House of Gods, page 24
32
The Warning
“You’re going to win.”
Kerrigan ignored Danae’s kindness. She’d dressed the part of a servant and agreed to come watch the final match. The weeks had not exactly been kind to her, but the distance helped her begin to move forward.
“Kerrigan?” Danae asked. “Are you going to be okay?”
She didn’t have words for what was about to happen. She hadn’t seen Fordham. She’d refused to train. What could anyone teach her that would give her the advantage she needed against the man she loved?
Constantine had been surprisingly mild about it all. As mild as the giant of a man had been about anything. She’d gone every day to the baths with Danae, ignoring the gossip about her. Her face had healed after a second broken nose. Constantine had even forked over the money for a magic healer to make sure it was done correctly. She had scoffed at the expense, but was also vain enough to know it had been worth it.
“Kerrigan?” she repeated.
“Leave it, Day,” Constantine told his daughter. “She needs to concentrate.”
Sure, concentrate.
On killing her mate? On finding a way not to kill him?
Constantine put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
She fell into step at his side. He’d bought her a new outfit for the spectacle of the event. For the walk to the coliseum, she wore a dark blue cloak with black embroidery, matching Constantine’s house colors. It had a hood, but she refused to pull it up. Her hair and Fae-touched ears were her signature look. She couldn’t hide them from the crowd like she could what she had on underneath.
The walk took twice as long as normal. Spectators lined the streets, throwing flowers in their path and screaming her name. Soldiers stood at attention the entire way. They made her uncomfortable. She’d had too many bad experiences with armed guards to not be wary. Were they here for her protection or to protect others from her?
The crowd at the coliseum was burgeoning into chaos at their approach. People were screaming her name, trying to touch her, and closing in on their cadre. Even a dozen gladiators wasn’t enough to hold back an entire stadium of people.
“Constantine,” she whispered, keeping a tremor from her voice.
“We’ve got this.” He nodded at his men. “Form up.”
Their loose unit turned into a tight circle, blocking her from view. Danae at her back was also under close supervision from the men.
Theo tucked in close to her side. “We’ll get you there, love.”
“I trust you.”
He beamed at that, lifting his chin as he elbowed aside the crowd trying to get to her.
“Make way! Make way!” the gladiators shouted. Their voices ringing clear over the noise of the madness beyond. Their hands rested on their undrawn swords—a clear indication of where things would go if it went south.
The soldiers did draw their swords and began to brandish them at anyone who wouldn’t listen. Which no one did. She had to close her eyes as it quickly turned to pandemonium. As if the guards had been looking for an excuse to start skewering attendees.
“Hurry,” Theo yelled.
Then, they were running. Through the crowd, away from the death that her mere presence had elicited, and toward the coliseum door.
Constantine shouldered his way inside, pulling them the rest of the way through the entrance. It was only marginally better inside. People still screamed and tried to get to Kerrigan, but there were fewer of them, and there weren’t armed guards. Just drunk attendees, eager to see the outcome of the final fight.
“Kerrigan!” a voice called over the others.
Every other person had been yelling Red, her arena name, into the crowd.
“Wait!” she called.
“There’s no waiting, love,” Theo said, edging her forward.
“Kerrigan, wait!”
Kerrigan turned around, walking backward and hoping Theo would guide her, which he did. “Cleora?”
“I’m here!” the woman yelled. She held up her hand, swamped in the masses. “You can’t go out there. We need to talk!”
“What? I have to fight!”
Theo grabbed her arm. “They’re mobbing back there. We’re going to get caught in it. Come on.”
“Cleo?”
Cleora looked exasperated as she was pulled farther and farther into the crush of the crowd. Her blonde hair came down out of its careful braid and brushed against her clearly irritated face. “I can’t get to you!”
No. There was a chasm a mile wide between them full with people who would kill Kerrigan just because they were so invested in her. It made little sense to her, and yet it was reality. Cleora had something important to tell her, and there was no way for them to be alone.
“She’s here!” Cleora yelled as they were pulled farther apart.
“What?” Kerrigan asked in confusion.
“She’s here!”
Then, they were too far away that Kerrigan couldn’t even see her white-blonde hair. She was here. Was that what she’d said? It had been hard to tell over the screaming.
Theo yanked her back around, and then there was no more room to consider it. She jogged to keep up with the other gladiators until they were safely several floors below the audience. And still, it sounded as if the crowd were in the room with them. The walls shook with the enthusiasm and stomping of feet. Everything felt as if it might come down around them. She could barely hear herself think.
“It’s time,” Constantine told her. “We’ll be up above.”
Her hand went to the cloak.
But Constantine stopped her. “Not until you’re out there. You know how to make an appearance.”
“Thank you.”
Danae was there then, throwing herself into Kerrigan’s arms. “Don’t die, please. I would miss you too much.”
“There’s only one other option.”
“I know,” Danae said. She slunk back toward her father. “You’ll figure it out.”
And it brought it all right back.
