Barbarian Gladiator (Princesses of the Ironbound Book 4)

by Aaron Crash

  The clansman turned his palms up. “Regardless, we have no proof. He has those magic coins that are protecting his secrets.”

  “If he were to break the rules of the Kurzig Durgha, we could kill him,” Della said softly. “If he betrayed the host. Us.”

  “We would need proof. Definite proof.” Ymir thought for a moment. “Do you know of any magic coins that can allow someone to go unseen? To perhaps vanish in one place and appear somewhere else?”

  “I would have to check,” Della said thoughtfully. “But yes. If we could prove he has been sneaking around, dishonoring himself and us, his host, then we would have cause to cut his heart out.”

  “Not poison?” Ymir teased.

  That made the Princept frown. “No. The orcs loathe poisons and potioneers. It would have to be in a fight, with as many witnesses as possible, with as much flare and drama as possible. Ideally, we will kill him in the Kurzig Durgha. Then we’d be done with this whole mess.”

  “We shouldn’t kill him right away,” Ymir said with a smile. “The Paradise Tree will be selling food, and I plan on making a profit. To pay for myself, for Jennybelle and Lillee, our tuition and our rent in the Zoo.”

  That made the Princept roll her eyes. She tried to laugh, but it was a weak sound, broken. “There’s something else, Ymir. At the reception last night, I saw Gatha’s mother, Jennybelle’s aunt, and Lillee’s father talking, as if they’d known each other for a long, long time. I went over and talked with them. And I suggested to them that the night should never end, and the day should never begin. Their reaction wasn’t exactly innocent.”

  Dread filled Ymir’s belly. “The Midnight Guild.”

  “The same.” Della closed her eyes. “Those three are powerful, connected, and dangerous. And they are connected to your women. If I were to learn that you, or they, were a part of a conspiracy that brought murder to my campus.” Her storm-gray eyes opened. “We wouldn’t be playing this game we’ve been playing for nearly two years, my friend. Things would change.”

  Ymir stood and went to the couch. This was a daring step, but he knew this moment was vital, and not just for him, but for his women. He sat and took Della’s hands in his. They were warm, calloused, and strong. “I swear to you, on the souls of my grandparents, on my very life, that we are not a part of the Midnight Guild. My women and I are outcasts from our families. Gatha’s mother is a cunt who made one of her daughters murder the other. Auntie Jia sent an assassin to kill Jennybelle. And Cebor disowned his daughter and didn’t look back. They came here, but did any of them try to contact any of my girls? No.”

  Della smiled. “It’s all very dramatic, clansman. You can let go of my hands and sit back in your chair.”

  He gripped her hands harder. “I would’ve thought the hands of the Honored Princept would be softer.”

  Her smile didn’t dim. “I would’ve thought the hands of a savage barbarian would be far rougher. It seems we aren’t what we seem.”

  He gave her hands a squeeze and stood. “We need to fight one enemy at a time. Gulnash is enough for now. We’ll both use our magic to see if we can discern why he came early. And you know Gatha—if one book is out of place, she will know.”

  “Too bad the Betrayer hasn’t been perusing her collection of erotica.”

  That made Ymir laugh. “Then we could catch him red-handed.”

  “And I thought you were going to mention something about sticky fingers.” Della’s eyes never left his face.

  Ymir smirked. He and the Princept were indeed getting familiar with each other, but he was tired, and he wanted to check in on his women. “Good night, Princept.”

  “Wait.” Della rose to her feet. She approached him. Below them, lightning arced across the shelves, giving them a bright light for a moment. “What do you know of Sarina Sia?”

  “You are full of surprises tonight,” Ymir said evenly. This was an interesting turn of events, but the clansman wasn’t all that shocked. He’d brought forth the ghost of the long-dead Princept when he’d crafted two of the rings. She was still around and interested in Ymir, as well as his obsession with the forbidden jewelry.

  Suddenly, Ymir realized what the ultimate cold just might be.

  “Tell me. Have you seen her?” Della asked.

  “A ghost?” Ymir shrugged. “Aren’t demons enough?”

  Della’s face fell.

