House of Gods, page 23
“I remember.”
“She’s not to be underestimated.”
Kerrigan nodded. “I saw that for myself at the party.”
He grumbled something under his breath, and she shot him a smirk.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I’m glad there are no more parties for you until you win. That’s for sure.”
Constantine had filled her in on everything that had happened after she and Fordham escaped the festivities with Cleora. Tarcus had returned furious and only gotten more so as he got drunk. He left at some point with a pair of prostitutes there for the evening, but not before slandering Kerrigan’s name and promising that she’d lose the tournament. Iris had laughed at him on his way out, and that had only made it all worse.
Kerrigan almost wished she’d been there to see it. But his threats weren’t unfounded. Neither was anything Iris had said. Kerrigan had seen the collar wrapped around Fordham’s throat that kept him from accessing his magic, that kept his shadows at bay.
She shuddered at the thought and brought her mind back to Senovara. This was the present, the here and now. This was what was important. Because if she didn’t beat the Gallian woman, then there was no hope for all the other parts of her plan that she was putting into place.
“No more distractions,” she said with a nod at Constantine. “Just the fight.”
He patted her shoulder twice. “Just don’t get arrogant.”
She laughed. “Have you met me?”
“I have. That’s why I’m reminding you that Senovara fights smart. She’s here to win. She’s not being forced into this tournament, like many of the others.”
“I know. I know,” she said, bouncing from foot to foot. “I can do this.”
“By the gods, I hope so.”
Constantine’s words were nearly drowned out by the gate lifting and the crushing noise of the crowd. Kerrigan grinned as she stepped away from his side, only to hear her name on repeat from within the arena.
“Red! Red! Red!”
She’d put on the performance that they wanted, and they were rewarding her with their love and devotion. Oh, to see Vulsan’s face.
“Good luck,” Constantine called.
She pushed her shoulders back, fingered her grip on her sword, and then strode into the coliseum. It was a sun-soaked day, where every inhale felt a bit like breathing in water. Sweat beaded on her forehead and down her back as she left the confines of the cooler quarters and stepped into the heat of the day. Thousands had shown up for the privilege of watching foreigners kill each other. The air stank of cheap honey wine and piss and unwashed flesh. Commoners were in nothing but loincloths with women in barely concealed togas hanging forward over the divide that held them back from her. Even a few were stupid enough to fall into the sand and had to be hoisted back up into the stands by friends.
Kerrigan took this all in with a glance as she turned to face the Doma. Vulsan was as golden as ever with a little gold circlet in his hair and a haughty expression on his plump lips. She gave him a little curtsy to the excitement of the crowd.
That was the moment Senovara rushed at her, screaming at the top of her lungs and swinging a massive broadsword.
Kerrigan had missed Senovara’s introduction entirely from the depths of the coliseum. She brought her sword up just in time to block Senovara’s attack. The Gallian woman bellowed with fury that her first stroke hadn’t been enough to end the entire thing.
Despite her bulk and additional height, Senovara was quick, and she had double the aggression of her previous competitor. She’d had to prove herself time and time again. A giant. A foreigner. A woman. The world shouldn’t force them to become killers, but there was no other choice. This was just another battlefield. It almost made Kerrigan regret what she was about to do.
Because Kerrigan had watched Senovara’s last match. She’d trained all weekend with Constantine and Evander, working on her weaknesses. They’d gone over all the players to prepare her—save Fordham. She knew his weakness, and it had nothing to do with his impeccable form.
No, Senovara’s biggest strength was that she’d entered herself. Well, her master had agreed when she prompted him. She’d won the circuit many times before this with her broadsword. She swept the competition in fights that were to a yield, but she’d never been a showman. That didn’t sound like much, but the crowd didn’t like her. And they were currently chanting Kerrigan’s coliseum name as if she were an actual Doma. The noise was deafening.
So, when Senovara opened her mouth to snarl at Kerrigan, she couldn’t even hear it. She took another step backward and put a hand to her ear.
“Pardon?”
Senovara growled and drew her sword down again. Kerrigan sidestepped her, playing with the sword strokes instead of defending herself. The crowd roared with laughter, which only riled Senovara up more.
“You—” Senovara yelled.
But the end of what she said was lost to the crowd.
Kerrigan smiled. “What was that? Going to have to speak up.”
Senovara lost her focus for a second, her gaze going to the crowd with fury in her dark eyes. Kerrigan stepped in and sliced down on her bicep. Senovara whipped back around, blocking Kerrigan out of her space again. But Kerrigan was playing cat and mouse. One demoralizing slice at a time. Her side. Her thigh. Her back. Until blood dripped freely into the sand to a determined cheer from the already-raucous crowd.
She didn’t want to end it. In fact, it was better to drag it out. Death by a thousand cuts. Until she could no longer even lift her broadsword. But as much as she had to win, Kerrigan hated the games. It was cruel. Even if it was necessary.
Finally, a blow landed on the inside of Senovara’s wrist. The audience gasped as her giant broadsword left her hand and fell with a heavy thump into the sand. Senovara’s eyes were wild with disbelief as she bled from a dozen such injuries.
