House of Gods, page 16
“It’s beautiful. Similar to my training, but a distant relative.”
“Are you going to tell me where you’re really from?” He slid his sword into the sheath at his waist. “I agree about the differences between our sword work, but I’ve never seen anyone fight the way you do. Let alone … a woman.”
She let out a stilted laugh and took another sip of water. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“Fine.” She set the water down and brought her sword back before her. She ran through her paces from the ancients of her people. They required no thought at all. Not like the Andine style. “I come from a world called Alandria, where Fae rule in a society of dragon riders. I was one such dragon rider. An organization rose up to subjugate those who were not fully Fae. I was sent here through a portal to find help.” She whirled her blade in an arc and met his intrigued gaze. “Instead, I found Flavia. I found you. I found this world, just as shattered and broken as mine. And still, I seek a way to help them.”
He pursed his lips as he considered the information. “You wish me to believe this tale? Dragon riders and magic portals and Fae safe havens?”
Kerrigan shrugged, her breathing even and measured. “I don’t care what you believe. You asked. I answered.”
“This is why you want to be in the tournament? Not just to get out of the bidding?”
“Wouldn’t you do anything to save Andine if you could?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
For that moment, they were the same. Both fighters wanting nothing more than to regain what had been lost. She still had a chance of that. She hoped, one day, maybe he would too.
22
The Lower Fights
Three days later, the gladiators cleared out of the house for their respective fights or to watch the competition. She had gotten accustomed to having a bunch of half-naked men grunting over weights and swinging weapons around. Evander had gone with the men to watch their bouts, collect money, and be the hand of the kurios. Now, it was just her and Constantine facing off.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Constantine growled early that afternoon.
She had been working on the Andine style, and she mostly had the hang of it. When she concentrated at least. When her mind wandered even a little, she reverted to her own style. Constantine didn’t care that she was proficient in multiple styles, but he wanted her to be focused. Not spending any time relying on old habits.
“I don’t even know what you mean,” she snarled.
His sword arm came down onto hers. She cried out as he broke her grip and sent her sword sprawling. Normally, she’d be able to conjure her elemental magic. She was so accustomed to drawing up air to throw off her opponent that she made the gesture without thinking and then dived to the side to retrieve her blade.
“That,” he roared.
“I got the blade back.”
“What was the flourish at the end? You won’t stop doing it, and it’s the quarter second every time where I can get into your guard.”
She frowned. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
Her magic. That was the extra flourish. But she didn’t have magic any longer. Just a bottomless pit of nothing. She forced down the terror. The overwhelming sensation that she was going to succumb to its beckoning call. She almost had when she’d lost her magic and in those terrible moments after landing in Domara, when she knew it was all over.
“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no …”
“Felicity,” Constantine said. “What is it?”
She held her hand up to silence him. Her heart was pounding. Not just her heart. She could also feel her pulse in her fingers and stomach and throat. The peaks of her gently pointed ears even thrummed against her skin. A brick settled on her chest, and she wasn’t sure if she could even swallow. All of it came at the same time. Panic filled the void, screaming through her mind that this was the end. Her magic was so tightly tied to her fighting that the feeling crept up more and more, and this was the worst it had ever been. Finally, the weight lifted from her chest, and she swallowed back bile.
Constantine was right. It was holding her back, but she didn’t know how to stop it.
“I don’t know how to control this,” she admitted.
She was glad the gladiators were gone. She couldn’t have spoken about this with them in earshot.
“Control what?”
“Remember when I told you about the fight in my world? And how I was sent here?”
“Yes. That’s not something you hear every day.”
“That’s not exactly what happened.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“They overtook the government and killed all dissenters in one big show. I was their …” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was raised up by the leader as a symbol of what half-Fae and humans could do if they were given enough power. I was what his people always feared.”
“Because you had a dragon?” he said as he tried to piece together what she’d told him.
“Yes. That was part of it. But really, it was because … I had magic.”
Now, both eyebrows went up in surprise. “You are a Doma then?”
“No. Just a half-Fae girl who had more magic than they expected. Most half-Fae barely have any magic at all.”
“You don’t have any magic now. I’d have noticed.”
She swallowed back the rush of panic again. “They took it. They took my magic.”
The color drained from his face. “That’s possible?”
“They did it. They put me in a circle of thirteen Fae magic users and drained it out of me.”
A deep grief etched into every inch of his skin. “I am so sorry for your loss. I couldn’t imagine if they …” He sighed, weary. “Well, enough terrible has been done to me and my people, but not that. Never that. The Doma would have already stolen all the magic for themselves if they could.”
Kerrigan swallowed back her own sorrow at the loss. “The reason I keep making those gestures … is because I was trained to fight with magic. I don’t know how to trick my brain into not doing it.”
Constantine’s gaze was pensive. “I have an idea. How do you feel about skipping afternoon training and watching some of the fights?”
