Morgan Rice: 5 Beginnings (Turned, Arena one, A Quest of Heroes, Rise of the Dragons, and Slave, Warrior, Queen)

by Morgan Rice

  A jolt of fear stabbed Ceres through the chest. She sucked in a sudden breath. Ceres looked at her mother, and with her back to Lord Blaku, her mother gave her a smile that was as evil as she had ever seen.

  “Master?” Ceres asked.

  “To save our family from financial ruin and public embarrassment, the benevolent Lord Blaku offered your father and me a generous deal: a sack of gold in exchange for you.”

  “What?” Ceres gasped, feeling herself sinking into the earth.

  “Now, be the good girl I know you are and show your respects,” her mother said, shooting Ceres a warning glance.

  “I will not,” Ceres said, taking a step back as she puffed her chest up, feeling silly for not having immediately realized the man was a slaver, and that the transaction was for her life.

  “Father would never sell me,” she added through clenched teeth, her horror and indignation rising.

  Her mother scowled and grabbed her by the arm, her fingernails digging into Ceres’s skin.

  “If you behave, this man might take you as his wife, and for you, that is a very lucky thing,” she muttered.

  Lord Blaku licked his thin crusty lips as his puffy eyes greedily wandered up and down Ceres’s body. How could her mother do this to her? She knew her mother didn’t love her as much as her brothers—but this?

  “Marita,” he said in a nasally voice. “You told me your daughter was fair, but you neglected to tell me what an utterly magnificent creature she is. Dare I say, I have yet to see a woman with lips as succulent as hers, and with eyes as passionate, and with a body as firm and exquisite.”

  Ceres’s mother placed a hand over her heart with a sigh, and Ceres felt like she might just vomit right here. She clenched her hands into fists as she snapped her arm away from her mother’s grasp.

  “Perhaps I should have asked for more, if she pleases you so much,” Ceres’s mother said, her eyes lowering in despondency. “She is, after all, our only beloved girl.”

  “I am willing to pay good money for such a beauty. Will another five gold pieces suffice?” he asked.

  “How generous of you,” her mother replied.

  Lord Blaku ambled over to his wagon to fetch more gold.

  “Father will never agree to this,” Ceres sneered.

  Ceres’s mother took a threatening step toward her.

  “Oh, but it was your father’s idea,” her mother snapped, with her eyebrows raised halfway up her forehead. Ceres knew she was lying now—whenever she did that, she was lying.

  “Do you actually think your father loves you more than he loves me?” her mother asked.

  Ceres blinked, wondering what that would have to do with anything.

  “I could never love someone who thinks she is better than me,” she added.

  “You never loved me?” Ceres asked, her anger morphing into hopelessness.

  With the gold in hand, Lord Blaku waddled over to Ceres’s mother and handed it to her.

  “Your daughter is worth every piece,” he said. “She will be a good wife and bear me many sons.”

  Ceres bit the inside of her lips and shook her head over and over again.

  “Lord Blaku will come for you in the morning, so go inside and pack your belongings,” Ceres’s mother said.

  “I won’t!” Ceres screamed.

  “That was always your problem, girl. You only ever think of yourself. This gold,” her mother said, jingling the purse in front of Ceres’s face, “will keep your brothers alive. It will keep our family intact, allowing us to remain in our home and make repairs. Did you fail to think about that?”

  For a split second, Ceres thought maybe she was being selfish, but then she realized her mother was playing mind games again, using Ceres’s love for her brothers against her.

  “Do not worry,” Ceres’s mother said, turning toward Lord Blaku. “Ceres will comply. All you need to do is be firm with her, and she becomes as meek as a lamb.”

  Never. Never would she be that man’s wife or anyone’s property. And never would she let her mother or anyone exchange her life for fifty-five pieces of gold.

  “I will never go with this slaver,” Ceres snapped, shooting him a look of disgust.

  “Ungrateful child!” Ceres’s mother yelled. “If you do not do as I say, I will beat you so severely you will never walk again. Now get inside!”

