by E G Stone
“You’re too pretty to ruin in the arena.”
Was Ravenna supposed to answer? Was that part of human fighting? Tekko had not ever said anything to her beyond mentioning the things she needed to fix. Radim had been more interested in actually beating her than talking. Ravenna kept silent and watched the warrior advance.
“Or is it that you don’t want to draw blood?” This came with a snort and another swing of the mace. Ravenna waited. “A pretty little bird like you, too innocent to hurt someone? Is that it?”
The warrior came close enough to do some damage with the mace. It swung through the air, aiming for the space where Ravenna stood. Ravenna lunged to the side, folding her right wing in front of her and spreading it open, knocking the female off balance and shattering the grip on her weapon. The mace clattered to the ground.
The crowd of humans let out an audible gasp and cheered. Ravenna drew her brows together, trying to ignore the sound. It was just so distracting. In the moments that Ravenna had tried to gather her concentration, the warrior had picked up her mace and was charging forwards. She swung the weapon too fast for Ravenna to see. Ravenna winced and jumped away as the spiked head ran through the feathers on her left wing.
One of the primaries bent out of shape, sending a slight twinge of pain through Ravenna. But that was hardly important. What was important was that this warrior had come too close to injuring Ravenna’s wing beyond repair. In that moment, she understood that her wings were not just weapons and tools. They were vulnerable. All her years running through the forests and practicing her falling, Ravenna had not even considered that her wings would be anything but powerful. They had never been anything more than bruised before. And Kratos was well-versed in healing wing injuries the sylphs acquired. But here? amongst these blood-mongering vicious beings? Her wings could be torn to shreds.
Ravenna had been stupid in allowing this female to get that close. All the desperation she had felt the night before, all the pain and agony at the mockery that was her life, that all faded and was replaced by something Ravenna had only tasted in small doses. Anger. Not the terrified hatred that she felt when thinking about humans like Jazer and the slavers that had taken her from Shinalea. Not the heady feeling of power when she fought back against Radim and Tekko. No, this was vein-burning, wing-flaring, fire-making anger.
Ravenna let out a snarl and pushed her wings downward in a motion known as Falcon Goes to Dive. The dusty air in the bottom of the arena surged around her, filling the space where she had been. Ravenna got close enough to see the ring of light brown around the female’s pupils before she began striking.
Her sword lay forgotten in the sand behind her. The warrior dropped her mace to defend against Ravenna’s hands, legs, and wings. Ravenna fought with every ounce of fire burning through her. She was furious that this woman had gotten close enough to do damage. She was furious that she had even been put in this position. She wanted to curl her fingers into a fist and pound something. So she did.
The woman did not suffer long from shock. She might not have had her mace any longer, but as Tekko had said, she was part of a breed of slave that had been trained enough to be deadly. She blocked some of Ravenna’s strikes and hit back with her own. One fist to Ravenna’s stomach pushed her back enough, allowing the female time to reach for her mace. Ravenna sucked in a desperate breath and surged forwards once more, not letting the female pick up the weapon.
It went like that for what felt like an eternity. Ravenna would punch the female across the jaw and then receive a strike to the centre of her chest. She would fall back only to lunge forwards again or buffet the warrior with her wings. They moved farther and farther away from the forgotten weapons and closer and closer to the walls of the arena. The female’s mouth was set in a permanent snarl.
She caught Ravenna across the cheek with a powerful blow, snapping Ravenna’s head back. This time, when Ravenna stumbled back, she stayed back for a few moments. Her carefully controlled breathing that Dalketh demanded was long forgotten in favour of sucking in desperate mouthfuls of air. To her satisfaction, though, her opponent was doing the same.
The massive female snarled at Ravenna and cast her eyes about for her weapon. “So you’re not completely worthless, then,” she taunted, trying to get around Ravenna and find something useful to fight with. Even Ravenna could see that this fight was not going to be won by hands alone. Ravenna was smaller, but she was faster, and she was not weak. This female was bigger, but her muscle was not nearly as impressive as Tekko. And she did not have the fury that Ravenna had. “Which begs the question, then, Angel. Why are you here fighting in the dirt with scum like us?”
