Fighting, I could accomplish.Navigating a dangerous kingdom I knew nothing about?That held its own anxieties.I’d seen more than enough of the crocodons to concern me, and knew little of sailing or stealing boats.Retreating back the way I came on my own felt fruitless, as much as I hated to admit it.
Mother would be disappointed, perhaps.But Vivenne taught me to use my strengths against my enemies as much as I could.And this certainly offered that opportunity.
I return from my planning and thoughts, stopping when Vunoshe does, scanning the gathering of buyers, their colorful robes embroidered like his, but their status clearly different.He’s oddly deferential to many of them, nodding his head, that small smile of his sweet and welcoming, not a glimmer of the demanding confidence he uses against Captain Lhanin in sight.Speaking of whom, the sailor in question has followed us and joins Vunoshe like he’s going into battle, hands on his hips, his stare a challenge.
I catch the slavemasterre’s flicker of irritation, but he ignores the captain in favor of waving at a tall, broad-shouldered woman in deep purple robes.
“Come,” he snaps at me, tugging absently on my chain, and we’re moving again while I take the measure of this massive woman we approach.She’s easily as big as my mother was, thick-bodied and muscular, her long, dark hair in plaits hanging around her, woven with gold thread and tiny bells that tinkle when she nods to Vunoshe.Her dark eyes fix on me, a scar that runs from her chin to her temple, following the line of her jaw, tugging her smile into a grimace, though she seems amenable enough to his greeting when he bows to her, tiny in her shadow.
“MistresseRomouth,” Vunoshe says.“I’m delighted to see you here.I had so hoped you’d be present for today’s sale.”He winks.“You’ve saved me a trip to the Dome of Women to bring you my most prized possession directly.”
“I don’t like to miss one if I can help it,” she says in a melodic alto voice.“I take it you think I’ll be buying your stock?”She’s eyeing me in turn, and I note her gaze flickering from my shoulders to my hands, taking me in like an opponent, not a possession.A warrior herself, no doubt about it, even if the scar and her shape and resemblance to Mother didn’t all suggest the same.
She’s not someone to be underestimated.
“I found you a perfect fit for Rae Yiratille’s stable.”He gestures at me.“Remarkable in every way, a true warrior of merit.She will bring honor to your Dome.”
“So you say,”MistresseRomouth murmurs, stepping closer.It’s clear that neither of them have any interest in the auction that’s just begun.This was his plan all along, then, not to offer me for general sale, but with a specific buyer in mind.She circles me, but makes no move to touch me, finally nodding when she returns to her original position.“She looks healthy enough,” Romouth says.“I want to see her fight.”
“Of course,” Vunoshe says, bowing.“Shall we?”
This is a normal thing, it seems, because Romouth steps back as Vunoshe turns to me and unlocks me from the other two warriors, his dark eyes meeting mine.
“You will impress her,” he hisses in my face, all trace of joviality and softness gone in a blink.Theor elseis implied and is unnecessary.
I simply nod back, showing him nothing.That seems to satisfy him more than any assurance, his flashing smile back when he turns and leads me away, through a narrow path left open through the crowd of mingling buyers who talk amongst themselves.A few note me as we pass and turn to follow, so by the time we reach a small, round ring, much like a training station at home I’ve used many times before, the empty circle’s base thick with sand, we have a bit of a crowd come to observe.
Vunoshe disconnects my wrists, freeing them from one another, but leaves me chained, doing the same with my ankles.I have some mobility, but certainly not what I’m used to, and I frown at him when he gestures for me to go to the center of the ring.
Arguing will only decrease my value, I know that much, so I do as I’m instructed, seething silently inside over the injustice.And now I’m doubting very much the agreement I made after my second conversation last night, even if it made sense to me at the time.
And right up until this moment.
If you fight, the dragon told me,and win your freedom, your path will be clear to do what you need to do to return to finish this.
Youwantme to fight?That came as a surprise, though I suppose it shouldn’t have.This was your plan all along?
Not specifically.Only then did she admit the truth.I had limited options, she told me.Knowing your particular skills and talents, this was the option with the most chance of success.
The idea that a dragon of vast age and power was making things up as she went along was as disturbing as it was hilarious, and I’d snorted a laugh into the darkness while the two warriors slept beside me.
You’re fucking kidding me, I’d said.
I am not, she’d told me.Fight, Flame.Win.And come to me.But please, hurry.
I’d agreed.Of course, I had.Fighting made sense to me then, still does.Just not weighted down by chains like I am.I might be mostly recovered, but I’m still healing.How is it I’m supposed to fight, and whom?
A young woman steps into the ring, answering part of that question, a pair of swords in her hands.She’s grinning at me, vicious and eager, her dark hair shorn from one side of her head where a nasty scar tells a tale of a terrible wound that once scalped her.But she’s lithe and fit, and she’s absolutely planning to kill me.
I have other plans.
She’s fast, I’ll give her that, faster than anyone I’ve faced in some time.But she has a tell, a shift of one foot, before she launches herself at me with a flurry of sword-strokes, and I’m already dipping under her first, the chains my only weapons swinging forward from my hands as I clasp my fingers together and swing the full weight like a whip.
I clip her knee, making her stagger, but she recovers, coming at me again with that same impressive-looking barrage of sword strokes.Ineffective, however, and meant to look the part rather than getting the job done.I’m disgusted when I spin and again use the chain against her, the end coiling around her right wrist with a snap that breaks the bone before I jerk hard on her and bring her face-first into the sand.
She chokes on the grit, tries to push herself up, but I’m on her, knee in the small of her back, the chain now around her neck, tightening enough to cut off her breath.She claws at it with her one useful hand, wriggling and squirming for freedom.
Relentlessness is a weapon I’ve had beaten into me since childhood, and I will not give her a chance to try to kill me again.
