by Eve Langlais
He needed to get out of here and find her.
I know how you can see her. Come here.
He didn’t even question the demand, just stepped closer to the bars. Hands reached in to grab him by the cheeks and drag him close. The bars didn’t zing him this time, and yet he still jiggled as the king held on to him. His thoughts churned, and he caught more than a few glimpses of himself, how he looked, his arms, legs, other parts.
When the king released him, Gunner gasped and fell to the floor.
“Well, that was interesting,” Roark said. “And now that I know everything I need, what do you say we pay a visit to Sofia?”
Seventeen
The next day, the king returned, striding into Sofia’s room without a single knock. He didn’t exactly surprise her. She’d been awake for hours.
Roark wore only a button-up shirt tucked into leather pants with thick boots. To her surprise, a cat followed on his heels. A tiny, sleek, two-toned creature with an arrogant face.
The king paid it no mind as he leaned against the doorframe. “Have you come to a decision?”
She chose to delay. “Good morning, Your Highness.” She curtsied and held it long enough that he snapped, “Get up already.”
She rose and eyed him. He looked frazzled and impatient. “It’s a beautiful day.” It actually was; she’d seen the sun rise over the city, an incredible sight without a dome. She found that facet fascinating.
“You are trying my patience. Will you heal for me or not?”
“I told you. I don’t know how.”
“I see you plan to keep lying. Very well. Have it your way. You will remain in this room until you cooperate.”
“I can’t cooperate. I am not a psionic, just a simple apothecary, and not even a full one but an assistant.”
“You will have this morning to rethink your stance.”
She almost yelled after Roark as he slammed the door shut, only narrowly missing the tail of the cat as it slipped in and chose to nap on her bed.
The day passed. Long. Boring. Without food. The carafe of water long empty.
The king thought to manipulate her. She feared it might just work.
Around dinnertime, and hours after the king left, she lay wide-awake on top of her sheets when there was a commotion. She sat up, heart pounding, as the door opened and someone wearing a hooded cloak slipped in.
“Who is it? What do you want?” She brandished a book, her only weapon.
“It’s me.” The voice froze her.
“Gunner? Is that really you?”
He shucked the hood as he moved close, the parting of the cloak showing he wore a loose tunic and pants like the servants here. His hair appeared a touch disheveled, his jaw showed a bristly shadow, but his eyes were clear.
He’d never looked better.
Sofia scrambled out of bed and into his arms, taking him by surprise. He staggered but recovered quickly, his arms coming around her.
“You’re alive!”
“Of course, I am,” he said with a chuckle. “Did you really think a dungeon could hold me?”
“I was so worried,” she admitted, leaning to look into his eyes. He seemed taller than before.
“You can relax now. I’ve come to rescue you.”
“Thank you.” For some reason that made her deliriously happy. She rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his.
He didn’t react at first, and when he did, it was to give her a quick kiss then set her away from him. “We don’t have time for that. It won’t be long before they notice I knocked out the guards.”
“You fought your way here?”
“I didn’t have a choice. The king is planning to make me fight to the death. Thought we should get out before that happens.”
“How will we escape?”
“You leave that to me. Give me a second and we’ll get going.” Gunner grabbed her sheet and tore a strip from it.
“What are you doing?”
“Just bandaging up my arm.” He flicked the cloak, and she noticed the blood soaking his sleeve. “I got nicked by a blade. Don’t worry, it’s only a scratch.”
“Let me see.” She reached, but he angled away.
“It’s nothing.”
“Give.” She grabbed hold of his arm, frowning at the lack of awareness she usually felt when they touched. There was something odd about…
The idea slid away before it could form, and she pulled his arm close.
The slice went across the bicep, deep enough that it bled steadily down his arm.
“Told you, it’s nothing. A bandage will fix it,” he remarked.
“Don’t be foolish.” She placed her hands on it. “We can’t escape with you dripping like this.” She didn’t allow doubt or a lack of cream to stop her. She could do this. Had done this before. But she wasn’t panicked this time. Not desperate to heal him.
She squeezed his arm, felt the firm muscle, the tear in the skin over it. The tips of her fingers heated. She felt it going after the cut, the warmth sinking into his flesh, and because for once her mind was clear, she actually got a deeper look at him.
And quickly realized it wasn’t Gunner. The heat shut off immediately.
There was a pleased chuckle. “Was that so hard?”
At the change in timbre, her gaze flew in shock to see not Gunner but Roark, wearing a smirk and his own face.
She released him and backed away. “What are you doing here? How?” How had he worn the visage of another?
“Doesn’t matter how I did it. What matters is you can heal.”
“No, I didn’t. Your arm is still injured.” Indeed, it still looked slightly angry, but the flesh had pulled together, and it no longer bled.
“Only because you stopped.”
“I won’t do it again.” She tucked her hands behind her back.
“Heal someone for me, and I will give you a position in my kingdom. A home, wages—”
She interrupted. “You should find yourself a real doctor.”
“Someone save me from stubborn woman,” Roark growled. “I am tired of your arguing. Come with me.” He wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled.
