by Morgan Rice
General Draco nodded, and twenty Empire soldiers marched up onto the platform, holding lit torches, taking their places beside the prisoners. When the general nodded again, the soldiers pressed the torches to the revolutionaries’ faces. Each man and woman screamed, the shrieks of pain burning Rexus’s ears.
The onlookers raged in disapproval, but the Empire soldiers standing amidst the crowd forced protesters into silence with clubs, spears, and whips.
Incensed, Rexus knew he could wait no longer. Ready or not, the time had come.
Rexus jumped down from the roof and mounted his horse, galloping back to where he had left his group of men.
“We attack now!” he shouted.
His men grabbed their weapons and quickly assembled, their faces hardening with fury.
Rexus dismounted and felt for the small mirror in his pocket, the same one each of the leaders of the other groups carried. He turned his mirror in the sun, catching the light, reflecting it, the sign they had made that they were ready to attack.
One after another, bright lights twinkled at him from behind houses, until he counted ten. Eleven, including his group, had made it, meaning only one hadn’t.
Rexus looked back at his group and nodded, his heart racing wild.
“For freedom!” he yelled as pulled his sword from its sheath and ran into the square, the revolutionaries following at his heels. Although his hands trembled and his throat was dry, he didn’t falter in the least. All around him the other groups of revolutionaries dashed out from behind shadows and buildings, their roars filling the square.
Rexus hacked his way through the wall of Empire soldiers, and then past three more inside the square, his eyes glancing at the platform when he wasn’t fighting. He needed to get there before it was too late, he knew, before they lost their lives.
“Fight with us and win your freedom!” he yelled to the civilians as he worked his way through the crowd.
Slowly, he noticed that the men around him started to fight the enemy with their bare hands.
Chaos erupted.
Empire soldiers took to attacking the citizens, butchering any and all who were in close proximity. Rexus redoubled his efforts, slashing down soldiers as he went. As his men swarmed the square from all sides, he looked up to see General Draco being ushered away beneath a mountain of shields. Rexus grabbed an arrow from his quiver, aimed it through a narrow gap in the shields, and released.
A moment later, General Draco cried out and fell, and was lying on the platform with an arrow in his shoulder.
The soldiers who had protected him turned toward Rexus.
“Arrest him!” a soldier yelled.
But Rexus was quick as lightning with his bow and he shot them down so swiftly, not one reached him. He dashed toward the poles, and with the help of other revolutionaries, released the prisoners from their shackles, freeing them before it was too late.
But where was Anka? he wondered, glancing around.
There was no time to search. Rexus stood at the edge of the platform and wound his bow, killing as many Empire soldiers as he had arrows.
Finally, the wall of Empire soldiers encircling the plaza broke open on the northern side, and women and children were rushed to the side streets, leaving only men left battling against their persecutors amidst the clanging of swords and groaning of men. Men fell on both sides, piling up in the streets which ran with blood.
Rexus hopped down from the podium, slaying soldier after soldier, fully engrossed in a battle he knew would either make or break the rebellion.
His heart broke a little more each time he saw one of his men or a civilian fall. He worked himself up into such a frenzy that he imagined he might never die at the hands of an Empire sword.
But just then, two soldiers came at him at once, one stabbing him from the side, the other pounding a hammer at him from above.
The blow to the head was sudden—dizzying—the sword in the shoulder a sharp pain that made a shriek tumble from his lips as he fell to the ground.
Momentarily, he could not see. Flailing his sword out in front of him, trying to defend himself, he felt another sharp stab in the leg.
He tried to focus his eyes, everything a blur.
An outcry made him recoil into a fetal position. The echoes of the battle surrounded him.
Now, he thought, now I die.
And with that thought, he knew Ceres would never know how much he cared.
But no sword punctured his chest. No spear was thrust into his abdomen. Instead, he heard grunts as swords collided.
When Rexus was finally able to focus his eyes again, he saw Nesos going at the two Empire soldiers, carrying a sword in one hand, a spear in the other.
Slowly, Rexus rose to his feet, the wound in his shoulder stinging, the blow to his head still making him feel dizzy, and the wound in his leg screaming. He fell over once, but stood straight back up.
Nesos buried his spear in one of the Empire soldier’s necks, and feeling his strength return, Rexus sunk his spear deeply into the enemy’s armpit.
A horn blared through the plaza, and the Empire soldiers looked up and began to evacuate toward the side streets. Mobs of citizens followed after and killed them.
The revolutionaries cheered, Nesos included. But Rexus couldn’t lift his arm and his knees felt suddenly very weak.
Nesos ran toward him, catching him in the fall, helping him onto the ground ever so gently.
As stillness settled at the piazza, Rexus lay there and looked toward the Alva Mountains, toward the cave, the castle, where he knew the bulk of his men were.
His eyes widened. His soul cried.
The castle was engulfed in a fiery inferno.
The revolution was over.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ceres’s hair stood on the back of her neck as she waited for the axe to descend on her. The crowd had gone silent, and she heard her executioner raise his weapon into the air.
