by Morgan Rice
At first, her heart leapt in her chest and she wanted to shout yes. Yes! But then she thought of the conversation she had had with Rexus. How would she earn Thanos’s trust if she backed out now? She wouldn’t.
“Is that what you want?” she asked.
“I prefer to work with you, but seeing the rules have changed, I will not hold it against you if you decide to sit this round out,” he said.
She couldn’t believe it. Here he was giving her freedom, and she was scheming how to best earn his trust so she could destroy him and his family. A feeling of guilt began to take root.
But then she remembered her people’s suffering: the young boy who had been whipped in Fountain Square and hauled off to an unknown destination, the girl who had died in the slaver wagon alone and afraid, her brothers who never went to bed with full bellies, and her father who had to leave his family to make money elsewhere.
If she didn’t stand up for them, who would?
“Then I will be your weapon-keeper today and for as long as you would have me,” Ceres said.
Thanos nodded, and a hint of a smile graced his lips.
“We shall conquer together,” he said.
*
With sweaty hands and an unsettled stomach, Ceres peered down the tunnel underneath the Stade. The passageway was crawling with Empire soldiers, combatlords, and weapon-keepers, weapons of every kind lining the walls, strewn across the gravel floors.
She sat down on a bench mere feet away from the iron gates, waiting for her and Thanos’s turn, the crowd chanting like a dragon outside.
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” they shouted.
The onlookers roared, and not a minute later, the iron gates opened, chains clattering, and in strode two Empire soldiers, each hauling mutilated, dead combatlords. They threw one corpse on top of the other onto the dirt floor right across from where Ceres sat, and then they darted back out into the arena.
Ceres startled when the iron gate slammed shut behind them, and she couldn’t help but slide her eyes toward the lifeless bodies. Just minutes ago, those men had stood in front of her full of vigor, certain they would be triumphant in today’s competition. Now they rested in a heap on the floor, never to rise again.
When she glanced up at Thanos, his eyes were already on her, those impossibly dark irises carrying solemnity that Ceres had only ever seen in the dying. Was he afraid like she was? she wondered.
She watched as he tightened the thick leather belt around his canvas loincloth, his rigid abdomen exposed. She could hardly believe what little protection he wore: a single leather shoulder guard covering his right arm. Most of the other warriors hid behind heavy armor and shining helmets.
Ceres had been given a uniform: a blue short-sleeved tunic that reached to her knees, a silk rope around her waist, and soft leather knee-high boots that resembled Thanos’s. Although she didn’t particularly like it, she was glad to be out of her old clothes that did nothing but remind her of her old life.
“Did the king set you up?” Ceres asked, remembering King Claudius’s sly expression when he hand-picked the royal warriors’ names from the golden bowl.
“Yes,” Thanos said.
She clenched her teeth and a fire of hate burned within.
“This isn’t right,” she said.
“No, it isn’t,” Thanos said, sitting down beside her, tightening the straps on his boots. “But if there is one thing I have learned, it is that you don’t refuse the king.”
“Have you refused him before?” she asked.
He nodded.
“For what?”
“I wouldn’t marry the princess he had chosen for me.”
She stared at him for a moment, stunned. She was amazed at the courage that must have taken. Perhaps the girl was hideous, although Ceres hadn’t seen any hideous princesses her entire life, all of them dressed in fine clothing, bathed in sweet-smelling perfumes, and adorned with exquisite jewelry.
She looked away, wondering who this young man really was. A rebel? Ceres had not once considered that there might be a nonconformist within the palace walls.
She had a whole new respect for Thanos. Perhaps he was not the boy she thought he was. Which made her feel even sicker to betray him.
“And what of Lucious and Georgio?” she asked.
“The king despises them for other reasons.”
“But how can the king can just randomly—”
He interrupted her, his voice impatient.
“Just because I am royalty doesn’t mean I have a say in my life.”
Ceres hadn’t thought about that. She had always assumed the royals were free to do as they pleased and that they ruled as one big enemy.