“I am sorry,” Kerrigan confessed as she batted Senovara’s desperate attempts away and felled the mountain of a woman with a few carefully placed swipes.
“I don’t want your pity.” Her eyes blazed. “A Doma has no place here. They have no place anywhere.”
“Fair.” Kerrigan nodded at her. “Do the Gallia have any last rites?”
“Fuck you,” she spat.
Kerrigan drove her sword through the other woman’s chest. Her eyes never left Senovara’s. Despite her bluster, there was a plea in them. For it to finally be over.
Maybe they’d been wrong.
Maybe Senovara hadn’t entered because she was so certain of winning.
Maybe it had just been her only way out.
Kerrigan had been sick all night from the fight.
Constantine couldn’t understand why when she’d won exactly how they’d planned. She thought he might comprehend it if she could put it into words. But she’d just thrown up again at the thought of the mercy kill.
She didn’t want to go to the coliseum the next day to watch the rest of the competitors, but Constantine forced her. Back into the stands. Back to her admirers. Back to the barbaric system that was as likely a place to find victory and fame as it was to escape their captors.
But she watched. She watched Alderic, the Rutslan mountain conqueror, behead a Cendrean woman with disinterest. He was particularly brutal. She was glad that she’d never have to face him.
“You could still compete against him,” Constantine said when she said as much.
She shook her head. “Fordham is unstoppable.”
“You still will have to face him then.”
“That I know.”
Constantine grew grim as Fordham came back out for his fight with the Domaran soldier who fought with twin blades. Fordham was lethal and empty. He didn’t smirk at his opponent and play cat and mouse, as Kerrigan was required to do to survive. The crowd believed him to be a Fae king of Alfheim. They had been on his side from the beginning. And with his wickedness seemingly on full display, with just a touch of his shadows let out onto the arena, likely at Iris’s behest, he was terrifying. He was the monster she had first seen jump into the dragon tournament, demanding entrance as a member of the House of Shadows.
That wasn’t who he was with her, and it was difficult to see him like this. She’d give anything to lock all of that trauma away again and bring out her broody poet beneath. To see him smile and laugh and write and fly. Oh, how she missed flying with him. It was hard to look back and see that year of dragon training as an easy time because it had been anything but. Still, it had been the best year with Fordham. Before they were thrown into the pits of hell.
“By the gods,” Constantine whispered next to her.
Fordham cleanly removed the man’s ability to wield his weapons by cutting both hands off at the elbows, one after the other. The crowd quieted as the disfigured man stared at the stumps of his hands and sobbed. A grown man. It was terrible.
That first racked weeping sent something through the crowd. Made it real.
And Vulsan just smiled from his throne. Waved his hand for Fordham to finish it off. Give the crowd what it had clamored for. He ended the man’s crying a second later. The audience was silent as he stalked off.
Kerrigan trained all weekend. She trained twice as hard as she had the weekend before. She could sense the worry in Constantine and Evander as they worked her through her paces.
This week, she was fighting an Andine man, Morpheos. On some level, she wondered if they wanted him to win. To beat Kerrigan and take the whole thing. To prove that Andine couldn’t be cowed by anyone. She hardly blamed them. If another half-Fae had been in her place back home, she would have wanted them to win too. At least they didn’t skimp on her training. Though she could tell they didn’t think she was ready to take on an accomplished Andine man.
Even fighting Constantine and Evander every day and training on the Andine style, she was still not as good as someone who had been raised with it.
“I don’t have to be,” she argued again as they stepped up to the gate. “He’s never fought anyone like me either.”
“Maybe,” Constantine said. “But watch your paces, use them to your advantage, don’t play around this time.” He scowled at her.
“You want me to be more like Fordham?” she asked.
Constantine blanched. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Really encouraging. Thanks.”
“We’ll deal with the Fae once you finish off this opponent.”
She gritted her teeth. “Fine.”
She’d finish Morpheos even though she didn’t want to and then figure out how not to kill her mate. Fun times.
Constantine breathed heavily through his nose. There was nothing else to say. The gate was opening. Her name was announced. The crowd was screaming their excitement over her. She cut an exaggerated curtsy to Vulsan since it was now her signature move and then immediately faced off with her opponent.
Morpheos was waiting.
He wasn’t as large as either of the other two people she had fought. Bigger than her, of course. Everyone was. But compact and full of muscle. He had a sword that nearly matched the one Constantine used. Already, she could see him stepping into the Andine flow.
She smirked and matched his steps. He startled only briefly, surprised to see she knew his people’s ancient footwork.
“Kurios has been teaching you well,” Morpheos taunted.
Of course he knew Constantine. The honorific on his lips sounded more like a sneer though. There was no love lost between the men. She hadn’t known they had a history. Constantine hadn’t mentioned that.
“He’s not your kurios, I suspect.”
She lifted her sword, pushing forward for an advantage. Morpheos met her easily. Their swords clanging in the humid air.