“Where are you taking me?”
But the king wasn’t answering. The lithe feline followed them out of the room, the tiny body enough to have guards jumping out of the way. It sauntered quite saucily, and Sofia wondered why they allowed it so much liberty.
She was marched from the castle to a vehicle, a rare thing in Eden she realized, which sped through cobbled streets with channels running down the sides. She had a chance to see the strange medley of old and new, the stonework of some ancient place still providing a framework, with patches of newer stone filling in the gaps.
The king saw her watching. “It’s still a work in progress.”
“Your city has no dome.”
“Because we know it’s possible to live with the land. For the rare times the air or the foliage tries to poison us, there are remedies.”
“What about the dust storms?”
“We don’t get those here, although it does rain. Hence the trenches in all the roads. It’s said a long time ago, when the city was new, that the water ran through the streets and the inhabitants boated everywhere. But that was before the world tilted again. The city spent some time after that abandoned.”
“Why did the original inhabitants leave?” Despite herself, she was curious.
He shrugged. “No one is quite sure what happened, although most of the stories blame the marsh.”
“Yet you still chose to live here.”
“Because I always wanted a castle.”
She blinked at him. “That’s a little crazy.”
“You’ll discover I’m a man who gets what he wants.”
Meaning she should stop fighting him. Yet to give in might prove even worse.
“How did you get people to agree to help you?”
“Because many of those who live here had nowhere else to go. It seemed easi
er to restore than start from nothing.”
“And they helped you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I offered them a better choice. A chance.”
“That involves serving you,” she said.
“You should join them. They seem quite happy.”
The vehicle stopped outside an amphitheater that no man or woman had built. The stone bowl appeared melted in rings and then carved, the tiers forming balconies for the crowd. There were stairs chiseled into the melted and shaped rock. At the very bottom of the pit, a pair of giant archways, currently sealed by bars, and a few smaller ones. It reminded her of the Ruby City Court but with no roof overhead. The jubilant air also proved a change.
At the arrival of the king, the crowd chanted and cheered, “All hail the king, master of the marsh.” There were no boos or jeers. Then again citizens of Ruby never dared either. People were attached to their heads.
Yet it wasn’t fear that made them enthusiastic. There was something different in this crowd. Something boisterous and emotional. The king stood at the edge of the terrace and said nothing, did nothing. He had his hands tucked behind his back. The people roared at the sight of him.
She hung back, trying to understand why they had come here.
After a moment, the king turned his back to the ongoing noise and pointed her to a seat that flanked the larger one meant for him. Once he sat down, the cheering finally stopped.
An announcer bellowed out a greeting. “Welcome one, welcome all. It’s time for the weekly justice fights.”
“What’s about to happen? Why am I here?” she asked, because the title of the event didn’t inspire confidence.
“You have repeatedly asked to see your companion. I’m granting your wish.”
She turned a glance on him. “You’re making Gunner fight.”
“I am. Against my champion in the final round. A champion who has yet to lose by the way.”
The words did their job of giving her a chill. “That’s because whoever it is, he’s not yet come up against Gunner. He’s an excellent warrior.”
“I guess we’ll see. Unless you’ve changed your mind about working for me.”
“I can’t.” She said it softly, even as she had a sinking feeling she’d just lost. It was one thing to ignore the plight of a stranger and keep pretending she had no power, but now Gunner’s life hung in the balance.
A horn blew, and an announcer spoke, excitement in his every word as he introduced the criminals, detailed their crimes. The crowd took to booing often during their segment. She noticed the crimes weren’t petty things. Assault. The luring of a child. Theft.
The cases had been decided beforehand. Those in front of her were actual criminals facing their sentencing, and the crowd roared with excitement as the man convicted of luring a child was torn apart by a swarm of small animals that covered him so thoroughly only his screams emerged. There was the man who assaulted a woman who got to go up against a different woman armed with knives. A champion hired to mete out justice on behalf of the victim. When the warrior woman was finished and flung the hunk of meat that would hurt no one again to the ground, the crowd went silent for a moment before it screamed.
Brutal. Sofia glanced over to see only callous disregard in the king’s face. He watched and didn’t care. His court was a bloodthirsty place.
She didn’t belong here. She couldn’t stay.
When Gunner finally appeared in the arena, fear filled her, especially when his gaze sought hers. The idiot even winked.
The king finally deigned to speak to her. “The moment has come for your Gunner to face my champion. A champion who will only stop on my command. The choice is yours, Sofia. Will you be my witch, or does he die?”
Eighteen
After the king left Gunner—wearing Gunner’s face the fucking prick!—he’d railed for a while. What if the charlatan fooled Sofia?
He grabbed the bars, yelled as the electricity once more ran through his hands, and cursed some more.
“Fuck me, you’re being loud,” Titan complained.
“I think I’ve earned the right. That asshole is wearing my face like an outfit. He’s going to use me against Sofia.”
“Your fault for pissing him off. You should have told him what he wanted. He’s a mind reader. It’s not like you can hide anything from him.”
