by Jen Colly
“We don’t,” Soren said evenly.
“He’s a Guardian,” Captain Savard said, not sounding any more pleased than Soren. “We needed to increase our numbers, and that didn’t necessarily leave us with the best choices.”
Navarre didn’t care for the idea of taking on men they wouldn’t under normal circumstances deem as qualified to hold the position of Guardian. His concern was somewhat lessened by the fact that Tarmon had been partnered with Steffen.
The pair stopped before Navarre. Steffen bowed respectfully and said, “My lord. To see you standing here… I don’t have the words to express my relief.”
“I assure you, my friend, the feeling is mutual,” Navarre said, and for a brief moment Steffen seemed surprised, but then graciously accepted the compliment with nod.
Not to be outdone, Tarmon stepped forward, reached out, offered his hand. Navarre took a breath, prayed for patience, and met him halfway. His hand locked over Tarmon’s wrist. Before Navarre could release him, Tarmon gave him a friendly double smack on the shoulder. Unprofessional.
“Just making sure you’re really alive,” Tarmon quipped, a cheesy smile on his face while he waited for everyone else to get the joke. It didn’t happen.
“Enough,” Captain Savard snapped, and Tarmon fell back beside Steffen.
“Where is everyone?” Navarre asked.
“We cut off this corridor and redirected everyone to the south entrance,” Steffen reported.
Captain Savard took the explanation a step farther. “I don’t want anyone to have direct access to your private box. As of yet we don’t know what normal is like with you awake, and I’m not taking any chances with this many people in one spot. Steffen and Tarmon will be posted at the door.”
“Very good.” Navarre nodded, then said, “Captain, I’m ready.”
Soren led the way, entering the narrow doorway ahead of him. Navarre followed, and Captain Savard murmured one last set of instructions to the Guardians before shutting the door and heading upstairs.
The narrow stairwell ended on a sharp turn, opening into the lord’s private box. Royal blue curtains were draped along the three walls, making the box a visual focal point from anywhere in the arena.
Ivan and Vidor sat in the back row, a healthy distance separating the two men. Soren had already joined Faith. She smiled up at him, holding his hand tightly. The pair had matching mating marks, sweeping double black lines that swept down the sides of their neck like ribbons. The couple seemed, at least to Navarre’s eyes, to be very much in love. They represented a new beginning. This was what his people needed, what he needed.
Navarre went to his seat in the center of the box, the ledge overlooking the arena just one good step away. The arena wasn’t completely full, but it was loud. He stared across the arena sands at his people, hearing nothing over the roaring noise of their chattering voices.
A heavy hand landed on Navarre’s shoulder, gave him a reassuring squeeze. Soren said, “You were missed, my lord.”
Navarre turned around to speak with Soren, but Faith intercepted him. She leaned forward from the raised seat behind and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze.
“Welcome back,” Faith said softly, and when she pulled back, her watery eyes and bright smile gave away her joy.
Captain Savard came to his side. “I think it’s time to remind your people that this city is still yours.”
“Agreed,” Navarre said, turning to the arena. He stepped to the ledge and leaned against the waist-high stone wall.
Someone spotted him, but the people were so loud that the news of his arrival spread slowly, from one section to the next. The ripple effect that followed was strange. Some just watched, curious. Others cheered and waved with such elation that Navarre felt the need to wave back.
“Here we go,” Savard said, catching some signal that Navarre had missed. Though Savard stood at his side, steadfast as always, he could sense his captain’s unease. Savard hated the arena.
The people of Balinese continued to cheer, the noise reverberating off the domed ceiling, its stained glass design resembling the sun. A wall encircled the arena’s sand floor, tall and imposing. Once inside there was no escape. If you were not a Guardian standing inside those walls, then death was imminent. This place was built to intimidate.
An arena door opened and two Guardians brought out the demon. A different mood swiftly took the crowd. Rejoicing turned to shouting boos and jeers at the demon.
