress. All she had to do was outpace his drunk ass. But even inebriated as he was, he was still fast, and his legs easily covered the distance between her and the window.
“What did you think would happen here?” she asked, losing her temper at her second blocked exit. “That Constantine would see you beaten that soundly in a matter of minutes and allow you to throw your entire life away? Pulling you from the tournament was mercy.”
“I didn’t want mercy!” he yelled, throwing himself at her.
Kerrigan settled deep into that place that she’d entered only hours earlier. She dodged his blade and then the second strike. But the third came up out of nowhere and sliced straight across her chest. Blood spurted out of the wound, and she gasped in surprise. His movements were erratic at best, but he was fueled by self-righteous anger and that masculine need to be right. He had one mission here, and he wasn’t letting her leave until he finished his work.
She reeled, her back hitting the far wall. She coughed at the hit. Her focus wavered, and then he was on her again. She found an opening, pulling him into her guard and slamming his hand straight into the wall behind her. He yelped, the blade clattering to the ground between them. Kerrigan did the only thing she could think of. She kicked the knife under the bed and out of the way. He still had height and weight on her, but at least it was an even fight.
“You bitch!” he snarled.
Before she could process his fist coming toward her face, he cracked her as hard as he could in the nose. Her head thunked back against the wall. Her nose shattered. Blood spewed everywhere.
Her scream was a small thing but still louder than she’d planned. It hurt like a bitch, but she’d endured worse. She remembered her first training exercises with Fordham. How he had refused to let her get a healer for her wounds. He believed that if you always had someone on hand to heal you, then you never learned how to fight through the pain. Well, his training was coming in handy now.
Because Myron looked self-satisfied with his hit. He thought it was over. What an idiot.
She moved through her paces, ignoring the flare of pain, and thrust out with a kick to his side. When she got out from the his guard and away from the wall, she blocked his flimsy hits, and then dropped his legs out from under him. The same step she’d used in the ring.
“Do you yield?”
Myron grabbed her foot, yanking as hard as he could and sending her tumbling to the floor. He rolled over on top of her, pressing his meaty hands into her neck. She gasped as her windpipe was crushed.
“You … don’t … deserve … to live.”
Her hands scrambled at his, as she was desperate for more oxygen in her lungs. She used her weight to shift him just enough that he moved sideways, releasing one of her legs. She nailed him right in the crotch, and he doubled over in pain. He slid off her toward the bed. She rolled away from him, prepared to rush for the exit, when it suddenly burst open.
Danae rushed in. Her eyes went wide as she saw Myron come up with the knife again.
“Stop!” Danae yelled, throwing a hand out.
And something propelled him backward with the force of a wind tornado. Myron slammed backward, his head cracking hard enough against the wall to leave an indent. The knife in his hand plunged into his stomach on impact, nailing him to the wall.
Danae’s hand flew to her mouth. “No.”
Kerrigan took a step toward Myron, as if she could stop the blood from his scalp or dislodge the knife that held him in place. His eyes were open. He gurgled as more blood flowed from his wounds and out of his mouth. Then, his eyes fluttered shut, and he slumped forward.
Constantine appeared in the doorway then. He’d only been a few steps behind her, and he’d been too late.
He crashed to a halt at Danae’s side. Tears streamed freely down her face. Terror wrought into every inch of the Andine princess.
“Day,” Constantine said softly. “Go back to your room.”
“But Father …”
Kerrigan wanted nothing more than to make the last few minutes disappear.
“I will handle it.”