It was the same question that Radim had asked but without the air of concern behind it. This was a taunt, so much like the ones that Ravenna had endured her entire life. Why are you walking, flightless worm? Why do you run up to the Aerial City? Why don’t you just use your wings? Pale. Flightless. Worthless. A burden.
Now it was slave. Angel. Some sort of divine being that was kept around to gawk at or to take pride in owning.
Ravenna had borne enough.
Her icy-blue eyes sharpened, and her guarded expression cracked. Her brows lowered, her lip curled, and she glared at the female with venom. The warrior faltered, taking a step back towards the arena wall.
Ravenna flared her wings as wide as they would go, took a step, and leapt into the air. She would not be able to fly, but the downstroke of her wings had her surging upward, towards the wall of the arena. She twisted midair, one wing parallel to the wall, the other to the ground. Her feet slammed onto the rock, and then she was turning, falling through the air. Only, Ravenna had fallen before and knew exactly what she was doing.
Her feet slammed into the stunned female’s chest with enough force to drive her backward and into the ground. The warrior let out a gasp and fell to the dust and rock. Her head slammed once, bounced, and lay still against the ground. Ravenna did not wait for her opponent to recover. She put her boot on the female’s throat and hissed into the dazed eyes that looked back at her.
“I fight for me,” Ravenna said.
The female blinked acknowledgement and lay her head back on the ground. Defeated.
“ANGEL! ANGEL! ANGEL!” The cry sounded over and over again, startling Ravenna out of her anger. She pulled her wings in tight and twisted, turning to look at the humans staring down at her with eager, desperate expressions, yelling at the top of their lungs. The sound was suddenly deafening. Ravenna tried to hold on to the feeling of power and self-assurance that the fight had brought her, but it was slipping away to something else: nerves and a touch of bile in her throat.
No, she thought. Enough was enough. She had not done anything wrong. She had not killed her opponent. She had not done something shameful. She had used her wings and her own power to bring down an opponent who was facing her in a fair fight. They hadn’t had any choice in the matter, either. Ravenna was not going to be ashamed of something she could not control. She could not control her black feathers or hair. She could not control her skin colour or the ice of her eyes. She could not control her inability to fly. She could control how she behaved. How she fought. And she had fought well.
Ravenna turned to Jazer’s balcony, an unfamiliar dignitary beside her. Ravenna twisted her face into a mask of anger and disgust. She flared her wings wide, heard the cheering of the crowd, and pointed at Jazer. Ravenna fought for herself, not Jazer. Not for a human parasite who sucked the life out of everyone around her for her own benefit. Ravenna would not let Jazer or any other human or sylph drain her ever again. She pointed that finger at Jazer in a promise.
And she did not miss the way Jazer’s grin faded as she did so, either.
Chapter Nine
“You think I would just give up my greatest prize?” Jazer sneered. She lay back on that ridiculous low couch, forcing Davorin to glower down at her or sit on the floor. He chose to stand. “I paid quite a princely sum to acquire her, after all.
And I spent more getting her up to fighting weight and taking my greatest warriors away from the arena to help train her for three weeks.”
“I will pay more,” Davorin snapped. He was going to have that Angel. He did not much care how it came about. Jazer did not quite realise that, yet. If she had, she would be cowering on that couch, not preening like a cat.
“She is my greatest asset! Do you know how many people will come to see the Angel fight? Or priests from a hundred religions on pilgrimages to see this ‘divine being’ and gain her blessing? She is something that hasn’t been seen in these lands for a hundred generations and you just want me to give her up?”
Davorin let out a slow breath through his nose. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, wondering how bad it would be if he just drew it and killed Jazer right then. Given the number of loyal people she had surrounding her, he imagined it would be quite bad. Or someone would have killed the old bat years ago. “I will give you seven hundred weight of gold for her,” Davorin said at last.
