by D L Sims
The Gods were cruel and merciless.
He reached for another goblet.
“I think you’ve had enough,” Khett said from the seat beside him. The table was empty, the others were on the dance floor, and Grant was standing in the doorway leading out to the garden, looking more agitated then he had at the beginning of the night.
Arlen turned to Khett. There was a woman sitting on his friend’s lap. He frowned at the girl; he didn’t remember seeing her there a moment ago.
“You have to forfeit,” Arlen pleaded.
Khett smirked and laughed, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, they were full of fear. Khett squeezed the girl’s middle, drawing her closer and kissing her cheek. “Do you have faith in me, unlike my friend, here?”
She nodded. “Of course I do, Lord Khett.”
Khett kissed the girl, their sloppy sounds irritating Arlen even more.
“Be serious, Khett.” He gulped down half the goblet before continuing. “You know how skilled Andi is in combat. You will not win.”
Khett frowned and then whispered in the girl’s ear. She nodded and stood, smoothing out the skirt of her maroon dress. Khett fixed his charcoal coat and picked up a goblet, smoothing his hair out in the reflection of the gold. “I have a duty to my father to win this tournament,” he explained, leaning forward on his elbows. “The Pedgrams have been kings more than any other noble family. It is in my blood to rule this kingdom, and I will not give that up without a fight.”
Arlen reared back as if Khett’s words had injured him. He blinked at his friend, the drink making his thoughts foggy and slow. “But…you love her.”
He nodded. “She is the only woman I have ever really loved, and she would think me a coward if I didn’t compete.”
Arlen’s insides twisted in knots. The alcohol sat sour in his stomach, and he feared he was going to be sick. Was he being overdramatic? The fights weren’t to the death--but an image of their Uncle Velros popped in his head. After the 42nd King Trials he was broken so bad he was in a coma for a full year.
“Do you truly think you can bring yourself to fight her?”
Khett was silent for several long moments. “I will have to.” He stood and walked away.
Arlen sat with his sullen thoughts. Another goblet had found its way into his hands, and he saw Andalen dancing with the old baker from Odenmal. He downed the contents of the goblet and pushed through the people, tripping over his own feet and landing sprawled on the dance floor. The music continued, though the dancing around them had stopped.
“Arlen!” Andalen squealed, helping him back onto his feet. “Apologies, Mister Ewin.”
“None needed.” The baker smiled and bowed. “My hip is creaking; these old joints aren’t what they used to be. Thank you, Lady Andalen. For indulging this old man with a dance.” He exited the dance floor.
“Dance with me, Arlen.” Andalen gave him no choice, she placed her hand in his and stepped in time to the music. Once they started spinning in time to the music, the other couples followed suit, some whispering about the scene Arlen had made. Andi’s green dress whipped around them as they spun. “How much have you had to drink?”
He ignored her. “Please, Andi. You must not go to the Trial. I can’t--I can’t bear it if you or Khett are permanently injured. Remember Caldon Monneiare?”
Caldon had died three weeks after his Trials, succumbing to the injuries he had sustained in the Coliseum. Arlen had nightmares of Andalen’s death. He didn’t think he could bear it if she died as a result of the Trials.
She shook her head, her mouth pulling to a frown. “I didn’t come this far to be branded a deserter.”
He stopped dancing, but they kept the pose, looking at each other, each begging for the other to understand. “But it’s okay for me to be branded and kicked out of Elthare because of your wishes and dreams? I gave up everything for you to compete in the tournament, and you can’t give me this?” He felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing his heart. “Please, Andi. Please.”
“I’m sorry, Ari.” She resumed dancing, but her steps were stiff and rigid. “And I already gave Khett up for you.” She paused, and the quartet slipped into another song. “You may think me selfish, but it’s my dream--my duty to be the first woman to complete the Trials.”
“What about your duty to me?”
“I’m sorry, Ari. I wish there was another way.”
Tears gathered in his eyes, and Andalen pulled him into a hug. “I can’t bear it.”
“You will have to,” she whispered, her tone soothing, although her words were not. “We both have to.”
Andalen sat on the marble steps of the castle, watching the carriages whisk the citizens of Elthare back to their homes. The moon hung full in the sky, and the stars shimmered against velvet black, though storm clouds were rolling in from the ocean.
“Did Arlen ask you to forfeit?” Someone said from behind her. Andalen turned her head, finding Khett leaning against a marble pillar. There was lip pigment on his collar, and his coat was unbuttoned, revealing the white tunic underneath. He came forward and settled on the step next to her. “He asked me when we were sitting at the table.”
“When that servant was on your lap. I saw.”
He smiled and tilted his head. “Fresia.”
“You never remember their names,” Andalen sounded astonished.
He leaned over, whispering, “I remember yours. And hers.”
She pushed him away with a laugh. “Yes, he asked me to forfeit.”
“You won’t.”
She smiled. He had always known her so well. “No. I can’t.” She needed to continue the Trials. She had given up so much to be where she stood now.
She leaned into him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They sat like that for several long moments before Khett spoke again. “I really am sorry, Andi, for kissing you that day in the tent. I never wanted to come between you and Nix.”