Titus gripped one of the demon’s wrists, its arm cranked behind its back. Navarre remembered the Guardian, recognizing him instantly by his cocky walk and wildly spiked hair. Titus had a tendency to run his mouth, and to an extent Soren allowed it, though Navarre had never understood why. It had crossed his mind that perhaps Soren, for once, had a favorite student.
Graydon held the demon’s other arm in the same way. Though the Guardian looked different from when Navarre had last seen him, his hair shaved close, Graydon was still a powerhouse. With his thick broad shoulders, squared jaw, and permanent scowl, he looked downright lethal.
“New arena Guardians?” Navarre asked.
Savard stood at his side, yet kept a fair distance from the ledge. “After the attack, no one wanted the job. Most had never seen a demon until that night. To meet the stuff of your childhood nightmares face-to-face was hard to cope with, and most simply never wanted to see the creatures again. Others were superstitious, afraid that by killing demons, they could bring something far worse down on the city.”
“How did you convince them?”
Savard nodded toward the sand. “These two asked for the position.”
“Graydon has always been formidable. A perfect fit for the arena.” The Guardians brought the demon to the center of the arena, Titus wearing a smug half smile. “But Titus?”
“The first time Titus was in the arena the people nicknamed him the Brute. The condemned man made a run for the door and Titus laid him out. Hard. We had to wait until the man regained consciousness to continue.” Savard pointed to the demon. The creature looked as if it hadn’t even been weakened. “Less than a full day and it’s practically healed.”
Navarre looked to the witness stand where the children sat together. Oriana sat in Rollin’s rather large shadow, seeming perfectly content. Sandwiched snuggly between Dulcina and Jovan, Maeryn appeared frightened, her gaze never landing on the sands.
Cat was absent. Was this something she felt they needed to deal with on their own? A form of closure? “Will the children be all right down there alone?”
“They’re fine, but they’ll be better once this is over.” Savard patted his back and left him standing there alone.
Navarre raised his hands, arms wide, and waited. It took time for his people to calm, and that was understandable.
“I beg your silence for a moment. We are here for the trial of a most serious crime,” Navarre began, his resonating voice carrying through the stadium even as the crowd quieted. “Two demons are accused of entering the living quarters of these five youths and attempting to harm them. One demon is dead by a Guardian’s hand. The other awaits judgment here before you. Rollin, speak for all. Is this the demon that intended to do you and the others harm?”
Rollin stood, his answer clear. “Yes, my lord.”
Navarre called across the sand. “Demon, have you anything to say for your actions?”
The demon tipped its head back, looking directly up at him. “Oh, I’m not done yet.”
“You have not denied these accusations, and in Balinese, attempted murder is punishable by death.” Navarre no longer looked at the demon. Now he spoke to his people, his voice resonating off the arena walls. “I am Lord Navarre Casteel, and this is my city. Live by my laws or die. The demon is hereby sentenced to death. High Justice, carry out my decree.”
Cheers rose again as Navarre took his seat beside Savard and settled in to watch the execution.
“Yes, well,” Vidor said, pausing to take a sip of wine. “If they didn’t know you’d woke before, they certainly do now. Impressive showmanship.”
“As long as its death is equally impressive, then I’ve made my point,” Navarre said over his shoulder. He turned then to Savard. “And who have you chosen for my high justice? Caradoc perhaps?”
Captain Savard didn’t answer, but the crafty smile on his face meant Navarre would be in for one hell of a surprise.
High justice was not a sought-after position, though one greatly respected. The men who flourished in the job were a different breed entirely. They believed firmly in what they did, and the laws they upheld. Even so, they had the uncanny ability to shut down all emotions once inside the arena, and to kill.
Cat stepped from the Justice’s door, her panther at her side, guarding her like a sentinel. Navarre stood, helpless to do anything but watch her stride purposefully toward the demon, her steps sure and stable in the uneven sand.
“I don’t want her near that thing,” Navarre said, not caring who heard him.