“All the pomp and haughtiness, the rules, decorum, frivolous spending…it drives me to the brink of insanity,” he said, almost growling.
Ceres was taken aback that he would say such things about the royals and didn’t know exactly what to say to him. Instead, she looked out the iron gates, and just as she did, she saw a combatlord stab Georgio’s weapon-keeper through the abdomen.
Her hand hit her mouth and she gasped.
In her naiveté, she had assumed she was safe from other combatlords since she wasn’t the one fighting. A sense of dread gripped her shoulders and she noticed how her hands shook even more than before.
An Empire soldier approached, telling Thanos it was his turn to fight next, and that he would be fighting together with Lucious against two other combatlords.
With a parched throat, Ceres said, “We have to stick together if we are to make it out alive.”
Thanos nodded, a quiet understanding between them.
They stood up and walked over to the iron gates, each in their own thoughts for some time.
“I won’t kill unless I have to,” Thanos suddenly said.
Ceres nodded, wondering if this was one more way he planned to defy the king.
“I need to know I can trust you with my life,” he said without looking away from the arena.
“You can trust me with your life,” Ceres said, wondering if he heard the slight hesitation in her voice.
He closed his eyes and nodded.
“You can trust me with your life, too, Ceres,” he said.
She didn’t know why, but his words sank into her bones, and she felt they were true. Despite herself, she was feeling an intense bond with him.
Lucious and his weapon-keeper stepped up behind Thanos and Ceres, and Ceres noticed Lucious’s shiny full body armor and visored helmet. No amount of armor will save a sloppy warrior’s life, she thought.
The iron gates swung open, and in came Georgio alive, his body drenched in sweat, blood dripping from a few lacerations to his arms and abdomen. An Empire soldier dragged his weapon-keeper in behind him and flung him on top of the other cadavers on the floor.
Ceres’s entire body started to shake.
“Stay close to me,” Thanos said, his eyes straight forward as if in a trance, his jaw clenching.
Just as the Empire soldier nodded for them to exit, Lucious shoved Ceres out of the way and entered the arena first, his arms held high in the air as if in victory. The masses went wild, and he paraded around for a few moments, reveling in their approval.
At any other time than this very moment, his behavior would have irritated Ceres to no end, but standing here, inhaling what could quite possibly be her last breath, she paid no attention to the approval-seeking fool.
Thanos and Ceres entered the arena next, and Ceres squinted, the sun blinding her. Once her eyes had adjusted to the light, she glanced up into the audience, seeing only roughly half the seats filled.
She gazed up at the podium and saw the king sitting up on his throne, smiling glumly. How she despised him. If what Thanos said was true, he was eviler than Ceres had imagined.
“Remember, stay close,” Thanos said, touching her elbow.
She nodded and then spotted the two combatlords on the other side of the arena, wearing heavy armor, e
ach holding a sword.
When the trumpets blared, at once, a beast sprung out from one of the trap doors in the ground. It charged toward Ceres and Thanos, its grizzled black fur glistening in the sunlight, its roar echoing against the stadium walls. The dog-like creature was unfamiliar to Ceres—large body, stalky legs—and moved at a slower pace compared to an omnicat, although she didn’t doubt it was just as strong.
“A wolver!” someone from the crowd yelled, and then a wave of clamors moved through the audience.
Adrenaline coursed through her, and for a moment, she didn’t know where to go. But when she saw the weapons lined up against the wall, she headed toward them and waited for Thanos’s command.
First, Thanos called for the trident, and she flung it to him. Good choice, she thought as she watched him catch it mid-air. She wanted to jump in and help him, but she remembered the rule forbidding a weapon-keeper to intervene.
Thanos screamed at the wolver as he jabbed the trident toward the beast, his feet moving with swiftness, his reflexes lightning quick.
From the corner of her eye, Ceres noticed one of the combatlords making his way toward Thanos. If he were smart, the combatlord would wait to strike until after Thanos had slain the wolver or the beast might attack him, too.