  The thought of being beaten by her mother brought back awful, visceral memories; she was taken back to that dreadful moment at five years old when her mother had beaten her until everything had gone black. The wounds from that beating and many others healed—yet the wounds in Ceres’s heart had never stopped bleeding. And now that she knew for sure that her mother didn’t love her, and never had, her heart split wide open for good.

  Before she could respond, Ceres’s mother stepped forward and slapped her across the face so hard her ear began ringing.

  At first, Ceres was stunned by the sudden assault, and she almost backed down. But then something snapped inside her. She would not allow herself to cower as she always did.

  Ceres smacked her mother back, across the cheek, so hard that she tumbled to the ground, gasping in horror.

  Red-faced, her mother climbed to her feet, grabbed Ceres by the shoulder and hair, and kneed Ceres in the stomach. When Ceres stooped forward in agony, her mother jabbed her knee into Ceres’s face, causing her to fall to the ground.

  The slaver stood and watched, his eyes wide, chuckling, clearly taking delight in the fight.

  Still coughing and gasping for air from the assault, Ceres staggered to her feet. Screaming, she flung herself toward her mother, driving her to the ground.

  This ends today, was all Ceres could think. All the years of never being loved, of being treated with disdain, fueled her rage. Ceres smashed closed fists into her mother’s face again and again as tears of fury rolled down her cheeks, sobs uncontrollably spilling out of her lips.

  Finally, her mother went limp.

  Ceres’s shoulders shook with each cry, her insides wrung inside out. Blurred by tears, she looked up at the slaver with an even more intense hatred.

  “You will make a good one,” Lord Blaku said with a guileful grin, as he picked up the bag of gold from the ground and attached it to his leather belt.

  Before she could react, suddenly his hands were upon her. He grabbed Ceres and climbed into the carriage, tossing her into the back in one quick motion, as if she were a bag of potatoes. His massive bulk and strength was too much for her to resist. Holding her wrist with one arm and taking hold of a chain with the other, he said, “I’m not stupid enough to think you would still be here in morning.”

  She glanced at the house that had been her home for eighteen years, and her eyes filled with tears as she thought of her brothers and her father. But she had to make a choice if she was to save herself, before the chain was around her ankle.

  So in one quick motion, she mustered all of her strength and snatched her arm out of the slaver’s grip, lifted her leg, and kicked him in the face as hard as she could. He fell backwards, out of the carriage, and tumbled onto the ground.

  She jumped from the wagon and ran as fast as she could down the dirt road, away from the woman she vowed to never call mother again, away from everything she had ever known and loved.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Surrounded by the royal family, Thanos tried hard to keep a pleasant expression on his face as he gripped the gold wine goblet—yet he could not. He hated being here. He hated these people, his family. And he hated attending royal gatherings—especially the ones following the Killings. He knew how the people lived, how poor they were, and he felt how senseless and unjust all this pomp and haughtiness really was. He would give anything to be far away from here.

  Standing with his cousins Lucious, Aria, and Varius, Thanos didn’t make the least bit of effort to engage in their petty conversation. Instead, he watched the imperial guests meander about in the palace gardens, wearing their togas and stolas, presen
ting fake grins and spewing false niceties. A few of his cousins were throwing food at each other as they ran across the manicured lawn and between tables stocked with food and wine. Others were reenacting their favorite scenes from the Killings, laughing at and mocking those who had lost their lives today.

  Hundreds of people, Thanos thought, and not one was honorable.

  “Next month, I will purchase three combatlords,” Lucious, the eldest, said in a boisterous tone as he patted drops of sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief. “Stefanus wasn’t worth half of what I paid for him, and if he weren’t dead already, I would have run a sword through him myself for having fought like a girl in the first round.”

  Aria and Varius laughed, but Thanos didn’t find his comment amusing. Whether they considered the Killings a game or not, they should respect the brave and the dead.