“My kurios wasn’t a traitor. He fought until the end to keep a Doma like you out of our homeland. Constantine rolled over and gave up.”
Kerrigan rolled her eyes. “Do I look like I have Doma powers?”
“You look just like him,” Morpheos said, pushing his advantage and leading her backward toward Vulsan. “The bastard sitting on a stolen throne, dripping with the blood of his enemies. The blood of my people.”
“Coincidence.”
She tried to regain the upper hand of the fight, but Morpheos was too secure. Even the crowd was surprised at how easily he maneuvered her into worse territory. Maybe Constantine had had a point about not messing around.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” he told her as he dragged his sword across her exposed thigh.
She shouted in surprise, and he moved in closer, jabbing the pommel of his sword into her nose. The damn thing broke a second time, and blood gushed onto the sand. The crowd roared, not with approval, but certainly not outrage either.
Kerrigan needed a minute. She needed to regroup. With a blind dive, she rolled away from him and sprinted half the distance of the arena. The crowd booed her. She didn’t care. Her nose was still bleeding. She couldn’t win this way. She’d seen Morpheos fight. Had watched him wipe the sand with a Domaran man. There had been vengeance on his face then. She’d assumed it was because of the destruction of Andine. But she saw it here on his face now. He was full of vengeance. Nothing she could say or do would change his mind about the outcome.
Different plan. She wasn’t going to beat him this way.
She hated that Constantine was right. That any kind of taunt or tease or playing to the crowd was only going to make him more dangerous. Which meant that she had to fight … fair. She had to beat him at his own game.
Morpheos came toward her at a stomping pace. “No use running away. It’s just going to prolong your downfall.”
“You’re right,” she said with a smirk, blood on her teeth. Then, she swung her sword and raised it to meet him. “Let’s do this.”
The fight was bloody and brutal. He was a master at his craft. It was only that she’d had other training besides the Andine style that she survived at all. He would have destroyed her at his home fighting style. She kept him at bay by changing her footwork every few steps, causing him to startle and start over. Again and again.
Until there was blood in both of their eyes and both shallow and deep cuts running freely down their arms. Their stamina was failing. No matter that Morpheos had fought on battlefields, as she had. In the end, he wanted to win to prove something to the Doma. She had to win to help her people. His people were already defeated.
She choked on tears as she finally dragged him down, pushing him to his back, straddling his chest, and holding her sword to his neck.
“You … win,” he coughed out. Blood splattered into her face.
“Yield,” she begged.
He was a good fighter. He didn’t deserve this. None of them did.
“Never.”
She wanted to close her eyes, but he deserved more than that. She dragged the sword across his neck. Then, without a backward glance at Vulsan or the crowd, she kicked off of Morpheos and disappeared below. They chanted her name anyway.
Kerrigan couldn’t even watch Fordham’s win against Alderic. She listened to the bloodthirsty screams with melancholy and disgust. It was so much easier to be removed from the killing and cheer it on. It was another thing entirely to know your opponent so well that you could break them, even the best of them.
Fordham returned to the empty gladiator quarters after a lengthy battle. He was coated in sand and blood. She didn’t care.
She rushed into his arms, pressing her lips hard against his unyielding mouth. “Ford.”
“Kerrigan.” The monster was still crawling under his skin.
“My little princeling.”
He growled low. “Halfling.” He said the cruel nickname without the bite it had originally had. It felt so long ago when they had used those names for each other. How much younger and softer they had been.
“Come back to me.”
His hands slid down her back, dragging sand across her skin. “I’m here.”
She buried her face into his neck. Tears wouldn’t come. Not any longer. She’d used them up. She was tired from her three fights. Still recovering from the last one with Morpheos. She knew what came next.
“We should leave,” she whispered traitorously into his chest.
He tugged at the crux bond that tied him to Iris. “And this?”
“We’ll break it.”
Though she had no idea how to do it. It was why his shadows hadn’t already enveloped them and taken them away. Jumped them out of the city and away from this madness.
No, they had to see this through. She’d known that from day one. But the fantasy of leaving was still ecstasy.
“You know what you’re going to have to do.” His voice was almost gentle as his grip tightened.
“Don’t say it.”
“You’re going to have to be the one, Kerrigan.”
“No.” She wrenched back to look at him. “We’re going to figure out a way.”
“We can’t both walk through that door.”
“And you think I could do it?”
“To get back home? To save the entire world?” His storm-cloud eyes were almost steady. “Yes, you could do it.”
“I won’t give you up.” She thundered away from him. “I won’t kill you.”
Fordham came to her side. He found her hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing each of her scarred fingers and then her callous palm. “My love, my mate, my everything, I would go to the ends of the world for you. I’ll even die for you.”
“Stop,” she pleaded.
“At the end of the day, you will do the right thing.”
“I won’t.”
He smirked then, and she was lost to him all over again. “You will.”
He kissed her lips one last pleading time and then left just as Constantine barreled down the steps to find her. Iris hot on his heels. She could look at neither of them as Fordham went easily like a biddable dog.
After he’d just told her … to kill him.