Gunner grimaced. “Axel can.” But most people didn’t have the kind of mental shield necessary to block someone with true power.
“You’re not Axel. And neither am I. Fucker’s good at using our weaknesses against us,” Titan grumbled.
“What did he use against you?”
“Nothing. It didn’t work.”
It sounded as if there was a story there, but there wasn’t time to talk about it. Guards appeared, and the prisoners were carted off, a few at a time, being prettied for the upcoming fights. Gunner ended up bathed, his hair trimmed, his beard shorn until only smooth skin remained along his jaw. They oiled his body and dressed him in form-fitting breeches. No shoes. No shirt. No armor.
It was ridiculous. Yet he fit in with the others. Because it wouldn’t do for the gladiators to show poorly when they entered the ring against the criminals.
When it was his turn, there wasn’t much surprise they pitted him against Titan. They were the only two left.
His friend wouldn’t look at him as he loosened his body. Gunner noticed the metal limbs, a result of intensive injuries Titan had suffered. He’d not been the same since the attack by the wild animals and loss of his arm and leg.
“What’s the plan?” he murmured to Titan.
“Win.”
Against his friend? Then again, he hadn’t forgotten the king’s words. Prevail and he could have a boon.
What would he ask for? Freedom seemed the most obvious. But surely there was a way to ensure Sofia came, too?
Exiting from the cool tunnel to the noisy bowl of the arena wasn’t what caused him to stumble. His glance around the stadium only barely took note of the jeering crowd. He had eyes only for Sofia, standing in the grandest box of all, wearing a filmy gown with her hair pinned back. She stood from her seat and stared at him. Sitting beside her, the king who smirked.
Gunner could have sworn he heard Roark’s voice in his head, whispering, Win and you can use your boon to see her. An interesting idea. If he saw her, then maybe they could escape.
Her worry showed, and Gunner winked at her, trying to show reassurance even as he muttered to Titan, “I need you to throw this match.” Because he wasn’t entirely sure he could beat his friend, not with the modifications to his body.
“I can’t.” Titan’s jaw shifted. He kept glancing upward, not at the king but to his left, where another woman sat. She appeared to be ignoring the proceedings, more interested in a tablet she held.
“I need to win this for Sofia.”
“I am not losing. You don’t understand. I need this win to make Roark promise.” Now Titan’s gaze flicked to the king. What was it he wanted to win?
“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to knock you out.” Because Gunner had learned the fight didn’t have to be to the death.
Titan slid a glance at him. “You can try.”
The announcer’s voice rang out, offering an embellished intro. “From the barbarian Emerald lands comes a marauder without compare. He is called the Lucky Rat because he always seems to get out of trouble. But will he prevail tonight against our current champion? The man who is part machine and all killer, our very own Tin Man.”
The crowd went wild. Gunner glanced across at Titan and tried to remember all the weak points he’d learned during their training time together. There wasn’t much, and it had been a while. The one thing he did recall was Titan could handle a lot of abuse.
They were given no weapons. Not unheard of. Sometimes the crowd liked a sweaty and slick wrestling match, one of strength and dominance. They also cheered to see grown men crying when twisted a
particular way.
As Gunner walked away from Titan, he limbered up discreetly, keeping an eye on Sofia. Noticed the king waiting. Waiting to see what he’d do.
He had to win. Against his friend. Which meant taking Titan out without killing him but in a way that would satisfy the king.
He stood, head bowed, hands loose by his side. The crowd grew quiet, and he listened, reached with the senses he’d honed while blind, and leapt straight up as Titan rushed in, his silent run a thing of locomotive power.
Gunner remained safely out of reach as Titan charged past. Titan took a moment to slow his momentum enough to flip around. Meanwhile Gunner landed in a crouch, one hand on the ground, his eyes on Titan.
With a bit of luck, he’d put Titan on his back.
He rushed for his friend, who charged. They hit in a thud that shook them both. Their hands reached and their legs twisted as they grappled. Hard and fast. Heaving and panting.
Straining as best as they could. This was where Titan would beat him. He had the strength, whether it be natural or machine-based. Gunner could feel Titan gaining the advantage, bending him. It wouldn’t be long before something snapped.
And then suddenly he wasn’t losing. Gunner achieved the upper hand, flipped his friend onto his back. When Titan heaved under him, he let the guy get to his feet before he slugged him again and again. He felt bad for hitting his friend, but only one could win.
Might as well be him.
The last uppercut took Titan on the side of the jaw and snapped him hard enough that he wavered on his feet. When Titan fell, Gunner could have sworn the floor trembled. The crowd lost its mind.
Sofia stood and clapped. Her joy obvious.
He waited for the king to acknowledge his win. To ask him what he wanted.
Roark stood and placed his hands on the parapet. He gazed down. “Congratulations on winning. It seems your luck is holding. I’ll see you at the castle for your prize.”
Gunner wanted to argue, but perhaps this way was better. Making demands of a king in the middle of an arena filled with his people might not be best.
