Caged Warrior

by Lindsey Piper

  Shock and curiosity layered in the Council meeting room like smoke twining with clouds. Despite having brought the man to the fortress, Mal held no respect for the Heretic. The man’s list of crimes was nauseating. “Tell us, then. How did you come by Nynn’s letter?”

  “You’re near to the general idea of it,” Tallis said. “Which is impressive for a Council. Well done.”

  Mal gritted his teeth. In the midst of fighting ten recalcitrant senators and the slow-wash tide of extinction, this bastard was testing the last of his patience.

  “Yes, there exists a collection of rebels who refuse clan associations. They found the letter. Reed of Tigony wasn’t a kilometer from the Asters’ complex when he froze to death. They’d known its general vicinity.” He chuckled softly. “Only when your cousin blew the roof off the lab did they know for sure. Reed escaped in the aftermath.”

  “You dare laugh about this?”

  “Save it, Giva. You need them to hear what I have to say. I was willing to deliver that letter when none of the rebels could. Anonymity is their great asset. My asset is to become anonymous when I will it.”

  “There are other rumors.” Mal stepped forward. He lifted his chin and prepared to kill a fellow Dragon King upon Tallis’s next answer—not there in the Fortress of the Chasm, but wherever the deed needed to be done. “There are rumors you killed Nynn’s husband, then handed her and her son to the Asters.”

  Tallis stared at Mal, emphasizing their impasse. Under the flippancy was a flicker of something deeper. Flash and gone. “Funny things, rumors.”

  “But you are a killer.”

  Tallis nodded.

  “Tell me why we shouldn’t keep you here and force you to stand trial? Or, more fittingly, return you to the Pendray who despise you?”

  Pendray Youth practically growled his agreement with that idea.

  “They do hold grudges, my beloved clan.” He shrugged. “But you, Giva, would rather believe me in hopes of saving Nynn.”

  Mal felt as if he held the weight of his people in his hands. The entirety of his race depended on his next decisions. Luckily, his great weakness was an overabundance of tenacity, not a lack of resolve.

  “Nynn and her son are in pain,” he said. “For now, for me, that is enough. With all due respect, senators, I’m adjourning this meeting. None of us are leaving until we reach a consensus. Take action against the cartels? Ignore them and hope Nynn’s fate is a single event? Follow this man’s lead? We owe our respective clans the answers they’ll surely demand.”

  The crackling energy in his blood could stay. It was the purest part of him, giving him strength from inside out, providing a reminder to remain stronger than his gift.

  “Take the night,” he said, his words spoken with deep confidence. “Take days if need be. Find it in yourselves to put away this petty bickering and lead our people. It’s your Dragon-damned duty and I expect nothing less than your full cooperation.”

  He turned to the Heretic. With a flick of his wrist, Mal signaled the guards to take him into custody. “As for you,” Mal said, “I will listen to what you have to say. I may even accompany you to a stronghold—the Asters’ or otherwise. But first you will answer every question I have about my cousin.”

  SIX

  Audrey was exhausted—body, mind, soul. But she couldn’t sleep.

  She lay on the rugged ground and stared at irregular shadows distorting the depth of her cell. Training room, he’d called it. Sleeping quarters. She knew better. Bars and keys meant imprisonment. A breath of free air had not been hers in more than a year. Each one she drew was tainted with acidic pain. Helplessness should’ve become part of her after such demoralizing captivity.

  It had been.

  She’d nearly given up in the labs. Another few months, maybe weeks, and she would’ve done anything to end her life. And Jack’s.

  Every morning, she’d wondered if murder-suicide would be better than another day of torture. She was scarred, inside and out, but she could place blame where it belonged. A child, though . . . Jack wasn’t even six. He would never outgrow this cruelty.

  In the end, Audrey’s survival instinct had been too strong. Over and over, she’d decided to give them one more day. One more chance. She hadn’t been able to abandon hope. She’d cursed it almost as often as she clung to it—almost as strongly as she’d clung to her little boy.