All of a sudden, the wolver charged toward Thanos, and Thanos jabbed it in the shoulder. The onlookers cheered in approval at the fight’s first attack.
However, the wolver didn’t seem to be injured in the least, only growling louder from what Thanos had done, licking its teeth, red eyes glaring at Thanos.
“Longsword!” Thanos yelled.
Right as she threw it to him, he dropped the trident to the ground and caught the longsword mid-air. But then suddenly, Ceres sensed he needed protection from fire— quick—and she yelled at him and also threw him a shield. Just as he caught the shield, the wolver inhaled, and then it spewed fire from its mouth. The onlookers gasped, and Thanos ducked behind the shield, the flames blasting against the metal surface.
Once the wolver had run out of breath, Thanos dropped his shield, picked up the trident, and hurled it at the beast’s head, piercing its eye.
The animal violently shook its head as it snarled and growled, sending the trident flying halfway across the arena, Ceres saw.
Without hesitating, Thanos tore toward the wolver, leapt into the air, and lifted his sword. On his way down, he stabbed the beast in the head, and it fell lifeless onto the red sand.
But even though the audience cheered, there was no rest. The combatlord that had been lying in wait charged, his spear and sword pointed straight at Thanos.
Thanos pulled and pulled, trying to dislodge the blade from the wolver’s skull, Ceres saw. But it wouldn’t budge. And he already had three weapons on the field; the trident on the other side of the arena, his shield too far to reach, and the blade wedged into the wolver’s skull. Ceres knew it was against the rules to throw him another one.
She held her breath. The combatlord was close. Too close. She stepped forward.
Still pulling on the blade, Thanos looked at Ceres, his eyes wide with fear, his face twisted in desperation.
He was going to die.
And there was nothing Ceres could do to prevent it.
CHAPTER TEN
Screaming, Thanos desperately tugged at the blade lodged in the wolver’s skull, but even as fiercely as he tried, the sword would not budge in the least. Hearing the combatlord’s footsteps approaching, he glanced back to see his enemy a mere ten feet away. His life depended on retrieving his sword, for he knew a weaponless warrior was a dead warrior.
Fraught, he looked to Ceres, but he knew three weapons were on the field and if she threw him another one, she would be punished.
She raised a palm toward him, and just as he heard the swooshing sound of his opponent’s blade descending, Thanos’s sword jutted into his hand as if by some mystical force.
Shocked at what happened but with no time to linger on it, Thanos spun and rolled on the ground, the combatlord’s sword just missing him by a fraction of an inch, the crowd’s roar peaking into a frenzy before retreating into a static hum.
Thanos was quick to hop to his feet, and just then, he heard Lucious calling for help. Seeing his opponent several feet away, Thanos afforded a quick glance and discovered Lucious stripped of a weapon, his weapon-keeper lying facedown in the red sand.
“Throw me something! Anything!” Lucious yelled to Ceres, his voice filled with rage. “Do it now or I’ll have you skinned alive!”
As Thanos snapped his attention back towards his foe, he vaguely registered that Ceres tossed Lucious two daggers. But his irritation was replaced with alarm when he saw the combatlord hurling a spear at him.
Just as the spear approached, Thanos clenched a fist around it, stopping it from penetrating his heart, and then he whirled the spear around and flung it back at the combatlord, piercing his thigh exactly where he had meant to.
“Thanos! Thanos! Thanos!” the audience shouted, fists pumping into the air.
The combatlord fell to his feet, moaning in pain, holding his leg, the spear protruding from it.
Recognizing his opportunity, Thanos ran behind the combatlord and hit him on the head with the hilt of his sword, knocking him unconscious.
However, even before he could look to the king for acceptance of his victory, Lucious encircled him—and suddenly Lucious’s combatlord attacked Thanos, forcing Thanos to continue fighting.
