by Morgan Rice
On the edge of the royal box, an official in white stood and gestured for silence. In it, he boomed his announcement of the fight.
“For our next fight, we have the only woman to have ever fought in the Stade, the princess of the sands: Ceres!”
She stepped forward, waiting as the cheers rose to a crescendo. She should have been afraid, excited, something. Instead, the thoughts of what had happened to Rexus and Thanos seemed to consume everything else within her, drawing it down into some bottomless pit inside her. There was anger there though. Anger at everything the royals had done to her, and at the way this cruel world worked. A part of Ceres found itself welcoming the violence to come.
“Against her,” the announcer continued, “we have Prince Lucious’s greatest combatlord, the terror of the Stade: The Last Breath.”
The Last Breath stood there, leaning on his weapon in what seemed to Ceres like contempt for the crowd. She wondered for a moment if he enjoyed any of this. Then he lifted his weapon and started to spin it. The bladed staff must have weighed more than either of Ceres’s weapons, but her opponent twirled it as if it were nothing.
He spun it in arcs above his head, then out to either side. Ceres could hear the swish of the blades as they cut through the air, their rhythm like the scythe teams who cut meadow grass in the summer. He didn’t watch the weapon as he spun it. Instead, Ceres saw his eyes fixed firmly on her. He brought the bladed staff around in one final arc, then swung it down to scatter the sand beneath his feet.
The crowd cheered at the display, but Ceres’s opponent didn’t react. His gaze didn’t waver, and Ceres could feel the hostility there as his eyes bored into hers. She had the urge to take a step back then, or flinch, but she held herself still, concentrating on everything Master Isel had taught her. She could beat this opponent, but she had to move and keep moving.
Horns blared to signal the start of the contest. To Ceres, they seemed to come from a long way away. Even the crowd seemed to occupy a different space. There was only her and her opponent, crouched and waiting. The horn blast went on for several seconds, fading into echoes while Ceres waited.
Then the Last Breath leapt at her, almost too fast to follow, and Ceres knew the time had come to fight for her life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
By the time Stephania found the king and queen, they were already in the morning session of their court, listening to an argument about trading rights on the Empire’s fringes. A fat merchant argued with one of the court’s lesser nobles in front of them.
“And I say that I made all of the required payments,” the merchant said. “But Lord Hywell has failed to pass them on to the Empire’s revenue collectors.”
“And is there any evidence of this?” the noble insisted. “Do you have any records of these payments?”
“Enough,” King Claudius said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you think I want to listen to you prattle this early? Someone find the royal tax collector’s records. If there is no record of the duty being paid, the merchant Zorat will pay it now, along with a fine of one part per hundred.”
“But your majesty—”
The king’s look was enough that even Stephania felt the urge to take a step back.
“You should be grateful,” he said. “Trying to avoid the taxes of the Empire is normally punished with the gibbet. Which reminds me, when we find the royal tax collector, have him go through Lord Hywell’s estate and find out just how much he has taken that should have been mine.”
This time, it was the noble’s turn to blanch. “I have always been loyal.”
“Is it loyal to steal from your king?” the queen asked. “Take from the peasants if you must, but you do not steal from us. Now get out. Court is done for this morning.”
“Wait, your majesties,” Stephania called out. “I must be heard.”
Almost everyone there turned to her. Most looked slightly shocked that anyone would dare to contradict the queen. Especially not when she and the king already seemed to be in a dangerous mood. Several stepped back, as though to distance themselves from whatever was going to come back.
“Stephania?” the queen said. “Do you think you can overrule our commands?”
Stephania swept down into her most perfect curtsy, keeping her eyes carefully downcast. She was sure she looked the perfect picture of elegant submission to royal authority.
“Forgive me, your majesties, but I have information that I believe you will wish to hear. Urgent information, relating to Ceres.”
She looked up to see King Claudius looking straight at her.
“What about her?” the king asked. “She will die in the Stade today.”
“If Lucious is right,” Stephania said. She straightened up. “And even then, it is dangerous. The crowd might treat her as a hero when she dies.”
Beside the king, Queen Athena drummed her fingers on the arms of her throne. “Weren’t you one of the people suggesting that the Stade would be better than executing Ceres? Are you telling us that you advised us poorly, Stephania?”
Stephania thought quickly. “I argued against Ceres’s execution out of hand, your majesty. The people would not stand for her simply being killed for no reason. But now, I believe I have a reason.”
Stephania caught the change in atmosphere then. Feeling the mood of the court was an essential skill for anyone in her position. Now, she could feel it moving from being sharp edged and dangerous to something much more hopeful.
“What reason?” King Claudius asked.
Stephania took out the ring she’d gotten from Ceres’s mother. She hadn’t cleaned it, because the smear of blood on it seemed to make the whole thing much more convincing.
“This ring is from a slaver named Lord Blaku.”
“I know of him,” the queen said. “What is his role in this?”
It was a surprise to Stephania that the queen might know of a slaver, but then, the nobility made their money in all kinds of ways.
“He is dead, your majesty,” Stephania said. “I have information that Ceres was the one who killed him, from the one who brought this ring.”