Andalen had come clean to Nixema about the kiss; her handmaiden hadn’t spoken more than three words to her in nearly a month. “I appreciate that.” It still pained her, the ending of their relationship. She wondered what would have happened had they married as planned before she ended things to preserve her relationship with Arlen. “Nix is still mad at me. She refused to come out of her room tonight.”
“I should make my apologies to her as well.”
“You should.” Andalen pulled back and looked into his oak eyes. “She considers you a friend.”
“I consider her one as well.”
Andalen settled back against him, tucking her chin into his chest, drawing comfort from the presence of her childhood friend and first love. Being in his presence was like coming home after a long journey overseas. It was the same feeling she had when she was wrapped in Nixema’s arms.
“Are you scared?” she asked. “About the Trial.”
He reached a hand out toward the bed of flowers a few feet away, and Andalen watched, mesmerized, as a single daisy was plucked from the bunch by an invisible force and floated to his hand. He smiled at her as he tucked the stem behind her ear and then wrapped an arm around her, but she still felt the chill of the night air.
Khett gave her his signature smirk, but his eyes looked dull. “Terrified.”
Andalen nodded in understanding, she was also rather frightened of their upcoming battle. “How are you...with your father…?” She had never had to talk about death so seriously. She wasn’t sure what to say to Khett regarding the former king.
“Fine.” Khett looked away from her. “Dandy.”
“No, you’re not. You haven’t been the same.”
Khett regarded her with a frown. “I haven’t?”
“No. It’s as if you have given up. You seem…” She searched her mind for the right word, “...apathetic.”
“I’m not apathetic.”
“You can talk to me, Khett.”
Khett looked away from her again, then stood. “I don’t have an an
swer for you, Andi,” he said in a flat, robotic tone. “I’m fine.”
He walked away before she could say anything else.
Chapter
Fourteen
“You will win this,” Khett’s mother said. Her voice held no room for argument.
She sat on the lounge in his room, her black and red skirts falling over her ankles, covering her feet. Her dark hair was done up in an elaborate bun, rouge stained her cheeks, and kohl lined her eyes. If Khett hadn’t seen her crying the night before, he would have believed that the Trials had not phased her. Being the former queen, his mother was used to putting on a brave face.
“You don’t know that, Mother.”
He stood, grabbing a pastry from the tray that had been brought up to his room. It was customary that the Champions spent time with their families in the days leading up to the battle. They were allowed private meals away from the other nobles, and activities had been planned for the families to enjoy together. The day before, he and his mother had ridden horses out to the beach and had a picnic in the sand. They had spent the day visiting his father’s grave, and he had gone to the Temple for service as a favor to his mother.
His mother’s eyes narrowed, holding back tears. “Maybe not, but I have to believe it.”
He sat, tearing the pastry to pieces. He was too nervous to eat, and he feared if he ate anything it would come back up.
The door to his chambers opened, and a maid entered. Her russet-brown hair was loose, flowing down her back in a pin-straight waterfall. She wore a plain silver dress with a black pin holding the fabric in place at her shoulder. Khett sat straighter as Fresia came closer, smelling of fruit and flowers. He had the distinct pleasure of knowing that she tasted like honey between her legs.
“It’s time to get ready, Lord Khett,” she said, bowing at the waist.
“Thank you, Fresia.”
She bowed again and exited the room. Khett stood and turned to his mother. Her lips pursed and tears gathered in her eyes again, spilling down over her cheeks. He went to her, kneeling in front of her. Her hands came up, cupping his face.
“I’ve prayed to the Gods, Khett. They’ll watch over you.”
He no longer believed in the Gods. How could he after They took his father, and he was stripped of his title as prince and forced to leave the castle, the only home he had known for twenty-four years?
They’re testing you, a voice sounding an awful lot like his mother whispered in his mind.
I have no time for tests.
Khett kissed his mother’s cheek and stood to exit the room, finding Fresia standing just outside the door. Dallin stood with her, hands fisted at his side and even he looked close to tears when Khett came into view.
Khett chuckled, clapping his steward on the shoulder. “Go be with my mother. Maybe you two can cheer each other.”
“Are you sure, My Lord?” Dallin’s voice was shaky. “I can accompany you.”
“Please, Dallin, watch over my mother.” Khett cursed the way his voice cracked on the last word. He had tried not to let the fear get to him, but he could not deny he was terrified.
“Yes, My Lord.” Dallin bowed and disappeared into the room.
He turned to find Fresia looking at him, her brown eyes sad, her pretty face drawn.
“Not you too,” he complained, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and cup her cheek. He didn’t know what was so special about the servant, but after that first night he had taken her to bed, he had been unable to think of anyone else. They had spent the last three weeks lost in a small bubble of their own making. Only when she was called away for her duties, did Khett finally get out of bed and join the others for sparring lessons or activities around the Manor.
She cleared her throat. “Come, Lord Khett.”
She turned and led him through the halls of the Manor to the baths. The room was expansive and decorated in gold and onyx. Three large pools were set into the marble floor, filled with water as clear as the blue sky. The air was thick with humidity and the smell of flowers. The only sounds in the room came from the city outside the open balcony doors.