“She’s doing it again,” Vidor complained, pointing at Cat. “It’s bad enough the woman wears pants and those corsets with nothing over them, but red? Blood red? Inappropriate. Navarre, you must do something about this.”
“Perhaps you’d like to jump into the arena and kill the demon for us. No? Then leave it,” Savard said to Vidor, then stood. “Please sit, and trust me, my lord. Your demon will be killed. She’s high justice for good reason.”
Navarre reluctantly sat. Savard’s unconcerned observation of the happenings below helped, but still Navarre sat on the edge of his seat.
Steadily, Cat began to stalk toward the demon, the panther on her heels. Titus and Graydon shoved the demon down until its knees dropped to the sand. When Cat neared the demon, she snapped her fingers and pointed to her right. Barro obeyed, separating from her side and heading in the direction she’d commanded. The panther was intimidating, as was her control over him.
Leisurely, she circled the demon and the Guardians holding it in place. The demon’s red eyes and disdainful sneer followed her.
Cat drew her sword, a heavy, well-built blade, fit for a high justice. She seemed to hold it easily in her hand, as if she’d done so a thousand times. But instead of taking a stance in the sand and driving the blade through the demon, she walked away, her back to the demon as if the creature was no threat.
Eight, maybe ten feet away from the demon, Cat flipped her sword, stabbing the blade into the sand. The crowd erupted, leaping to their feet, cheering wildly.
“What is she doing?” Navarre asked, afraid he already knew.
“Proving your point,” Savard said, his words and bearing proud.
Cat turned her back to the demon once again, walking away. Titus and Graydon released the demon, intentionally setting it loose. The demon never spared a glance at the two armed Guardians behind it. Instead it raced for the sword in the sand. The demon tugged the sword free, making a show of swinging the blade in wide, arching sweeps.
The crowd hushed when the demon closed in on her. When the demon was within striking distance, Barro snarled, crouching low in the sand, but he didn’t strike. Quick as lightning, Cat dropped her hands, smoothly lifting the short swords from their sheaths on her thighs.
Cat spun around, finally facing the demon as it raised the sword overhead. It brought the sword straight down, intending to cleave her in two. For an endless moment, fear gripped Navarre’s heart, but then Cat crossed her short swords above her head and blocked the blow.
The crowd roared their approval.
Locked at an impasse, the demon towered over her, its wiry body straining to make the blade connect with her flesh. Try as it might, it could not.
Navarre tilted his head, studying her. Cat, a slender and rather short female, was matching, if not besting, a demon male double her size with sheer strength. The kind of strength a demon might possess. Leaning back into his chair, Navarre no longer worried for her safety.
The power she demonstrated was effortless. Yes, her leg braced her weight, and the demon’s, and her arms trembled when the creature pushed against her, but her power wasn’t simply physical. She held her swords like she’d never taken them off in her life, like they were a part of her.
With the sword in her left hand, Cat kept the demon’s blade at bay long enough for her to disengage her right and punch the demon in the face with the hilt. Black blood sprayed from its nose.
The unexpected blow forced the demon back. As she spun away, the demon shouted in pain, its eyes flaring red. It grabbed for a noticeable gash in its leg, black blood seeping through its pants. It pinned her with a glare, angry and injured.
Cat sheathed her swords and with both hands, motioned for the demon to come here.
Chapter 11
The crowd jumped to their feet, many of them punching the air in their excitement. For a people who believed only a small number of offenses resulted in a justifiable murder, they certainly enjoyed the fight.
Oddly enough, this wasn’t how an arena execution was supposed to proceed. The high justice was supposed to walk in and drive his sword through the condemned as it stood either in chains or restrained by Guardians. Almost seven years ago Savard handed this job to her, and Cat changed the rules. Demons got a sword and a fighting chance, partly to prove to these people that no one could take her down, but mostly because she enjoyed a good fight.
She waited for her fight now. Cat had drawn blood, and expected the demon to rush her in fury. It didn’t. Instead it stalked, more calculated in its second approach. The sand slowed its movements, altered its equilibrium just enough to ensure she held the advantage.