  The clansman felt bad for a moment. “Gatha has said she’s heard the cries of the former Princept’s ttoogs, and she’s smelled the love stink. I’ve seen her shadow, Della, so, yes, I think she’s around. I don’t know what she wants, or why she is restless.” It was mostly true, and from what the Akkir Akkor said, he shouldn’t trust her. Or maybe it was those demons he shouldn’t trust.

  The Honored Princept was hanging on his every word.

  He continued to talk. “Old Ironbound is a place of power and mystery. I was drawn here. Others are as well, and in the end, I believe there is a confluence coming, where the energies of the world will clash, and by the Axman’s laughter, I aim to be standing here once the rivers come together. If I have my way, those waters will bend to my will.”

  “For what ultimate end?” Della asked in a quiet voice. “I’ve asked you the same question for nearly two years now. What is it that you want?”

  “To live. To protect my women. To conquer enemies that are worth my time.”

  The smile the Princept let onto her face was full of mirth. This wasn’t a mask. This was pleasure. “And for now, your enemies are the enemies of my school and my continent. I hope it is ever thus.”

  “I have that hope as well,” Ymir said.

  There was a moment, an instant, where Ymir and Della Pennez looked into each other’s eyes, and there didn’t seem to be very much space between them. It was quiet except for the footsteps of someone walking below, Agneeyeshka by the sound of it, and the crackling of the Coruscation Shelves.

  Ymir felt the pull to kiss this strange, white-haired woman with the almond-shaped eyes and a mouth half opened. As if she expected him to kiss her.

  “One enemy at a time.” Ymir grinned. “Good night, Princept.”

  “Good night, clansman.”

  Ymir nodded and walked on, feeling the energy in the air. He wondered what would’ve happened if he had stepped up to her...if he had given her the kiss she’d wanted. It didn’t matter. He had enough lovers. What he needed was information.

  He returned to the Zoo, walking through the kitchen and down the steps to the central bathroom, where he heard voices from Jennybelle’s room. He knocked on the door, and Gatha answered, her face troubled.

  Charibda was there, which was strange, but even stranger was Jennybelle, sitting on her bed, her eyes red from crying. Lillee sat with her, holding her hand so she couldn’t twirl her hair. Tori sat in her bathrobe, still a little frazzled from her nonstop work with the fairy on the sweet cream. The dwab needed a shower and a comb. It seemed that had been her plan until something had interrupted her bathing.

  Ymir could guess what had caused the issue. “What did your aunt do, Jenny?”

  The swamp woman tilted her head, jaw clenched. “Nothing. Just murdered me in Josentown. We ran across each other in the feasting hall, and she was there with Nellybelle and some others, laughing and joking, until they saw me. Then Jia told them all how they’d cut me out of the family portraits, out of the family history, and I was as dead as dead could be. No one would ever know I’d even existed. In the official Josen family record, Lissabelle Josen would only have the one daughter, Arribelle, who ruled with grace and love, and even extended the power of the family to end old feuds.”

  Ymir sighed. “With the Cujans. Nelly is going to get Darisbeau Cujan to marry your sister. It will join both families. Old hate will be gone.”

  The swamp girl clicked her tongue and pointed a finger at him. “And they say you’re just handsome. It’s a real victory for Nelly. And Daris doesn’t care. My whole family has gone crazy, and I can see the C
ujans murdering all them Josens in their sleep. Then I’d be in good company. We’d all be dead.” Jennybelle swallowed a sob. “They didn’t even talk to me. They just talked about me knowing I could hear them. I felt like a ghost.”

  Lillee dropped her head, and it was obvious she was hurt as well. “My father. He saw me. He looked the other way. I’m dead as well.”

  Gatha raged through the room, pacing and yelling. “Good. This is good. We don’t need them anymore. We have our own ptoor here, with Ymir, and fuck everyone else. My fucking mother dares not look at me or talk to me. Neither does my worm of a father. I have some solace knowing I might see that asshole die, and I hope to the bloody roots of the Tree that it’s not Gulnash. I hope it’s me. I killed a sister. I can kill a father. As far as my own cunt of a mother? I want her to live and grow old knowing she’s despised by everyone she’s ever met.”

  Tori raised a hand to cover a gasp of shock.

  Charibda stared on, scowling.