Her eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yeah. There’s something I want you to see.”
“Count me in.”
Constantine ignored her request for a bath and threw water at her to wash off some of the sand. She grumbled at him, but he claimed he wouldn’t do any better for his male gladiators so she needed to stop complaining. She at least changed into a fresh dress. She might be able to wear the pants and loose shirt for training, but the city was still too prudish for that out in public.
He nodded at her as they exited the house and made their way toward the coliseum. The stink that came off the river as the crowds took over the eastern side of Carithian was like nothing she had ever endured. It was as if the mass of unwashed bodies mingled with spilled wine and piss on every corner.
“Tournament manure,” he grumbled.
Constantine kept a tight grip on her arm as he maneuvered them through the crowd. He paid their fees and then entered the coliseum. Her breath caught at the full magnitude of the arena. Thousands of people filled the stands, cheering on the events on the sand. The floor had been divided into various obstacles. At the moment, sword fighting and staff fighting took up the majority of the space. Hand-to-hand combat had a circle drawn with white chalk in one corner, and men grappled within their circle.
Kerrigan was drawn to one sword fight where a woman with the onyx skin of her best friend, Darby, stood more than six feet tall. Taller even than the man she was fighting against. Her sword was more than half her length, and she whaled on the man with ease. Kerrigan had never seen anything like it.
“Wow,” she breathed.
Constantine followed her gaze. “Cendrean,” he explained as if that made sense to her.
She elbowed her way past a pair of drunk men. “What’s that?”
“Another country conquered by the Doma. It resides across the Bearr Sea. Cendrea was the home to great kings and queens that ruled far and wide for a long time. They say that their gods lived among them, influencing the events of the day. If they did, then they didn’t account for the Doma.”
“Of course.” Kerrigan couldn’t take her eyes off of the woman. She was so fierce and strong. “She’s formidable. Why is she in the sword fighting and not the main match?”
He shrugged. “Probably makes decent money in the lower fights for her master.”
Right. The woman didn’t get to make her own choices. She was owned by someone else. Even having spent nearly so long in Domara, she still was not accustomed to the realities of slavery. She hoped she never was.
Constantine finally settled on one match in a far-off corner. There were just as many people shouting and jeering at the competitors. This was a hand-to-hand match, and both men were large and Domaran. There was no clear winner by the time the match ended. The two shook hands and walked off.
“Disappointing,” she muttered.
“We’re not here for them.” Constantine gestured to the next pair who stepped into the ring. “See the smaller of the pair?”
“Yeah.”
Neither man was remarkable. Both were smaller in stature than the other set, but one was significantly shorter. Though she could tell immediately that he was solid muscle. He might look like an easy mark, but by the way money was changing hands excitedly, he was a favorite.
“Watch how he moves.”
Kerrigan settled in. He was fast. Not just fast for a human, but almost superhuman fast. It shouldn’t have been possible to move at those speeds. If she blinked, she missed him moving at all.
The other man tried to keep up with his quick jabs and forceful kicks, but he was outmatched.
“How is he doing that?”
Constantine arched an eyebrow. “Doing what?”
“Moving so fast. Is he using magic? I thought it was forbidden in the tournament.”
“Oh, it is. If you’re caught or if the crowd doesn’t like it.”
She opened and closed her mouth. “You mean, if the crowd likes the use of magic, it’s permissible? Are you saying that I’ll go up against magic?”
“Unlikely.” He leaned forward as the smaller man ended the fight. The crowd cheered in triumph. More money traded hands. “It usually only happens in the lower fights. Like this one.”
“And they let him break the rules?”
“He’s not going to win the whole thing.”
“How do you know?”
Constantine shot her a look. “Because I’ve seen him fight before. I know his weaknesses. He only thinks of his strength. Magic is his strength. His speed is his strength. He’s never had someone slow him down. He’s never had to challenge himself to meet somewhere where they are.”
“Does someone have the magic to slow him down?”
He laughed. “No. Not anything that wouldn’t get the crowd against you. But that’s what I’m telling you. Magic isn’t all powerful. Not in these fights. There are people, like you, who are used to fighting with it. Who use it on instinct. They haven’t fought against anyone who can counterattack it. They don’t have to learn to fight differently.”
“And you think someone can counterattack that?”
Constantine grinned. “Watch.”
They sat through the next three matches. Nothing spectacular happened. She didn’t see anyone else with magic either. Then the fourth match was announced. The man with magic returned, flexing and drawing on the crowd’s energy. Cordon came out behind him. No one paid much mind to him.
She didn’t blame them. He never looked like much, even with the scars across his front and his back. Evander took the seat next to Constantine.
“He’s ready. Didn’t think you’d be here,” Evander said. He tipped his head at Kerrigan.
“We’re still training,” Constantine told him.