The demon neared, stared her down as it reached striking distance. But it didn’t strike. It waited.
Cat braced herself, not for the battle, but for a verbal confrontation. It claimed it had seen her as a little girl, and it knew her name, which could only mean the demon knew her father.
“He sent me for you, Ellette.” The demon grinned, black blood smudged across its lips. “Ready to die?”
“Do it,” she said, opening her arms wide in a blatant invitation.
The demon lunged for her. Cat sidestepped easily without drawing a weapon, dodging the tip of the blade. It hissed and spun to face her, but she’d moved, circling the creature. Already the demon struggled to find its footing in the sand, but not Cat. This was her battleground. She knew how the sand reacted to her weight, how the right twist could gain her every advantage.
“You’ll bleed, demon. A cut for each child. The first? That was for Rollin.” She pointed to the demon’s nose, then down to its leg. “The second, for Dulcina.”
The demon lunged forward with a growl, the sound rattling in its throat. It swung the heavy blade. Cat used the sand, shifting her balance effortlessly to duck beneath the blow. As she uncurled her body she pulled a short sword from its sheath and sliced deep along the demon’s rib cage. It yelped, black blood leaching out, fusing its shirt to its flesh. Instinctively, the demon reached for its side.
“Oriana.” Cat stepped back, giving the demon a moment to process what was to come, to realize it was on the losing end of the battle. “Two left.”
The demon turned, attempted a retreat to the center of the arena. Barro took that as his cue, sand flying from all four paws as he raced to get ahead of the demon. The panther didn’t like runners. Blocking the demon’s path, Barro snarled, teeth bared and head low. His tail twitched with short, sharp flicks as he stalked the demon.
The demon had to make a choice: risk being mauled by a panther, or take its chances with her. It chose to face the panther, and that was fine. In the arena, Barro had only killed once in all these years. That frantic and flailing demon had been unpredictable, and the panther caught the downswing of a sword to the shoulder. Though Barro was a veteran, perfectly capable of shredding demons, he preferred to offer up demons to
Cat.
Ears laid back, Barro lunged forward and swiped a massive paw at the demon, and it leaped back. Suddenly realizing how close it had come to Cat, it whipped around to face her.
Cat brought one short sword down near the hilt of the demon’s sword, throwing her weight into her swing. The metal clanked loud and solid, her hand buzzing and numb from the force. The demon managed to keep hold of the sword, but its body bent to the side awkwardly, the tip of the sword hitting the sand.
Before it could recover, she flipped the short sword in her hand, turned the blade downward, and jammed deep into the muscle between the demon’s shoulder and neck. The demon howled, then whimpered, breathing hard through clenched teeth. The crowed above hollered and clapped.
“Jovan,” Cat whispered into its ear. She yanked her blade from the demon’s shoulder and stepped back. Its left arm hung useless at its side. Waiting confidently, she allowed the demon to regain its balance and grip on the sword. “Now Maeryn? No one frightens my girl and gets to live.”
Again she motioned for the demon to come here, and this time it rushed her. Cat pulled her second short sword and blocked the demon’s lumbering swings, taking care not to touch her blades to its skin. Not yet.
With a blade now in each of her hands, the demon couldn’t keep up with Cat. The demon had no opening, no opportunity to gain ground. Her onslaught proved too much for it to handle, and in a matter of seconds it lost the sword in the sand.
Cat stalked toward it and the demon stumbled back, near the arena wall, not far from where the children sat and watched. Sheathing her shorter blades, she retrieved her sword from the sand. Back against the wall, the demon had no escape.
She glanced up to where her five kids sat. Not even Maeryn was afraid anymore. They knew Cat would wage war for them. And win.
Cat whistled low, warning them of what was to come. Rollin covered Oriana’s eyes, though she tugged at his arm, wiggling and doing her best to see the action. Jovan hooked his arm around Maeryn’s head and tucked her face into his shoulder.