Fordham was on the other side of this door. Their fight was finally here. Weeks into the tournament, and now, she’d have to face him. As she had known she would from the start. There was no advantage in this fight. And she had no idea what direction it would go. Only that she felt sick at the prospect.
Constantine and Danae backed up as the gate clinked upward. She stepped into the arena with the name Red on everyone’s tongues. The sun was just lowering on the horizon. A bloody sunset for their final bloody bout.
Fordham wasn’t in the arena yet. So, she’d been announced first. Good. She strode up to the center of the pitch and let everyone soak in the Andine colors of her cloak. The statement that she was making by wearing it. The statement she would make once she drew it aside. A tether of discomfort ran through the drunk crowd. They knew the consequences of rebellion better than anyone. They’d all been beaten down by it. Yet all she had was this moment of glory. She had to use it for what it was.
Kerrigan turned then to face Vulsan, and the world crashed down around her.
Ringing filled her ears.
Her hand stilled on the top of her cloak as it fluttered in the gentle breeze.
Everything screeched to a colossal halt.
What Cleora had said in the midst of that mayhem finally made sense. Clicked into place in her brain in a way that she couldn’t understand when she had been shoved through a crowd.
She’s here.
And she was here.
Her mother was in attendance today.
33
The Final Fight
Keres Andromadix sat on the throne beside her husband. Her red hair was a flame around her face. Soft freckles dotted her skin. The palest white and gold-trimmed toga draped across her figure in the most flattering of fashions.
She looked like a goddess.
She looked like Kerrigan.
Though she couldn’t make out the color of her mother’s eyes, the shape of her mouth, or the lift of her nose, Kerrigan saw a mirror image of herself. It had to be obvious to everyone else. Vulsan must see it. Did the crowd? Did the senators? Did the world?
It wasn’t a question that she could answer. Not with what was coming in this fight.
But for eighteen long years, she had believed her mother was dead. And now, she was staring up into her face. A vision if she had ever seen one. The reason she was here and the answer to all of her problems. Even though Keres was right in front of her, she was as distant as she had ever been. It wasn’t as if Kerrigan was stupid enough to declare herself the daughter of Keres Andromadix. Not with the portents that Cleora had issued at the mere mention that she could be a Doma. It had been a joke from the start, set up by Constantine, but now, with Keres in front of her, it was a reality.
Every racing thought in her head wanted her to do it. To step forward and finally meet her mom the way she’d always dreamed of when she was young. Ever since her father had confided that she still lived, Kerrigan had wondered and hoped for this to happen. But instead of it being a touching moment, she was across an arena from the woman, set to fight a gladiatorial match to the death.
Well, there was nothing she could do. Might as well put on the show she had planned.
Kerrigan’s hand moved to the catch at her collar for the sweeping blue cloak that represented her master’s allegiance to Andine. Then, she put on her classic smirk and ripped the fabric aside, tossing the cloak into the sand at her feet.
Gasps came from the assembled crowd. Vulsan leaned forward in his chair. Even from here, she could see the displeasure on his face at her solid white fighting attire. Pants, a fitted shirt, and vest. Even her new boots were the palest, softest white leather. She had no idea what they were made from, but they fit like a glove. There was no ornamentation at all on any of it. Not the gold of Doma. Not the blue of Andine. Just pure white that would show every drop of blood in the arena.
Her allegiance to no one, save herself. No Doma. No Andine. No other country. Just herself.
She swept both Vulsan and Keres a mocking curtsy, as she had done in each of her fights. The crowd roared with laughter at her audacity. Even the announcer was silent at her insolence.
Then the moment broke, and Fordham Ollivier, the touted Fae king of Alfheim, stepped onto the sand. In contrast to her all-white attire, he was in his signature black. The black of the House of Shadows. Like her, the gear was all new. A black leather spectacle made from interlocking dragon scales across the chest, like armor.
Her heart lurched. Dragons weren’t treated here the way they were back home. In Domara, people believed dragons were nothing but wild beasts. They couldn’t be tamed. They could only be controlled to the best of their abilities. Crux bonds were used to hold them to service and keep them far from the general populace. They were used on battlefields to defeat their foes and not for their intelligence. She couldn’t imagine what must have happened to a pitch-black dragon to take its scales for this fight.
The noise was earsplitting at Fordham’s entrance. Despite the favor she’d garnered, he was the clear favorite. She hardly blamed anyone for believing that he would beat her. They didn’t know how much of her training he’d engineered himself, but it had been clear from his matches that he didn’t need any tricks or tips to defeat his opponents.
This was really happening. She couldn’t run from this any longer. She had known the day that Fordham strode into the arena that, eventually, they would face each other. Others might have doubted it, but she never had.
Fordham’s eyes locked on hers as they met each other at the center of the coliseum. The sand was fire under her boots. The sun beat down on her fair skin. The noise was at a new decibel. She had to block it out to stay present. Because fighting Fordham had never been easy, and today would be no different.