  She was swathed in darkness once again, yet she wasn’t holding Jack. No slight warmth. No soft breathing when he finally drifted toward dream. Not that his dreams were without trauma. Even there he was not free. His nightmares broke her heart.

  She’d rather have a broken heart than empty arms.

  Her back ached. Regret and uncertainty were parasites digging into her mind. She was to become a Cage warrior. The decision whether to release Jack from that misery was no longer hers. Instead, she would free him and rebuild their lives. She had the power to make it so.

  You blew the roof off Dr. Aster’s lab.

  She no longer needed to wonder why she’d been plucked from one hell and deposited into another. New questions sprouted.

  How?

  Since when?

  And why this dread in the pit of my stomach?

  Every part of her body hurt. Her scalp burned where Leto had dragged her across the floor. Her arm creaked where he’d yanked it behind her back. Her gut cramped where he’d kicked her. The energy beneath her skin stung with pain close to pleasure. At least this pain had purpose.

  Audrey curled into herself like an infant in a bassinet. Only by remembering long-ago Tigony techniques for calming her restless mind did she finally feel the warm blanket of sleep.

  For a moment.

  A key rattling at the end of the sloping corridor roused her with a start. Noise meant danger. She was on her feet in an instant. Cold made her clumsy. She wobbled, focusing beyond shadow after charcoal shadow. Yet her muscles responded with surprising grace. The aches had eased. She buzzed with the need to move.

  “Awake so early?”

  She flinched away from the sudden spark of the two bare lightbulbs. But even that disoriented sense returned more quickly. Had releasing her powers done something? Maybe it was nothing more than shedding the sluggish hopelessness of Dr. Aster’s lab, but she doubted it. She wished she could remember or understand. Then she might feel more satisfaction, and banish the queasy, lingering dread. She didn’t have time for unknowns.

  Leto stood half a dozen feet away. He wore similar armor, but this set was free of damage. His right shoulder was covered by alternating layers of metal and leathers of different thickness and texture. The other shoulder was bare. Striated muscles flexed and shifted with every small movement. Biceps, forearms—even his hands. He was the most impressive man she’d ever seen. Something out of an impossible fantasy. Darkness and intensity. Vigor and power. A pulse of purpose surged in constant waves from his magnificent body, potent enough to feel against her skin.

  A man in control.

  A man who needed her.

  That she could be of any importance to such an intimidating mountain of skilled, deadly brawn almost made her laugh. No way. For Dragon’s sake, she’d clipped coupons and taken Jack to Mommy and Me swimming lessons. She was no warrior.

  Her amped-up body and sharpened senses said otherwise.

  She had no chance at survival, let alone rescuing Jack, if she didn’t transform into something like Leto of Clan Garnis.

  She nodded toward the small crisscross of surgical tape, where she’d pierced his cheek. “The bandage doesn’t suit you.”

  “Then don’t strike me again.”

  “I’m going to land as many blows as possible.”

  The heavy bag he dropped at his feet sounded overly loud in the cell. Two shields followed with twin clangs of steel against rock. “You’re in a mouthy mood. No breakfast.”

  As if spurred by the mere mention of food, Audrey’s stomach chose that moment to rumble. The guards at the end of the tunnel cou
ld’ve heard it. Leto’s smirk twitched.

  He walked through her small cell like a god. There was no other way to describe his stride, his straight back, his proud shoulders. He moved with refinement despite the weight of each step. After kneeling before the large leather bag, he pried it open. Metal. Gleaming metal of all shapes and sizes. Each piece shone with deadly purpose.

  Dragon-dark eyes lifted to meet hers. “First, we learn materials.”

  One by one, he introduced her to the weapons available to them in the Cages. A machete and a mace. A wicked dagger and a sickle. Even something that resembled a metal skull.

  “I don’t understand,” she said once he finished. “You haven’t mentioned anything more about what may be a mystery Dragon-born gift. And now you’re teaching a course on Medieval Weaponry 101.”