In that moment, her entire life flashed before her.
Yet, to her surprise, the blade never dropped.
Instead, she felt arms around her waist.
And a moment later, someone was hoisting her into the air.
She landed on her stomach, hunching forward, and realized she was draped across a horse’s back, her legs on one side, her head on the other. Someone hopped onto the same horse right behind her, whipping it to a sudden start, and Ceres felt a strong arm holding her around her waist, preventing her from falling. She heard arrows swooshing by, hitting against armor or a shield.
The Empire soldiers yelled, the spectators clamored, but their voices slowly vanished as the horse galloped away.
The horse stopped after riding for a while, and she felt her new captor descend the horse. Then sturdy hands grabbed her waist, lifted her off, and set her onto the ground.
She removed the blindfold from her eyes and her breath stopped when she saw Thanos’s face.
“Come,” he said, taking her hand, pulling her with him toward the palace.
“Wait,” she said. “Why…how…?”
She noticed her hands were still shaking, and she couldn’t believe she wasn’t yet dead.
He dragged her into the main entrance, her knees so wobbly she could barely keep up, confusion and anger and surprise reeling through her at once.
“We must speak to the king and queen this instant before the Empire soldiers hunt us down,” Thanos said.
Ceres stiffened and snatched her hand from his, the thought of seeing the king and queen petrifying.
“No! Why?” she asked. “They ordered my execution.”
Thanos pulled her behind a pillar in the vestibule, gently shoving her against the cold marble, looking into her eyes.
“I meant what I said at the Stade,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes.
“You can trust me with your life.”
When he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers, she became breathless.
“And
…I need you,” he said.
Thanos lifted his hand and looked at Ceres’s mouth while tracing her lips with his fingertips, his touch as light as a feather.
She shivered in delight, his scent all around her, his face an inch away, but the war between her head and her heart caused her to stiffen. She should not, no, she would not delight in his touch, she forbade her body. He was still the enemy, and for as long as she lived, he needed to remain that.
Reaching behind her head, he pressed his cheek to hers, the tenderness causing Ceres to let out a faint sigh. She felt his hand wrap around his waist, their bodies pressed against each other, warm, tender.
“But you must tell no one,” he said, pulling away. “Come. We need to see the king and queen. I have a plan.”
Against her will, she let him lead her into the colossal vestibule, and they ran past massive marble pillars that reached all the way to the high ceiling. Ceres had never seen the likes of such architecture; it seemed the palace was a building made by the gods. Silk curtains, shiny chandeliers, marble statues, and golden vases adorned the interior. Having just been in the dungeon, having lived in extreme poverty her entire life, it was as if she had been transported into another world.
Arriving at the second floor, he led her to an enormous bronze door and opened it. They stepped into a huge rectangular room, and at the end of red marble pillars, and rows of seats filled with finely dressed men and women, were two thrones. There sat the king and queen.
Holding Ceres’s hand, Thanos walked toward the thrones.
The king rose, his face red, blood vessels protruding from his forehead.
“What have you done?” he bellowed.
The queen placed a hand on the king’s, but the king only returned her gesture with a threatening glare.
“If you promise to spare Ceres’s life, I will agree to marry Stephania,” he announced.
Ceres glanced at Thanos sideways, wondering what he was doing, confused about his earlier advance.
“Do you think you run this kingdom, boy?” the king said, and then turned to the Empire soldiers. “Arrest them!”
“You will not arrest me!” Thanos yelled, taking a bold step forward as he pointed at the king.
But the Empire soldiers did not heed Thanos.
The king waved his hand and with that, Ceres and Thanos were grabbed again, and this time, both were hauled off to the dungeon.
*
Ceres stood by the bars, peering out into the dungeon hallway, her disbelief slowly being replaced with hopelessness. It hadn’t even been an hour, and here she was again in this rotting hole, awaiting her fate. At least now they had the cell to themselves, no thugs to fear, but other than that, she knew her circumstances were bleak. Extremely bleak.
She thought of the others she had been brought to the scaffolding with, wondering if their sentence had been completed, if they were now one of thousands of casualties at the hands of the cruel Empire.
And then there was Apollo… Tears filled her eyes and she whisked one away as it fell.
She glanced over at Thanos sitting on the filthy floor, his dignity stripped with one word from the nasty king.
“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning his head backward onto the dungeon wall. “I didn’t think my uncle would throw us in prison.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Ceres said.
“I should have.”
There was a long pause, for what was there to say? Ceres wondered. Examining the events that had led them here wouldn’t change their circumstances.
Thanos stood up and paced back and forth a few times.
“I misjudged the queen’s desire to have me marry Stephania,” he said.
He kicked the wall several times and rattled the cage so hard Ceres thought he might break the bars.
“Don’t blame yourself for others’ cruelty,” she said once he had calmed down, their eyes connecting in the dimness.
“I should have never stopped that horse.”