  “Well, did you see Brennius?” Aria asked, her large blue eyes widening. “I actually considered buying him, but he gave me this conceited look when I watched him rehearse. Can you believe it?” she added, as she rolled her eyes and huffed.

  “And he stinks like a skunk,” Lucious added.

  Everyone except for Thanos laughed again.

  “None of us would have picked him,” Varius said. “Though he lasted longer than expected, his form was horrible.”

  Thanos couldn’t keep quiet another second.

  “Brennius had the best form in the entire arena,” he interjected. “Don’t talk about the art of combat as if you know anything about it.”

  The cousins grew quiet, and Aria’s eyes became large as saucers as she looked toward the ground. Varius puffed out his chest and crossed his arms, scowling. He stepped closer to Thanos as if to challenge him, and the air thickened with tension.

  “Well, never mind those self-important combatlords,” Aria said, stepping between them, defusing the situation. She waved for the boys to gather around closer, and then she whispered, “I have heard an outlandish rumor. A little bee told me the king wants to have someone of royal birth compete in the Killings.”

  They all exchanged an uncomfortable look as they fell silent.

  “Perhaps,” Lucious said. “It won’t be me, though. I’m not willing to risk my life for a stupid game.”

  Thanos knew he could beat out most combatlords, but killing another human wasn’t something he wanted to do.

  “You’re just scared of dying,” Aria said.

  “I am not,” Lucious retorted. “You take that back!”

  Thanos’s patience was spent. He walked away.

  Thanos watched his distant cousin Stephania wander about as if she were looking for someone—probably him. A few weeks back, the Queen had said he was fated to be with Stephania, but Thanos felt otherwise. Stephania was as spoiled as the rest of the cousins and he’d rather give up his name, his inheritance, and even his sword to not have to marry her. She was beautiful to behold, true—her hair golden, her skin milky white, her lips blood-red—but if he had to listen to her talk about how life was so unfair one more time, he thought he might cut his ears off.

  He scurried to the outskirts of the garden toward the rose bushes, avoiding eye contact with any of the attendees. But just as he rounded the corner, Stephania stepped in front of him, her brown eyes lighting up.

  “Good evening, Thanos,” she said with a scintillating smile that would have most of the boys here drooling after her. Everyone but Thanos.

  “Good evening to you, too,” Thanos said and skirted around her, continuing to walk.

  She lifted up her stola and trailed after him like a pesky mosquito.

  “Don’t you find it so unfair how—” she began.

  “I’m busy,” Thanos snapped in a tone harsher than he intended, causing her to gasp. He then turned toward her. “I’m sorry…I’m just tired of all these parties.”

  “Perhaps you would like to stroll the gardens with me?” Stephania said, her right eyebrow peaking as she stepped closer.

  That was the absolute last thing he wanted.

  “Listen,” he said, “I know the queen and your mother have it in their minds that we somehow belong together, but—”

  “Thanos!” he heard behind him.

  Thanos turned to see the king’s messenger.

  “The king would like you to join him in the gazebo straightaway,” he said. “And you too, my lady.”

  “Might I inquire why?” Thanos asked.

  “There is much to discuss,” the messenger said.

  Not having had regular conversations with the king in the past, Thanos wondered what that might entail.

  “Of course,” Thanos said.

  To his great dismay, a beaming Stephania hooked her arm around his, and together they followed the messenger over to the gazebo.

  When Thanos noticed several of the king’s advisors and even the crown prince already sitting on benches and chairs, he found it odd that he had been invited, too. He would hardly have anything of value to offer in their conversation, as his opinions about how the Empire was ruled differed greatly from those of everyone here. The best thing he could do, he thought to himself, was to keep his mouth shut.

  “What a lovely couple you make,” the queen said with a warm smile as they entered.

  Thanos pinched his lips shut and offered Stephania to sit down next to him.

  Once everyone had settled, the king rose to his feet and the gathering quieted down. His uncle wore a knee-length toga, but where the others were white, red, and blue, his was purple, a color reserved only for the king. Around his balding temple was a golden wreath, and his cheeks and eyes still drooped even though he was smiling.