He saw the gleam in Jazer’s eyes, the touch of greed that would be her undoing. But Jazer’s greed had gotten her this far, so she was obviously smart, too. Well, he would just have to override her greed and outsmart her.
“You think I would take such a small sum for something so valuable? I made nearly two hundred weight on her just today, and it was only the first day of the tournament!”
Davorin let out a rumbling growl and glared openly at the Slave Master. “Nine hundred weight.”
Jazer tilted her head back and twisted the rings on her fingers so they caught the light. Coupled with the bubbling of the spring, it was probably supposed to make some kind of statement about opulence or power or whatever. Mostly, it just made Davorin’s blood boil.
“I’ll think about it,” Jazer said with a dramatic sigh. She sat up and faced Davorin, holding her bejewelled hands in her lap like some sort of prim child. He curled his lip. “Why don’t you go and enjoy yourself in the pleasure hall? I’m sure I’ll have an answer for you by the time the sun sets.”
He wanted to stab her with his sword and have done. No one dismissed a Prince of the Salusian Empire so callously! Especially not that he was now Firstborn Son, after Dagan’s death. The thought of his father’s anger threw cold water over Davorin’s own anger. He needed to think of the bigger picture here, not just one upstart woman in the desert who thought she had power. With all his courtly charms, Davorin inclined slightly at the waist. “Then I’ll return at sunset.”
He turned and strode out of the hardened mud building, grimacing at the light as it pierced his eyes. The town buzzed with conversations about the day’s tournament, most of those conversations centring on the Angel. How she had seemed so small against the challenger but had prevailed anyway. How she had abandoned her sword for a more personal defeat. Where Jazer could have possibly found an Angel to fight for her. The awe at such an acquisition. The wonder at her existence. Even a few prayers to her for mercy or hope or love.
Davorin snarled and turned away from the people, stalking towards the pleasure hall Jazer had mentioned. If nothing else, it would be good to drink something other than spring water. Davorin did not acknowledge the fact that the words spoken were exactly the thoughts that had run through his mind. He would have the Angel, no matter the cost. She would be essential to his plans. Already he had started ruminating on how to use her best to his advantage. He didn’t care about anything beyond that.
“Wine,” Davorin demanded at the carved stone bar. The pleasure hall was sunken into the ground to take advantage of the coolness the earth provided. The dark, almost cavernous space was lit by tiny flames on tapered candles, making it difficult to see anything clearly. It was a place that fairly reeked of debauchery. It reminded Davorin of his brother’s war tent.
The barkeep handed Davorin a flagon of sour wine and he drank it eagerly, not even wincing at the acrid taste. He placed another coin down and gestured to his empty flagon. “Another.”
The barkeep didn’t bat an eye, just filled the flagon and moved along to the next customer. Davorin nursed the second drink, not wanting to lose his senses entirely. He had to think clearly, and while he had craved the relaxation that the alcohol brought, his planning was more important.
At least until, “Well, well, who would have ever thought the new Firstborn Son would be slumming it all the way out here in No Man’s Land?”
Davorin turned to the slightly familiar voice. He frowned when he spotted the stocky, sharp woman standing before him, her hair cropped close and her eyes betraying a sort of cunning that he had seen in his own eyes. Twin scars adorned her cheeks. Davorin blinked, then remembered. “Captain Nadezhda. The Ruthless Plague that led my brother’s armies at his side. I thought you dead.”
Nadezhda showed her teeth like a desert wolf. “I wasn’t stupid enough to get caught up in the chaos that Dagan’s death brought.”
Davorin inclined his flagon of wine in her direction, a salute. Not many of Dagan’s close advisors had been as smart. And as a result of their leader’s murder—still believed to have perpetrated by the naked woman with her throat slit who was found alongside him in his bed—they had been executed. It had not been a slow death, either.
Nadezhda did not wait to ask for Davorin’s permission; she sat on the stool next to him and was immediately poured a tankard of some thick ale. “Frankly, I’m surprised you even remembered my name. Dagan wasn’t keen on sharing.”