“And who was that?” the queen asked.
“Her mother, your majesty,” Stephania said. She risked a smile, because that was the part that clinched it. Anyone could make up an allegation, but for someone to be denounced by their own mother? That was practically impossible to ignore. “Ceres was the property of the slaver, and she killed him while escaping from him.”
Stephania heard the faint intake of breath from some of the court. They clearly understood the seriousness of the crime. At this point, they could do almost anything they wished with Ceres and it would not matter.
King Claudius steepled his fingers. “What do you want us to do, Stephania? Wouldn’t it be simpler to allow her to die in the Stade?”
“Simpler,” Stephania said, “but perhaps not best.”
“And you have something in mind instead?”
Stephania nodded. “I do, your majesty. The Isle of Prisoners.”
That got another intake of breath and Stephania smiled at it. With all the punishments the Empire had, it seemed that the prospect of the Isle of Prisoners still had the power to shock. Stephania could understand that. It was a place of cruelty and punishment, from which few ever returned. Those who did returned broken and changed, as shadows of their former selves. Stephania looked around and watched them all start to understand.
“In the Stade,” Stephania said, “Ceres is an embarrassment. At best, she is the girl we had to kill publicly because we hated her so much. She becomes a symbol that way. At worst… perhaps she will even continue to win.”
“And that will become a different kind of symbol,” Queen Athena said. “A symbol that people can resist us successfully. Hmm… Stephania has a point, Claudius.”
The king sat there for what seemed like forever. Stephania could see him weighing it up, and someone else might have tried to say something then to push him in one direction
or another. Lucious certainly would have, and Lucious would probably have found his king disagreeing with him, just to remind him of his place. Stephania had learned the lesson the noble petitioner before her hadn’t. Sometimes, it was better to be patient.
“Yes,” the king said at last. “I believe she does. It is a far better plan than Lucious’s, at least.”
Stephania smiled as sweetly as she could. “I am sure Lucious knows what he is doing.”
Queen Athena regarded her carefully. “Even so, I think perhaps we have underestimated you in the past, Stephania.”
“Oh, no, your majesty,” Stephania said, even though it was undoubtedly true. “You have always been very kind. And this… well, Ceres’s mother could have come to anyone.”
“Yes, I suppose she could,” the queen said.
Of course, Stephania thought, that would have required the others to pay attention and keep their ears open for useful information. Any of them could have done it. None of them did. But Stephania had no wish to appear too clever. It was better if they just thought she was lucky. Very, very lucky, in this case.
“What do you think should be done with Ceres once she reaches the Isle of Prisoners, though?” the king asked.
Stephania spread her hands. “A quiet death, your majesty. In whatever way pleases you most.”
King Claudius nodded at that. “A quiet death, yes. A death that won’t cause any more trouble.”
“And a death where we can take our time,” Queen Athena added. There was something cruel about the set of her features as she said it, but Stephania guessed that she could afford to be more open about it than Stephania was.
King Claudius seemed to be decided. “Yes, I like this idea. Go to the Stade, Stephania. See that Ceres is not killed where people will see her as a martyr. Let her disappear instead.”
“Me, your majesty?” Stephania asked. She had expected them to send a servant, or their guards, or perhaps to go themselves. She hadn’t wanted to be the one to end Lucious’s fun directly. He was potentially a very useful ally.
“You are the one who suggested this, Stephania,” Queen Athena said. “You should be the one to put it into practice. You will have our full authority.”
And would no doubt be blamed if anything went wrong, Stephania thought. Still, the idea of the king and queen’s full authority was a pleasant one. Stephania dropped down into another curtsy.
“Thank you for trusting me, your majesties. I will not let you down.”
“I am sure you will not,” Queen Athena said. “And if you do not, we will remember all the help you have given to us recently. Now go.”
“At once, your majesty.”
Stephania backed out of the smaller throne room, keeping to the courtesies required at court. It gave her enough time to enjoy the fact that things were going to go the way she wanted. When she reached the door, she turned and hurried through the corridors of the castle. The Killings would already be underway, the crowds of commoners cheering in their blood lust, and there would only be a little more time to fulfill the king and queen’s orders. Stephania didn’t want to think about what might happen if she failed.
Stephania went from a brisk walk to a run. She had never thought she would find herself doing this, but now she had to get to the Stade before Ceres was killed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ceres threw herself back just before a crescent-shaped blade flashed past her throat. The crowd roared, and instinct drove her to duck as the other end of the Last Breath’s weapon thrust for her.
She tumbled across the sand, feeling it scrape across her skin as she came back to her feet, her adrenaline pumping with the intensity of the fight.
The crowd cheered.
Ceres stood there for a moment, trying to get her bearings as her opponent advanced on her—but there was no time. She parried another thrust with crossed blades, then felt the shaft of the staff slamming her back.
Again, the crowd roared.
Ceres retreated and circled, keeping her distance while she looked for a way past the whirling circle of half-moon edges. While those watching yelled for her to strike, she forced herself to breathe deeply, remembering her lessons.