  “The masses grow unruly,” he said, his voice grave, slow. He slowly scanned all the faces with the authority of a king. “The time is past due to remind them who is king and enact harsher rules. From this day forward, I shall double tithes on all property and food.”

  There came a surprised murmur, followed by nods of approval.

  “An excellent choice, your grace,” said one of his advisors.

  Thanos couldn’t believe his ears. Double the people’s taxes? Having mingled with commoners, he knew that the taxes required were already beyond what most commoners could afford. He had seen mothers mourn the loss of their children who died of starvation. As recently as yesterday, he had offered food to a homeless four-year-old girl whose every bone was visible beneath her skin.

  Thanos had to look away or he would surely have to speak up against this insanity.

  “And finally,” the king said, “from now on, to counterbalance the underground revolution that is fomenting, the firstborn son in every family will become a servant in the king’s army.”

  One after another, the small crowd commended the king for his wise decision.

  Finally, though, Thanos felt the king turn to him.

  “Thanos,” the king finally said. “You have remained silent. Speak!”

  Silence fell on the gazebo, as all eyes were on Thanos. He stood. He knew he had to speak up, for the emaciated girl, for the grieving mothers, for the voiceless whose lives seemed not to matter. He needed to represent them, because if he did not, no one would.

  “Harsher rules will not crush the rebellion,” he said, his heart thumping in his chest. “It will only embolden it. Instilling fear into the citizens and denying them freedom will do nothing but compel them to rise against us and join the revolution.”

  A few people laughed, while others talked amongst themselves. Stephania took his hand and tried to hush him, but he snatched it away.

  “A great king uses love, as well as fear, to rule his subordinates,” Thanos said.

  The king gave the queen an uneasy glance. He stood up, and then walked over to Thanos.

  “Thanos, you are a brave young man for speaking up,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “However, was your younger brother not murdered in cold blood by these same people, those who governed themselves, as you say?”

  Thanos saw red. How dare
his uncle bring up his brother’s death so flippantly? For years, Thanos had fallen asleep to his grief as he mourned the loss of his brother.

  “Those who murdered my brother didn’t have enough food for themselves,” Thanos said. “A desperate man will seek desperate measures.”

  “Do you question the king’s wisdom?” the queen asked.

  Thanos couldn’t believe no one else was speaking up against this. Did they see not see how unjust it was? Did they not realize these new laws would breathe fire into the rebellion?

  “Not for a moment will you be able to fool the people into believing you want anything other than their suffering and your profiting for yourselves,” Thanos said.

  There came a gasp of disapproval amidst the group.

  “You speak harsh words, nephew,” the king said, looking him in the eyes. “I would almost believe you mean to join the rebellion.”

  “Or perhaps he is already a part of it?” the queen said, her eyebrows rising.

  “I am not,” Thanos barked.

  The air in the gazebo grew hotter, and Thanos realized if he wasn’t careful, he might be accused of treason—a crime punishable by death without trial.

  Stephania stood up and took Thanos’s hand in hers—yet, agitated by her timing, he snapped his hand away.

  Stephania’s expression fell, and she looked down.

  “Perhaps in time you will see the weaknesses of your beliefs,” the king said to Thanos. “For now, our ruling will stand and shall be implemented immediately.”

  “Good,” the queen said with a sudden smile. “Now, let us move onto the second item on our agenda. Thanos, as a young man of nineteen, we, your imperial sovereigns, have chosen a wife for you. We have decided you and Stephania are to be wed.”

  Thanos glanced over at Stephania, whose eyes were glazed with tears, an expression of worry painting her face. He felt aghast. How could they demand this of him?

  “I cannot marry her,” Thanos whispered, a knot forming in his belly.

  Murmurs went through the crowd, and the queen shot to her feet so quickly that her chair fell backward with a crack.

  “Thanos!” she yelled, hands clenched by her sides. “How dare you defy the king? You will marry Stephania whether or not you want to.”