  Ymir recalled a line from a Willmur Swordwrite play. Her screams are from a woman who protests too much. He cleared his throat. “Della thinks that Jia, Ghrinna, and King Cebor are part of the Midnight Guild. By the Axman, those three might be the Midnight Guild’s royalty.”

  Jenny’s laughter was maniacal. “I wouldn’t put anything past Auntie Jia. If she was in a death cult, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  Lillee colored. “My father, I’ve seen him in the Librarium, perusing books. He’s secretive...and he doesn’t want things to change. He doesn’t want the purity of the Ohlyrrans sullied by the sexuality of other races. Sullied.” She touched the ink on her face.

  Gatha snapped out her tusks. “My mother would only want the power. She is small-minded, evil, stupid, but if she could pretend to have power, she’d fuck a cave hargen. As for the elf king, he better stay the fuck away from my books.”

  The she-orc then marched up to Ymir. “You wanted me to talk? To heal? There is no healing this thing inside of me. My mother wanted me dead. That is the truth. She fancied Donnalg Sterllig Gowgin, you see. My lover. Donnalg was kind, he was good, and strong, and he was a fighter, and yet, he was soft sometimes.” She stopped talking. It was like she’d said more than she wanted.

  “Tell us,” Ymir encouraged.

  The she-orc barked laughter. “You all already know. There was another Kurzig Durgha, called by my mother, and it was her way to kill me. She cast magic on the Fateblood Deck, so every card was a fight to the death. Even when it came to us sisters fighting in the final round, but that was fine with my mother. She thought I would die, and she’d comfort Donnalg in his grief. She was a fool. I slew my sister. Donnalg went to kill my mother, but my father killed him first. He said it was to protect his ptari, but I think my father was jealous of my lover, the boy his wife wanted to fuck. All that death. And for what? Because my mother hated me, was jealous of me, and wanted to hurt me. That was why she wanted Donnalg. To hurt me. She’s a dried-up cunt with her beauty fading. You can smell death on her.”

  Gatha was breathing hard, fighting tears, her hands curled into fists. She hadn’t snapped out her tusks, probably because she was grinding her teeth so hard.

  “What happened to your friend...the woman who loved the books?” Lillee asked.

  Gatha turned, tusks out. “What?”

  Lillee slid off the bed. She went to the she-orc and took Gatha’s hand in both of her own. There they were—the savage orc and the gentle elf. Ymir wondered at Lillee’s courage. Approaching Gatha in a rage was a brave act.

  “Your friend. Migdish. What happened to her?” the Ohlyrran princess asked.

  Gatha swallowed, straining to hold back her sobs. “She came to me. She wanted me to stay in Ssunash and join their family, not as a wife to her father, but as something. I said I couldn’t stay. I chose Old Ironbound. I chose the Librarium Citadel and those books. She was kind. I pushed her away.” Tears dropped from Gatha’s eyes. “I hated my sister, but I shouldn’t have killed her. Donnalg was everything to me, and yet, when he was gone, it was like my heart vanished with him. I didn’t miss him. I didn’t miss my friend. I was cold inside. Families break us.”

  “Not all families,” Lillee said softly. Ymir watched as the elf girl took the she-orc into her arms. She petted Gatha’s white hair while the green warrior’s tears rolled down her face to fall on Lillee’s warm body.

  Jennybelle came off the bed to hold them both. “Some families don’t destroy us.” The swamp woman stared at Ymir, and it was clear what she wanted.

  Ymir went to hold the three women.

  But it wasn’t enough for Lillee. She said in a quiet voice, “Come, Tori. Come to us.”

  The dwab wiped at tears that hadn’t fallen. “Well. My oober and ahmer were okay. It was me that...well, it was how I was that...” She couldn’t talk because she was lying to herself. Her parents had forced her take a different name and exiled her.

  Tori nodded. “Some families don’t destroy us.” She came over and Jennybelle drew her in.

  When Ymir looked, Charibda was gone. She’d run away.

  He wondered when she’d stop running.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  YMIR STOOD IN THE SCROLLERY alone the midnight before the tournament. Gatha would not like him there, but he didn’t want to distract her in the slightest. She was sleeping, all his women were, except for Ribby. But she wasn’t his woman. She might never be. Yes, she’d managed to get into the good graces of Tori, Lillee, and even Gatha, but she’d not won the heart of Jennybelle just yet.