“Dagan wasn’t keen on many things,” Davorin retorted. He took a slow sip of the wine. “But I made it a point to keep apprised of all my brother’s doings. How else was I supposed to smooth his doings over with the nobles of my father’s court?”
The Captain snorted a laugh. “No wonder we were able to get away with being gone so much. Dagan was convinced that his conquering for the Empire was the reason. Who wouldn’t want a conquering leader, ready to dive into battle at the slightest provocation? It showed power, he said.”
She was trying to goad him, Davorin knew. He was no idiot. This was the woman who had served at Dagan’s side for nearly ten years. She was as ruthless as his dead brother and no fool, either, to have survived this long. “I recall that you weren’t particularly upset with the actions Dagan took.”
Nadezhda awarded Davorin with a genuine smile, tilting her head in his direction. The dim light of the pleasure hall flashed on the scars marring her cheeks. “You never were as useless as Dagan made you out to be.”
“Not everyone thinks as much,” Davorin admitted before he could stop the words from spilling out. He frowned down at the wine, wondering just how potent the drink had to be to get him to admit that to someone who had, for all intents and purposes, rivalled him for so long. He covered his slip with the dashing grin that had gotten him so far in court. “Why else would I be out here, enjoying the things that this desert oasis has to offer?”
The woman next to him set her mouth in a thin line, her eyes probing. She did not say anything for a bit, instead taking a long, desperate drink of her ale. After she swallowed and licked the foam from her lips, she turned to Davorin, her eyes pained. “Do you know what it’s like to be an exile from the Empire? Except I’m not even truly exiled, I’m just presumed dead. And if I ever show my face back there again, I’ll be killed.”
“Slowly,” Davorin agreed with a nod.
Nadezhda snarled, “My entire life was the Empire. Without that, I have nothing! No money, no home, no reputation. Some reward for loyalty.”
“So, what, you’re just going to sit here and complain to me?” Davorin asked with a bite in his tone. “After Dagan died, I asked to be given control of his armies and the resources of the Empire. I invoked the ancient words.”
“Obviously, that went well,” Nadezhda sneered.
Davorin resisted the impulse to throw his wine in her face. She understood his plight; there was no need to be rude. Even if the woman did drive him completely crazy.
“My father told
me to go back to my estates and live my life. I have money. I have the title. But am I good enough to be the Firstborn Son? Apparently not.” Davorin slammed his flagon down on the stone bar, enough to draw the wary glance of the barkeep. Davorin put a coin out in apology and the wine was mopped up without comment. He took a deep breath, glancing around to check that no one was listening and to gather his senses. He had done well thus far without calling attention to his title, but the anger coiled in his chest could easily ruin that. Shouting about the Empire in this unclaimed land was a dangerous prospect. You did not know whether the people would hate you or bow at your name. If he had to pull rank with Jazer and her cronies, he would. But not until the time was right.
“All I want is to get back into the Empire,” Nadezhda admitted, her tone too contrite and sad for Davorin’s tastes. This woman was ruthless, not sad. It didn’t fit her at all. “I want my life back.”
“And I want to win back the Empire and restore it to the glory of its golden days,” Davorin said. “I’m doing something about my ambitions. What are you doing?”
“Slavers were the only ones who would take me on without any questions. Even the brothels turned me away,” Nadezhda grinned. Davorin allowed himself a chuckle at the weak joke. The former Captain turned her attention to the bottom of her drink. “I caught me an Angel, you know. Best thing to happen to me, and I threw it away to that idiot Jazer for some money. Not even hardly enough to buy my way back in. Maybe I’ll get work as a merc or guard or something.”
“You would give up your rank just to get back into the Empire?” Davorin was surprised. She had not struck him as the sort to be willing to give up anything to do with power. She had climbed the ranks eagerly, perhaps too eagerly. After all, Dagan had trusted her for a reason.
Nadezhda shrugged. “Time was I thought leading the armies at Dagan’s side was the only thing I would ever want. Then, I lost everything. I’d settle for going back home.”