  “Your gift needs to be developed. But even a warrior in complete control cannot rely on it. During a match, an arbiter controls the Cages. With the flip of a switch, our collars activate again. Survival becomes a matter of blood combat. That means working with steel and martial arts—even if your pyrotechnic display was impressive.”

  “And completely gone from my memory.”

  “Another problem, yes.” He leaned closer. Breath against skin. Lips near enough to brush her ear. They never did. “My job is to make sure you can survive those random minutes when our powers won’t mean a Dragon-damned thing.”

  Audrey shivered. Her body was already edgy with an energy she couldn’t control. To feel Leto’s warm skin so nearby added another layer of sensation. Want. She tried to push it away. She called it a betrayal against the husband she still missed with every heartbeat. Yet the craving for physical contact was undeniable—contact that didn’t mean pain and fear. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the heady power of his scent.

  Feeling out-of-body, she reached to pick up the metal skull.

  Leto snatched her wrist and glared. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  “How am I supposed to learn to use them if I can’t touch them? Tell me, at least.”

  “It’s a nighnor. Are you really so ignorant of our ways?”

  “I’m sure circumstances have taught us very different things. Can you read?”

  “Yes.” His mouth pinched tightly. “My mother taught me. She taught me many things.”

  “And when was the last time you were aboveground? The last time you saw the sun?”

  His subtle glare intensified, but his tension was more evident in his shoulders. “How is that important?”

  “I’m just curious what you barbarians learn down here, other than ripping out spines. And besides, a nighnor is the ceremonial weapon of the Sath.” She felt pleased at having taken him by surprise. Again. “You forget. I was raised among the Tigony. That meant years of learning our lore and rituals. I don’t know how to use it, but I know what it is.”

  He hefted the nighnor. “Your turn to tell me. Prove it.”

  “Each one is ancient, from the time when the Sath ruled as Pharaohs. They’re said to be the heads of men who denied the superiority of the first Dragon Kings. The fearful made the Sath into gods rather than suffer the same fate.” Her stomach knotted for reasons other than hunger. “Coated in iron. Lacquered and polished over the years to add luster. But beneath the metal is bone. Some ancient peasant’s skull.”

  Leto shrugged. “So they say.”

  “Let me touch it. Sir.”

  “That’s not a question.”

  “Forget the mind games, remember? You need me to learn.” Their gazes met. “More than that, I think you want me to.”

  The set of his jaw became as ruthless as the skull he held. Metal over bone. “Do not assume anything about me, neophyte.”

  “How can I not? We know the stakes. Give me the damn thing and teach me how to use it.”

  “No lunch either.”

  Audrey huffed a breath. “You are dense. Even Dr. Aster fed me. ‘Keep up your strength, Mrs. MacLaren,’ he always said. ‘More work to do tomorrow.’ ” She stood and glared down at the strongest man she’d ever seen. “You can’t harm me, sir. Not like he did. So get on with what we know needs to be done.”

  His slow rise from a kneeling stance seemed to go on forever. Deliberate. Controlled. Just taller and taller until he was a ruthless warrior once again. “Oh, but I can do you harm. And win. I’ll do that at any cost, even if it means knocking you unconscious during our match.”

  “What purpose would that serve?”

  “I could fight on. Unencumbered.”

  Audrey’s blood slowed. “You’re giving me quite the education.”

  “And don’t forget about Hellix,” he said, that rumbling voice bathed in menace.

  “What about him?”

  “Your days are mine to direct. Your nights are not my responsibility.”

  “But the guards—?”

  “Are lonely and easily bribed. Don’t expect quarter from them either.”

  The pinch of her lips was almost painful. She forced herself to calm, valuing information more than the urge to answer his taunts. “Will you tell me something? Sir?”

  “What?”

  “The brand on Hellix’s head. What is it?”

  Leto’s expression hardened. She wouldn’t have thought it possible after the harsh way he’d spoken to her. Apparently his distaste for Hellix trumped almost anything else.