“Hello, princeling,” she teased. Only hours earlier, she had been empty inside at the prospect of what was to come. The horrible outcome that could follow. The only way to cope was to make light of it. “Are you ready?”
“My queen.” He bowed low. Low enough to show more than respect. Deference.
Her cheeks heated at the gesture. “Charmer.”
“Or simply the truth.” His sword slid free from its sheath. “At the end of this, you will have my title, my lands, and my people. What’s mine is yours.”
“I don’t think it works that way.”
“Oh, but it does.”
“We’d have to be married for that to happen.”
“Are you proposing?” he teased, a quirk of his lips making her heart beat faster.
She slipped into her careful footwork. “Not exactly my choice of venues for such an occasion.”
“No? Where would you prefer?” Fordham mirrored her steps with approval.
“Probably not a fight to the death.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He lifted his sword and nodded once. “Ravendin’s twelve paces?”
“The Great War hero.”
“Chutrick’s art-of-war formations next?” Fordham asked.
Their blades clanged against each other as precise as a practice session. Chutrick’s method was deadly, even at practice, but neither missed a step.
“Kristoffer next?” she suggested.
She moved into a swift lunge, aiming for his exposed side. He grinned and countered with the first Kristoffer parry move. She’d seen it done hundreds of times back home. Thrust, parry, lunge, deflect. The best thing about all of these moves was that they were versatile. A person could flow through them in any order once they were mastered.
So, Kerrigan kicked out of the measured steps they’d walked into and cut between sword masters. Fordham just smiled as she came at him. He took one step backward and then another. The crowd cheered as she bullied him out of the center of the sand.
“You … are … letting me advance,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Or you’re just this good.”
“You’re not even … sweating.” She used another master’s footwork to maneuver him a few steps backward.
“You are much better than when we first started.” Fordham deflected her casually. Enough that her irritation began to show through. She was advancing, but he was making it look like child’s play.
“I’d sure hope so. I’d barely held a sword before that. I was only fighting with my magic.”
“Imagine the fight if we had our magic.”
She scoffed. “I took out Wynter with her shadows still intact.”
“Ah, but you had the ring then,” he reminded her.
The ring. She shuddered at the loss of that ring. The famed Ring of Endings, which was purported to vanquish all of its enemies. She’d thought it was a ring that made her immune to magic. A ring that the first Fae queen, Titania, had told her had healing properties. It hadn’t saved her when she needed it. Bastian had it in his possession now.
“I had my magic then too.”
His gaze softened momentarily, and he let his guard down. She took the opportunity to slice against his forearm. He took it with his calculated stoicism but pulled his guard back up.
The crowd cheered its approval, but she knew it for what it was. “Stop holding back.”
She was tired of waiting for him to fight her. He clearly believed he would win if he didn’t give her an advantage. Well, time to show him otherwise.
The first step into the Andine style caught him off guard. This time actually off guard. She watched the confusion settle onto his face as she slid almost sideways through the steps, coming around to jab him in the side and sweep his feet out from under him.
There was a thunderous boo from the stands as their hero landed heavily in the sand. She rushed forward then, brandishing her sword toward his unprotected chest, but he brought his feet up to kip to standing, his sword still in hand. He met Kerrigan’s with his own. The metallic clang rattled down her arm, and he forced her to regroup. She could see then the anger in his expression. The beast that she had unleashed by humiliating him in that way. He wanted her to win, but he didn’t want to lose. Oh, what a conundrum.
Fordham came after her then. All the ground she’d gained was quickly lost to his long strides and powerful swings. She tried the Andine style several more times for an advantage, but it was close enough to what they’d learned that it didn’t have the same impact as the first time when he hadn’t been expecting it. Now, they fought viciously, putting on the show the crowd demanded.
Minutes ticked by. Sweat dripped into her eyes. Her muscles fatigued. They couldn’t keep this up forever.
“You’re going to have to make your move now,” Fordham said.
“We can’t do this.” Her voice had panic in it now. Because the fact remained that there was only one outcome for the end of this. An outcome she couldn’t go through with.
Still … she had to make it look real.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His brows rose in question. Then, she was sliding through the heated sand, as she had done a hundred times in the Dragon Ring. Fordham went to block her, but he was a second too late. She had a fistful of sand and tossed it up into his eyes. In the past, she would have used her air magic to swirl him in a vortex away from her. But now, she only had her wits and her tricks.
Fordham was disoriented for barely a breath, but it was all she needed. She launched herself forward, plowing into his solar plexus. The wind knocked out of his chest in a heavy whoosh as she threw him to the ground. His sword fell out of his hand, only a few inches away but it might as well have been a mile from where he lay. Kerrigan used her own blade to launch it even farther from him. But that extra second was enough for him to wrap her up and throw her sideways. They rolled together in the super-heated sand. The increased temperatures burning her bare skin. She gritted her teeth as she reached for an advantage. Her sword was still in her hand, but he’d grasped her arm to stop her from doing anything with it. Sand got in her mouth, and she spat it out in his face. He just laughed as he got her underneath him.