  She’d had the chance Monday night, and she’d run. They’d not really spoken since.

  He’d heard the mermaid rustling around down in her room, and he could sense how uneasy she was. She wasn’t alone.

  Like him, she knew, the night before a battle, sleep would be elusive. It was one of the reasons he’d told his women he wanted to sleep alone. Another reason? He wanted to gather another breath, and that meant dealing with spectral forces that may or may not be evil. He wanted to face that evil alone.

  Ymir and his women had talked about the Midnight Guild and Della’s suspicions, and Tori had tried to use the Veil Tear Ring but was shown nothing. Of course the Midnight Guild would keep their agents hidden. Jenny came up with any number of plans to undo their evil relatives, but Ymir knew the right course of action was to deal with Gulnash first. Then? They could delve deeper into this latest mystery.

  Finishing the Gather Breath Ring was part of undoing the Betrayer. Ymir would need every advantage when he finally faced Gulnash.

  It was Thursday night, the night before the start of the Kurzig Durgha. Ymir and the rest of Old Ironbound’s Gungarr had pulled back from their training to give their muscles a chance to rest.

  Gatha’s honesty had helped heal her heart. She was more relaxed, sleeping more and spending more time in quiet meditation at the kitchen table, looking out the windows at the misty days. A storm had rolled in, bringing rain. The weather mages at the school, the Aquaterreb professors in general, promised it would clear and there would be blue skies for the Kurzig Durgha. The tournament would start with a battle royale where all twenty-five warriors would take the field.

  Ymir had studied the rules of the tournament, but he didn’t want to think about them just yet. He had more important things to do.

  If he’d come to Gatha with his request, it would be one more thing for her to worry about. And if Gulnash the Betrayer was haunting the Librarium Citadel and the Scrollery, Ymir could do the same. Tori had tried using the Veil Tear Ring to find out more about Gulnash, and she’d gotten the same result. The sound of a coin striking stone.

  Ymir lit a Sunfire lantern, opened the grate in the floor, and went down the spiral steps, passing tomb after tomb, but not going as deep as when he’d forged the Gather Breath Ring. He didn’t know who the Storm King’s daughter was, but he did know about the ultimate cold. He’d gone down into the catacombs to capture a ghost’s breath. For wasn’t the ultimate cold death?r />
  He found where Sarina Sia’s mummified body was wrapped. He set up the eight black candles around her feet and set the three hoops wrapped in emerald seaweed on the dusty stone. He lit each of the eight candles.

  His Sunfire lantern winked out, and six of the eight candles turned from flame to smoke. The staircase and tombs around him were dark and silent. The final two candles threw more shadows than light.

  On the edge of the flickering light stood a slender figure in black robes. He’d come to recognize her haughty stance. That robe was open to reveal a generous portion of cleavage, a trail of white flesh, a belly button, and the dark silken fur of the specter’s sex.

  It felt like a dream, but Ymir knew this was his life now.

  “The ultimate cold is your breath, Sarina Sia. Will you offer it up to me?”

  Her voice came into his mind, not as the boom it was before, but something softer, echoing his own thoughts. What do I get, Ymir of the Majestrial, for such an exchange?

  A shiver went up Ymir’s spine, and it reminded him of those first months when he couldn’t control his magic. “It’s an interesting way to name me. It’s not accurate.”

  Is it not? For you saved the honor of its Princept when you slew the assassin who’d been sent to kill your friend. And you spilled your own blood and the blood of your friends fighting the merfolk. And now, tomorrow, you risk your life fighting for this school. You are Ymir of the Majestrial.

  Ymir wasn’t going to argue with this specter. “Whatever my name might be, can I have your cold breath?”

  The light from the candles dimmed, and Sarina Sia’s ghost crept forward. Turn away and step back lest I get too close. You do not want to feel my touch.

  “The Akkir Akkor warned me against you.”

  And I would warn you against them, though I know but little. Much of death is feeling, for much of life is not logical. I feel that they do not have your best interest at heart.

  “And you do?” Ymir asked.

  I do. Step back. Do not look upon me. And I will give you the fruit of cold, long-dead lungs.