  “Sometimes, humans with huge debts volunteer to fight in the Cages, too.”

  “That would mean death, surely.”

  “The other choice is for the cartels to harm their families.”

  Audrey shook her head in vehement denial. “That’s no choice.”

  “Do you want to know about Hellix or argue the way of the world?” He held her gaze as she breathed deeply and remained silent. “The humans in the Cages are killed with ordinary knives. Dragon Kings set for execution are done so as a prelude to the annual Grievance.”

  “Hellix survived.”

  “But he still needed to be punished.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “How do you kill a Dragon King?”

  Bile rose in Audrey’s mouth, along with the age-old fears of her people. They could live far longer than humans. Some for centuries. That didn’t mean they were immortal. Old age eventually caught up with even the strongest of the Dragon’s children. And then there was . . .

  “Decapitation,” she said, as if by rote. “But only by iron forged in the fiery Chasm where the Dragon was born and died.”

  “That is an honorable death for a Cage warrior. Hellix was branded by an ordinary human knife—a shameful reminder that he should’ve died. The lowest of the low. I think he’d peel off his face just to get rid of the thing.” He cracked a knuckle. “He takes out his anger on the women he earns. Do you get my meaning?”

  She shivered. Just because she’d survived degradation in the labs didn’t mean she wanted more. Somehow she knew that surviving against Hellix would be at least as difficult a Cage match. At least in a Cage, she would have Leto as her ally.

  With a tight swallow, she firmed her spine. “I understand, sir.”

  “Let’s get to work.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Leto had made a number of threats in order to secure Nynn’s active cooperation—threats he had no means of carrying out. Using Hellix as a living, frothing boogeyman had worked. But she was a perceptive creature. Soon she might realize that to be subjected to Hellix’s notorious sexual ferocity would destroy her. Leto would have no warrior left to partner with; he would have a broken shell of a woman.

  The idea of beating her into unconsciousness during a match and taking on their opponent alone also had its appeal. Yet that would be a failure of another sort. He was tasked with keeping her alive through three matches, but the crowd wouldn’t appreciate an unconscious fighter.

  He would need a fallback plan when threats no longer worked. In Nynn’s case, he believed the key was how much she secretly craved an outlet for her
anger. Given the right tools, she wouldn’t need to be coerced or intimidated anymore.

  One such tool sat in his palm. The nighnor was an old, brutal, effective weapon. A single crushing blow. To the spine, the nape, the forehead. It meant instant death for a human, while a serious blow to a Dragon King permitted enough time to sever the head with a Chasm-forged sword.

  That method was the finale he’d enacted at the last Grievance.

  “Here,” he said.

  “You don’t fear my wild reprisal?”

  “I would, if I thought you could wield it with one hand.”

  Nynn cupped the heavy iron skull. Her shoulders slumped to keep it from dropping to the damp, slippery floor. Training cells were kept damp for just that purpose, to make finding purchase even harder. Once this woman fought on rougher ground, she would be even more sure-footed and skillful.

  The chilly dampness would test her endurance, too, as would the cell’s complete austerity. Neophytes were denied every creature comfort. No pallet. No toilet. Just a slit trench that was washed clean where the crevice water flowed out a drainage pipe. The four-by-four-foot iron cage remained a lingering threat.

  She would only have what he gave her. Until she won. The thrill of victory combined with basic rewards made reluctant fighters into eager ones.

  The close-fitting training armor he’d provided was not a reward but a necessity. She needed to learn how to expose her limbs to harm. Protecting one’s body was instinct. Only patience and practice would override her urge to shrink from an attack, rather than surging forward and putting her trust in leather and metal.

  One of her arms, bare of armor in order to permit more maneuverability with a shield, flexed with a gratifying degree of muscle tone. She was lithe, beautiful, and fit for combat. Now all she needed were techniques—not to mention her gift, which she couldn’t even remember after the fact.