The scoundrel pawned his combatlord onto me, Thanos thought.
It was as he had always suspected: Lucious had absolutely no honor.
While he was battling a new opponent, Thanos could see Lucious sauntering over to the iron gate.
“Let me in or I will kill you and find your family and torture them all to death!” Lucious yelled.
Thanos heard the gate rattling as it opened, the crowed booing Lucious.
“Thanos!” Ceres yelled, holding up two daggers.
Of course. He was growing weary and needed lighter weapons. He nodded toward her, and she threw them to him.
Right away, Thanos kicked the combatlord in the chest so he flew backward. But with impeccable balance, the combatlord landed on his feet and charged toward Thanos, sword in hand. The combatlord lunged forward, thrusting his sword toward Thanos, but Thanos jumped out of the way.
As they moved around the arena, Thanos noticed that little by little, his nemesis grew exhausted, his chest heaving greatly with each breath, his movements slackening a hair. His plan was working. He didn’t want to kill the man, no, only exhaust him so he could render him unconscious like he had the first one.
Right as Thanos approached his shield, he picked it up from the ground and flung it into the combatlord’s face. The combatlord fell to the ground lifeless, and for the first time since he could remember since entering the arena, the spectators went silent.
Thanos panted and gazed up at the podium, awaiting the king’s decision, hoping he would not be commanded to murder his unconscious adversary.
However, from what he knew about the blood-thirsty monarch, Thanos feared King Claudius would force him to do something he had worked hard to avoid—kill.
The king glowered at Thanos as if he didn’t accept that the battle had ended in Thanos’s favor, the tension between the two palpable, the entire Stade void of the faintest of sounds. After arising from his seat, the king walked to the edge of the platform, his hand outstretched, his thumb outstretched to the side.
Finally, the king lifted a thumb up with a frown, and the onlookers broke into applause.
Thanos couldn’t believe it. Ceres and he had survived. They had survived!
He looked over at Ceres, feeling drops of sweat dripping from his hair and down his face. He nodded, and when she smiled, it was as if in that instance, the victory was complete.
He stared at her, stunned. She had saved his life more than once, and had done it in a way he did not understand.
And
for the first time since he’d met her, he was beginning to wonder.
Who was she?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A tear rolled down Ceres’s cheek as her fingers carefully skimmed the weapons laid out on tables in the practice arena. Amidst the twilight she heard laughter and music spilling out from the open palace windows, every royal inside those haughty walls celebrating today’s great victories. It made her feel more alone than ever. It made her miss her brothers, her father, her home, Rexus, dearly. It made her mourn for the mother she’d never had.
Ceres paused and listened to the wind sighing through the trees, as she looked up and saw a few stars twinkling down on her. She inhaled the fresh air, the scent of roses and lilies filling her nostrils. The quiet was a welcome friend after the roaring crowd at the Stade. Even if she had been invited to the feast, she wouldn’t have wanted to accept, having no desire to mingle with those pompous royals who were congratulating each other for a battle Thanos and she had won.
Thanos. Her insides coiled tightly when she thought of how he hadn’t even bothered to see her after the Killings. There was no “thank you.” No “job well done.” But she didn’t need his approval or his praise, she reminded herself. She didn’t need anyone.
Upset with herself for allowing such ludicrous melancholy, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, picked up a spear, and walked to the center of the practice arena.
Swinging the spear overhead, she whirled it around until a swooshing sound could be heard. She then hurled it at a training dummy, hitting it right on the center of the smallest circle. She smiled.
Feeling much lighter, she meandered over to the table again and picked out a sword—one that reminded her of her own, its blade thin and long, its hilt bronze and gold.
Lunging forward, she pretended to attack Lucious—the coward—her sword moving with deftness, her attention and anger on her imaginary enemy.
Keep light afoot. She jumped. Attack and defend. She lunged. Be fluid like water, strong like a mountain. It was what her trainers at the palace had pounded into her. And it was what she had practiced for hours and months and years.