The same carousing and jeering happened before this match. Kerrigan watched Evander put a considerable bet on Cordon. The odds were stacked against him, and if he won this one, they’d make out like bandits. Kerrigan appreciated the gall. Cordon was good but …
Kerrigan watched with interest as the match began and the man immediately jumped into his magic tricks. The crowd roared their approval. Even though it was supposed to be a no-magic event, apparently, they drew in a crowd. People were pushing into her on every side. Screams came from men and women alike. And then it all fell apart. Cordon didn’t exactly do anything remarkable. He wasn’t faster than the other man. He didn’t have magic of his own. Yet he mirrored his steps and leaned into his impressive footwork that was just plain better than the other man. It was like watching an artist. He was sculpting with clay, building a foundation, designing the body of his figure, and then firing it hard. At the last moment, he broke through all of his carefully laid traps and demolished the man.
Kerrigan watched with wide eyes. Half the crowd booed. Half the crowd cheered. It was something else.
“I’ll collect the money,” Evander said and then stood to leave.
Constantine jerked his head to the side, and she followed him away from the disruption. “Do you understand?”
“Cordon didn’t have magic, but he still beat his opponent.”
He shook his head. “Cordon does have magic.”
She blinked. “What?”
“He didn’t have to use it to beat the other man. He never had to show his hand. He never had a moment where he faltered in his attack. He used the man’s own arrogance against him. That was all.” He gestured to the sand at their feet. “All you need is exactly what you’re allowed to bring into the ring with you. Just because you had magic doesn’t mean you need it.”
“I’ve had to fight without magic before.”
“Then, you’ve lost the skill,” he admonished. “I’m going to pair you with Cordon in the mornings and afternoons. You’ll fight against me and Evander in the evenings. We’ll use magic, and you won’t.”
Her eyes widened. “You want me to go up against you while you can use magic? I’m not even going to see that in the arena!”
“Are you going to give up?” he demanded. His dark eyes bored into her.
She lifted her chin. “No.”
“Good. The world isn’t fair. We have four days to break your bad habits. I can’t guarantee that you won’t go up against someone with powers. Whether it’s a legal move or not. Everyone wants to win. Everyone will cheat to get there.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you understand me?”
She saw the logic in it even if it was infuriating. “Fine. I’m still going to win.”
Finally, he grinned. “We’ll see.”
23
The Weakness
Kerrigan ducked under Cordon’s blow. But just barely.
There was a reason that he hadn’t wanted to fight her. She was still better than him. With a sword in hand, she would have beaten him, but he kept her on her toes. He moved with a fluidity that she hadn’t seen since the air Fae moving through their steps. If humans were respected in Alandria, Cordon could have gone far.
She wanted to throw air at him and finish their little bout, but that was why she was here. She needed to control her movements and make every moment count. Ignoring her base instinct to pull from magic she no longer had, she made a circuit around Cordon and jabbed him in the kidney. He grunted but dodged her next move. He used whatever his magic was to sidestep her with ease and came with more magic against her defenses. But Kerrigan was already moving away from that thrust, and she bent down, kicking his feet out from under him.
He fell hard onto his back, all the air rushing from his lungs. He coughed as he rolled to his side and waved her off.
“That was better,” he said as he rose to his feet. He shot her an easy smile.
He had a lot of those.
He was perhaps the nicest yet sternest teacher she had ever had. He doled out heaps of compliments anytime she came close to the correct steps. He was so nice that she wondered if he was being honest with her. No one had ever complimented her work like this. She had to be good to survive, but it was another thing to be praised for it.
“Am I really getting better?” she asked, reaching for the water jug. “Or are you just being nice?”
“I’m not nice.”
Kerrigan arched an eyebrow. “You’re basically the nicest teacher I’ve ever had.”
“Well, don’t give me a reputation for it.” He grinned. “Anyway, yes, you are getting a lot better. You still show that weakness for magic use.” She deflated at the words. “But you’re more aware of it. You’ll be able to call upon it when needed.”
“And do you think I’ll beat Constantine today?”
Because she hadn’t.
Not in a single match.
She’d beaten Evander, even with his magic. He was good, but he wasn’t as good as Constantine. And she had to assume she was going to match with someone that good. Why else would he want her to train against him if he didn’t think her competition would be equally as daunting?
She was embarrassed that he kept laying her on her ass. With no gumption about it, by the way. For someone who refused to train women, he didn’t seem to care how rough he was with her when they were training. As if when he put that sword in his hand and used his magic in this way, he went back to the war, and there was no stopping him.
She understood that sentiment. Could feel the Battle of Lethbridge guiding her hand, reminding her that every moment was life-and-death. That the Red Masks were coming. That Bastian had betrayed her. That her magic was gone.
Perhaps it was why Constantine pushed her so hard. Or maybe he just didn’t want to lose his investment.
“We’ll see,” Cordon finally said.
Which meant no. She still wasn’t good enough to take on a king of Andine. Well, she’d better be good enough for her first match because it was tomorrow.