Paulo had been right about her opponent’s strength. Every time Ceres parried a stroke of the staff, the shock of it reverberated up her arms. Already, they ached with the effort of it, so that it felt as though all the strength she’d built in training was running out of her like water from a broken barrel.
She moved to her right, looking for a way to close the distance. She feinted with her sword, ducked under an answering sweep, and managed to scrape a cut across her opponent’s arm with her dagger. Ceres heard the crowd chant her name.
A flash of sunlight on steel warned her about the counterstrike and she barely dodged back out of range again.
The Last Breath stood there, touched his arm, and lifted a bloody finger as if to examine it. He shrugged, and Ceres almost relaxed. Then he lunged forward again, blows coming for Ceres so fast she could barely see them.
Ceres parried the first three, tried to stab back, and felt the sudden pain along her leg as one of the blades cut across it. The clash of steel on steel came as another blow struck her breastplate, combined with an impact that spun her away, thankfully out of range of the next slash of blades.
Ceres saw the faint trail of droplets in the air as the spinning staff cast off her blood.
Ceres, desperate, kicked up sand toward the combatlord’s eyes, trying to buy herself time. It rose in a cloud between them, briefly obscuring her view of her opponent. A crescent blade emerged from that cloud swinging around so fast that Ceres barely caught it.
Her sword snapped. Ceres had an instant to flinch as fragments flew; the blade sheared off just above the hilt, the shock of it sending a gasp through the crowd.
She threw the weapon at her opponent and tried to maneuver around so that Paulo could throw her a fresh weapon. The Last Breath seemed to have anticipated that, though, keeping between her and her weapon keeper, blocking any chance for Paulo to toss her the weighted net he was holding.
Ceres found herself waiting for the power that had come in her previous fights. She tried to summon it, but the truth was that she didn’t have any idea how to. If she could find the power that she’d used to kill before, she might have a chance here.
But it didn’t come.
For the first time in the Stade, she felt… ordinary. It was just her against this monster of a man.
The realization came to her, cold and hard in the pit of her stomach. She was going to lose. Ceres was surprised to find how much that meant to her. She’d thought she was at peace with it, ready, even eager to die. Yet now that it looked like she might, fear coiled around her, impossible to push back.
She managed to circle enough for Paulo to toss the weighted net to her. It wasn’t a battlefield weapon the way a sword was. It was something designed for use in the Stade, so in that sense, maybe it was a good choice against an opponent from so far away, who might not have seen it before. A skilled fighter with it could tangle and trip, engulf and confuse an opponent. Ceres knew the theory of it, but she’d spent far less time with it than with the sword.
She kept her distance from the Last Breath, casting her net out in arcs that she tried to match to those of his bladed staff. Her only hope now was to wear him down, tangle his blades, and pull him in close to finish him. It was a desperate plan, and as the combatlord kept attacking, Ceres found herself retreating, step by step.
Around Ceres, the crowd booed. Where they’d called her name before, now she heard them catcall and hiss. Ceres knew how much the crowds at the Stade wanted action. They hated fighters who ran, yet right then, Ceres couldn’t think of a better option. The Last Breath advanced on her, twirling his bladed staff, and backing up was the only way she could find to survive.
For a moment, the staff stalled, and Ceres saw her opening. She cast out her net, throwing it underhand so that it wrapped around the
haft of her opponent’s weapon again and again. The weights on the net locked it in place, as tightly as if Ceres had tied it there. Wrapping the trailing rope around her forearm, Ceres set her feet and pulled, trying to yank her opponent’s weapon from him.
She saw the Last Breath smile as he stood there, steady as a rock.
He pulled back, and Ceres felt herself yanked forward. Too late, she realized the danger of gripping the net so tightly. Her opponent slammed the haft of his weapon forward as she stumbled in, and the weapon caught her just above the jaw. For a moment, the world seemed to swim, and Ceres tasted the iron tang of blood.
The combatlord struck her like that again and again, using the rough wood of the staff to pummel her head and body while Ceres stood trapped by her own grip on the net. Somewhere in that assault, she lost her hold on the dagger. Then the Last Breath kicked her, knocking her sprawling. Ceres could hear the crowds cheering again now, and they weren’t cheering for her.
Ceres lay on her back in the sand. She wanted to get up, but there seemed to be a gap between thinking it and doing it that was too wide to cross. Instead, she could only watch as the Last Breath stood over her, seeming to blot out the sky above as he lifted his bladed staff for a killing blow. Ceres swallowed, anticipating the moment when he would bring it down, trying not to show any fear.
She heard a horn sound as if from a great distance, and managed to look over toward the royal box. She should have guessed Lucious would want to make this decision. It would be one final reminder for Ceres that her fate was in his hands. She looked over at the royal box and saw the noble standing there, his arm outstretched, while the crowd in the Stade called for life or death.
Far too many sounded as though they were calling for her death.
There was another figure in the royal box, though. It took Ceres a moment to recognize Stephania, and to realize that she was arguing with Lucious. Lucious was bright red with anger, his features twisted into something close to fury. Slowly, with obvious reluctance, he turned his thumb up for life.
