At least, I tell myself so.
As for the traitor, I let myself plan the end of Portuk, despite hoping he’s already gone.Surely, he was the one who gave the Overking’s people what they needed to invade.But why?What control did Vivenne have over the drakonkin and his now-dead healer friend?
I can’t answer those questions from here.Continuing to ask them only weighs me down, dulls my focus, lays my heart low.I will find out.I will see Atlas again, kiss his dear face, and Zenthris, past his scowl and his self-judgment.When I do, at last, I’ll have such a tale to tell.
Such a tale as none has told before.
It’s near nightfall, twilight gloaming the sky to that blue light that makes everything feel surreal and peaceful.I’ve been lost in thought, and only when the cattle slow do I turn to find we’re approaching a small town, dominated by a large, curved building with its roof open to the elements.We pass through the short gate, the yellow walls more decorative than protective, and I’m assessing the place from the mind of a general surveying a target as we roll through the streets.Children run beside the cage, laughing and pointing at me, their small faces round, chatter excited, calling out questions to me that I ignore while their mothers cry out for them to retreat.
They are forced to when we enter the archway that marks the open-air building, the town’s colorful street left behind, the cool interior of the tunnel we pass through chilling me after the heat of the day.
And then we’re emerging into a spacious arena surrounded by bench seats tiered for viewing, I can only guess, and I observe as several women in scanty armor—if it can be called that, useless bits that show more than they cover—clash in the middle of the sandy space, sparring against one another as lanterns light the quickly dimming evening.
We don’t stop, the wagon rolling around the circumference, which allows me time to observe the fighters I’ll be raising a sword against.I have to admit, many have talent, much more so than the young woman whose wrist I’ve shattered, if far too showy for their own good.Come to think of it, there’s no sign of her, so was she a potential purchase, and I’ve condemned her to that brothel Captain Lhanin mentioned?I can’t think about her or her fate.I must focus on my own.
There was a time that would be easy, when the results of war and the finality of battle made sense to me.It feels like so long ago that I rode through death and blood on Gorgon’s back, my mother’s celebration waiting my attention.Has it only been mere months?
Reminiscence must wait as the wagon finally comes to a halt down another tunnel, lanterns flickering here while the cattle huff heavy breaths now that they’re at rest.Someone is unhitching them, but I barely notice because Romouth emerges from her cubby in the wagon and is stepping down, circling to the back of the cage, unlocking it to let me out.
“Come,” she says, leaving it gaping open, turning and striding away, not waiting to see if I follow her order or not.I do, of course, out of curiosity and the need to reconnoiter my position.This place is big but not so vast that I won’t quickly find my way around with immediate attention to my orientation.
We return the way the wagon brought us, out into the open, away from the scent of the cattle’s sweat and feces, heavy musk mixed with dry grasses fading to fresh air when we emerge to the ring again.A low stone wall, barely to my knees, frames the circle of sand, perhaps a foot between it and the first row of benches, close enough that I know if I sat there, I could rest my toes on the lip.
Romouth speaks quietly, but her voice carries, though I speed my pace and continue to look around as she does.
“You’ll spend most of your time here,” she says, “if you know what’s good for you.”Training, she means.I don’t bother nodding because she’s not looking at me, and we think the same.Besides, validating her barely veiled threat feels unnecessary when I can’t wait to get my hands on swords and return to what I do best.“There is where you can find food off meal times,” she points to another opening, this one narrow, and as we pass it, the scent of cooking meat makes my stomach growl.“The whole stable eats together at six-hour intervals,” she goes on, “here.”Again, she points as we pass an open-air space filled with benches and low tables, a few women sitting, talking, drinking.And staring as I pass.I don’t bother to stare back.There will be time to acquaint myself with them, or not.I’d rather that part wasn’t necessary if I can avoid it.It’s harder to kill those you see as friends, after all.“Housing is here,” she leads me through a wider archway, the stone painted with images of women fighting, gorgeous, colorful artwork that I barely get a chance to glance at before we’re heading down a short tunnel and to another circular space, this one filled with cushion seating, and more women reclining on them.Which means more staring, of course.The walls are punctuated with gaps, Romouth heading toward the second from the right, leading me through to a small bedroom.“Private bathing is here,” she says, pointing to another door off from the chamber.I peek inside at the tall basin and bench with a hole in it, covered in a shapely seat.“Your weapons and armor will be held at the armory.”She motions at the large cabinet inset into the wall.“Any patron gifts you receive are yours to keep, under a certain value, though large donations will be divided among thegladattes who fight with you.”Her voice drones a little, far from the first time she’s given this talk.“You’ll be supplied with herotte to suppress your cycles, though I suppose you’re lean enough not to bleed every month.”I hadn’t even thought of it, and realize she’s right.My herroot is back at Neem.Herottemust be their equivalent, because it no doubt grows in the south, too.
She turns to face me, towering over me, though I’m far from intimidated, if that’s her aim.I’m much more accustomed to women of her stature and their bullying than she will ever know, which makes me smile.
I see that I’ve startled her, her eyes widening just a little, and she smiles reflexively back.
“Thank you,” I say.“When do I fight?”
She tilts her head as though contemplating that answer, and when she finally speaks, it’s without arrogance or judgment.“That will depend on how well you do in training,” she says.“And what the Rae decides, of course.”
“Of course.”I don’t know what that means, not yet, but I will learn.For now, I choose not to show weakness or lack of understanding.Her implication that the better I do, the better life will be is not lost on me, however.Though she clearly doesn’t know that I’m fully expecting to be done with all of this in as short a time as possible.
“We’re late for sup,” she says, “so you’ll have to fend for yourself.But the kitchen will give what’s left.Don’t go hungry.”Romouth heads for the door, pausing there to look back.“See the armorer in the morning for equipment.You’ll find her the next passage down from this one.”I’ll be fully exploring and will know the complete layout before I close my eyes tonight.“The others will tell you the rest of what you need to know.”
I look down at my hands.“No more shackles, then?”
She flashes me a smile that’s so much my mother that I’m choking a little.“Welcome home, Remi,” she says and leaves me there to fight my emotional state that catches me by surprise far more than her kind words.
Home, she says.Not mine, but I’ll pretend if I must.
***
Chapter Eleven
I clean myself up before heading out, examining the interior of my small bathing chamber to allow mymistressetime to depart before I go exploring.There’s a strange wooden handle that turns next to the basin under a polished steel mirror, and when I fiddle with it, water emerges from a small gap in the wall, tumbling out over a wooden protrusion that creates a tiny waterfall.It’s lukewarm but refreshing when I splash it on my face and over the back of my neck, the soft blanket hung beside the basin drying my skin quickly after.
The tall tub works the same way, and while I’m tempted to fill it, to climb inside and soak in water until I fall asleep, I have far too much to do just yet for such an indulgence.
I leave the room instead, pacing the small space that is my bedchamber, test the mattress on the low, stone base that elevates it a foot or so from the floor.It’s firm but smooth, stuffed with some kind of fluffy material instead of straw or feathers, and now I have to fight the urge to lie down.
Later, all of this later.
There’s a short tunic hanging in the cupboard, a thick, leather belt coiled on a shelf and what looks like footwear I’ve seen others using, flat soles of thick hide cut in the shape of a foot, with straps looped through the edges, meant to crisscross the calves and ankles, from what I’ve seen but haven’t attempted.I’ll observe the others and sort out the process in the morning.