Fresia led him to the bath closest to the balcony that overlooked Rivland; the white marble of the buildings blared in the sunlight. Fresia made quick work of removing his clothes and settling him into the bath. The hot water soothed his disquieted soul, unbinding his tight muscles. Soft hands rubbed his arms and chest, smoothing sudsy goat milk soap over his skin.
“Remove your dress,” he said in a lazy voice. “Join me.”
Fresia giggled. He looked behind him in time to see her unclip the band on her shoulder, and her dress fall away, revealing milky skin. His eyes raked over her appreciatively.
She entered the bath, straddling his hips as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her body more flush to his so they were skin to skin, her breasts soft against his hard chest. Her arms went around his neck as her sad brown eyes searched his.
“I’m scared for you,” she whispered. “I’ve heard tales of the permanent damage sustained at other Trials--”
He placed two fingers under her chin, bringing her attention back to him. “Let’s not speak of this,” he said, and then he kissed her. His free hand cupped her backside, kneading the flesh.
Fresia giggled as Khett pulled her to him, her hands splayed over his naked chest, hair oil still on her fingers. She was dressed now, her cheeks still red from the pleasure he had given her. He stood in the middle of his room, wearing trousers, and nothing else, with his hair dripping down his face and back.
He kissed her again, tangling his hands in her still wet hair. She pulled back with a laugh. “I’m never going to get you dressed if you don’t stop.”
He chuckled. “I would rather just stay here with you.” He released her so she could resume her duties. “Do I get armor? A weapon?”
She nodded, her voice was tiny when she answered, “You’ll be granted these things after you arrive at the Coliseum.”
She finished rubbing the perfumed oil through his hair before reaching for his tunic, an elaborate burgundy and charcoal coat, and then helped him into them. When he was dressed, she paused with a small smile on her face.
“You look so handsome.”
He looked in the mirror hanging next to the fireplace. “Are my looks the only reason you went to bed with me?”
She laughed, the first genuine laugh she had all morning. “Maybe at first, but they’re not the reason I kept returning.”
He turned to her, one of his hands cupping her hip. Fresia was a beauty and a delight to be around. The idea of properly courting her teased his mind. Andalen had moved on, and it was time he did too.
Mother wouldn’t be pleased; she’s a maid. The thought made him smirk.
“I’m cheering for you, Lord Khett,” she said, bringing her lips to his. “Come. The carriage is waiting.”
The Manor was quiet, the other Champions and their families had already been escorted to the King’s Coliseum. He wished he could have spoken to Andalen or Arlen before the Trial, but he would not see them until he was out on the field.
Fresia accompanied him to the carriage where the driver and Dallin were waiting. He climbed in, winking at Fresia as the carriage pulled away.
They rode in silence. Dallin plucked at a string on the carriage seat with worry, and Khett was afraid if he opened his mouth nothing but vomit would come out. When they arrived at the Coliseum, the roar of cheering assaulted Khett’s ears, amplifying his nerves. His hands shook as the door opened, and he exited.
A servant escorted him and Dallin through a small wooden door into the underbelly of the Coliseum. The winding halls smelled damp like mold, but were quiet, the cheers muffled by many layers of stone and dirt. The halls were dim, lit only with a few low burning torches, but clean, and free of the rats he had expected to see.
“Here we are, Lord Khett,” the servant stopped in front of another wooden door. He bowed and scurried off down the corridor.
Khett entered the room to find it full of tables holding weapons of every kind and more armor than he had ever seen in his life. Another servant, a woman with graying hair, stood at the front, polishing the jeweled hilt of a sword.
“Lord Khett,” she said with a smile. “Right on time. My name is Raina. I’ll get you outfitted with armor. During the Trials we allow daggers, clubs, hammers, and bows and arrows. You may choose from any of those.” She gestured to a table holding all the weapons she listed. Their white blades glittered in the light.
Raina fastened his arms and legs with shiny gauntlets, and a shield on his left arm. He did not receive a helmet or a breastplate to guard his heart.
“Pick a weapon,” Raina commanded as she tied up the leather on his side, joining the chest and back plates. “All our weapons are made from Opal Stone and forged by the royal blacksmith,” she said with pride. “The finest weaponry man can find.”
Khett walked around the room, noticing that several spots stood empty; Andalen had already been there and chosen her weapons. He knew she would have picked the bow and arrow, but several daggers were missing as well. He picked up a few daggers, their white blades sparkling in the light, and strapped them to his waist and thigh. He picked up a lightweight spear with a deadly Opal Stone head. Raina assured him he could use it during the Trial as well.
“I’m ready.” His voice shook with fear.
Raina smiled at him. “Good luck, Lord Khett. May the Gods grant you good Fortune.”
Another servant led Khett and Dallin through another door, deeper into the bowels of the Coliseum. They walked down many dimly lit corridors, heading straight for the center of the structure. As they walked, the roar of the crowd became louder and louder. He could hear the Master, his amplified voice shook the stones.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the King Trial Battles!”
“Wait here,” the servant said, pointing to another wooden door. “When Master Roxell calls your name, enter the field.” The servant bowed and then he was gone.