She held his eyes, his stare intense, the memory of his fingertips on her mouth and of his body pressed against hers still resonating through her.
She heard footsteps coming down the passageway, and when she turned, she saw numerous Empire soldiers throw a young lady and several men into the cell next to them.
She gasped.
“Anka?” she said as she peered through the iron bars, recognizing her.
Anka clamped bloodied hands around the bars, her body covered in burn marks, her lovely black locks gone, shorn in uneven lengths.
“Ceres?” she said, her eyes popping.
The Empire soldiers opened the door to Ceres’s cell and pulled Thanos and Ceres out, dragging them down the hallway.
“What happened? Are my brothers well? Is Rexus?” Ceres yelled back at Anka, desperate to know the answers.
“There was a battle…” Anka started.
But they turned the corner, and Ceres could no longer hear Anka’s voice over the thrashing of the Empire soldiers’ heavy boots. It crushed her.
“I demand you tell me where you are taking us,” Thanos said.
The soldiers remained silent and pushed them forward, and Ceres’s heart was racing the way it did when she was on her way to her execution.
Down the hallway they were shoved, and once they arrived at the staircase, the Empire soldiers stopped.
“Go,” one said.
Perplexed, Ceres looked to Thanos. He took her hand, and together they started to climb the stairs.
What would await them at the top? Ceres wondered, finding it impossible to believe or hope she truly was free to go. Was there a wagon standing there to take them to the scaffolding? Were a dozen Empire soldiers standing in wait, ready to shoot them down with flaming arrows?
Thanos squeezed her hand, his face appearing much calmer than the raging anxiety she felt inside, and she wondered how he could be calm at such a moment as this.
Arriving at the top of the steps, Ceres saw the queen standing in front of them, her hands clasped in front of her body.
The queen glanced down at Ceres’s and Thanos’s joined hands and frowned.
“I spoke some sense into the king and he agreed to set you free so long as you solemnly swear to wed Stephania,” she said.
“I swear it,” Thanos said, tightening his grip around Ceres’s hand.
“And with that, I expect you two to cease any and all contact other than when you are training for the Killings,” the queen said, her eyes narrowing into slivers.
“Understood,” Thanos said with a nod.
The queen stepped forward and locked cold eyes on Ceres.
“As for you, little girl,” she said, “I have plans for you, and you might think you are glad to keep your life, but soon you will regret that you weren’t beheaded on that scaffolding today.”
The queen turned on her heels and marched away, Ceres now realizing it was quite possibly even deadlier inside the castle walls than out.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ceres arrived extra early the next morning at the palace training grounds, her mind still reeling from the events of the night before, from how close she had come to death. And most of all, from thoughts of Thanos. She owed him her life. And yet she did not know if she loved or hated him. And knowing Rexus was out there, waiting for her, she hated feeling this way about anyone else.
Anxious to take her mind off of all this and resume training with Thanos, Ceres focused on her work. With great care, she laid out the weapons she thought he might use in today’s practice, and then she filled the drinking bucket with fresh water.
She was focusing when suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lucious walking straight toward her, his eyes filled with loathing, his muscles rigid with aggression. She tensed. Not a single other person was in sight, and now she wished she had not been so early.
And then, when she saw her sword in Lucious’s hand, her heart started to race.
She knew she couldn’t fight him—he might
have her arrested and thrown in prison again. But she couldn’t not defend herself either, knowing he would have no qualms about killing her.
Then a thought popped into her mind. Had the queen set this up?
Alarmed, she glanced around to see if anyone else might be on their way, but she heard no voices and saw no one in the distance.
Approaching, Lucious scowled and took a threatening step in her direction, his hand squeezing the hilt, the blood vessels in his forehead protruding.
“Place the sword on the table!” Ceres heard a deep voice growl behind her.
She swiveled around and saw a stranger. He was dressed in the manner of the southern isles, his longer than usual tunic similar to those she had seen from those parts. His skin was golden, his shoulder-length black hair kept in a ponytail, and his posture was an erect board.
With dark, slanted eyes, he glared at Lucious with such intensity, Ceres was convinced the stranger could kill with his eyes alone.
Lucious pinched his lips together and laid her sword onto the weapon table.
“Now leave,” the man said.
Lucious gave him a disapproving look, but did as the stranger said and stomped off with a huff.
“I take it you are Ceres?” the man asked.
She hesitated to answer, wondering if this man could be trusted. Perhaps he was an assassin sent to kill her by the queen, the queen’s words bouncing around inside of her skull.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“You may call me Master Isel,” the man said. “I am your new fighting master.”
At first, she thought she had misheard him, especially when she considered the queen’s last comment to her. But the way Isel looked at her, with respect and dignity in his eyes, she almost dared to believe what he had said was true.
“From now on, for three hours a day, I will train you to become a combatlord,” he said. “I will instruct you like a man, so no man can ever touch you or triumph over you. Do you accept?”
Now she believed it was true, but why? And it surprised her that he even asked that question. Was not accepting an option? She knew even if it were, she would be a fool to decline.
