Constantine was true to his word.
The next day, he walked down to the coliseum with her in tow.
“How can I help you?” the same old man asked.
“I have to make a change to my tournament roster,” Constantine said.
The man nodded, as if this were routine. “We’ve had a few come back in and drop out of the main fight. Once they thought it through, they decided to move their competitor down to a potentially safer fight. We’re down to twenty in the tournament. Think it’ll go lower than that by the end of the week.”
Constantine glanced at her. He didn’t want to do this. He’d made it plain last evening that he didn’t want her to enter. If she lost, then he’d never get his money back for what he’d paid for her. Selling her to Tarcus or one of the other senators for a few nights would certainly be easier than hoping she survived the tournament circuit. Not that it would be any better for his guilty conscience. It was Evander who had eventually convinced him. If she could beat Myron in open combat, then he wasn’t ready for the final tournament.
“All right. I have it here.” The man removed Constantine’s original paperwork. “I assume you would like to move Myron to a lower fight?”
“Yes,” Constantine said. “To the staff fighting circuit.”
The man scratched out his name on the final fight and wrote him into the other bout. Then, he made notations on his own documents.
“Just need your mark here.”
He slid the papers to Constantine.
He looked sick. “And I need to add a new fighter to the final fight.”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “A new fighter?”
“Are you sure?” Constantine asked her.
“I’m going to win,” she hissed at him. “I’ll write my own name if you won’t.”
He brushed her off. “Yes. Put it under Felicity.”
“Red,” she corrected.
That had been her name in the Dragon Ring when she was fighting for Dozan Rook. And it was the name that she wanted to keep when she went into the coliseum.
The man looked alarmed. “General, is this the competitor you plan to put in the final fight?”
“Indeed. Put it under Red.”
“She is … a Doma,” the man said. He bowed deeply to Kerrigan. “No magic is allowed in the tournament.”
“She doesn’t have magic.”
“And I’m not a Doma,” Kerrigan added.
Constantine glared at her. “You look enough like them.”
“I have to agree,” the man said. “And if she isn’t a Doma, she is … quite small.”
It was Kerrigan’s time to put the full force of her glare toward the man. “Did we ask for your opinion?”
“Certainly, it’s my place to remind you that this is a fight to the death.” He gestured to her like he couldn’t believe he even had to point it out. “Every round will be a fight to the death. Only one comes out alive.”
“She’s aware,” Constantine said.
“It’s fine. I’m going to be the one who comes out.”
The man shook his head in silent disbelief. “All right. My warning has been rendered. What you do with it is your business.” He pulled the paperwork back toward him, mumbling under his breath, “An Andine putting forward a female Doma as a competitor. Now, I’ve heard of everything.”
But he did as he had been told. He added her name, and Constantine signed for it.
“You have up until an hour before your first fight to withdraw,” the man informed them both. “In case that is of interest to you. After that, you go into the coliseum whether or not you want to.”
Kerrigan nodded. “Understood.”
The man sighed and then filed their paperwork away. Kerrigan figured his disbelief was to her advantage. No one was going to expect her to win. But always went into her fights as the underdog, and she’d endured the Society prejudice for more than a year. She could win this too.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Constantine said as they left the coliseum.
“I’m not sure you had a choice after I handed Myron his ass on a platter.”
Constantine pursed his lips. “He’s going to be a problem.”
“Yep.” She had known that before she challenged him. She also didn’t care.
“He was displeased when I told him I was moving him to the staff fights.”
“Yep.”
“He’s my best gladiator.”
“And I beat him with ease,” she reminded him.
He stared back at her with indifference. “You’re a real pain.”
“Heard that before too.”
She followed him across the massive bridge to the western banks of Carithian. Both were silent as they traversed the crowded streets. She wasn’t the damsel, and now, he was learning that first hand.
They reached the house, unmolested. The sounds of training came from the pit already. Her hand itched to hold a sword again and to fully put this pretty-girl persona behind her. She could primp and preen with the best of them, but she was happier with her feet in the sand.
“The first match for the main fight is in a week,” Constantine said as a servant pulled the door open to let them inside his house. “The lower fights start in three days. I spoke to Evander, and we agreed that I’ll handle your training.”
She blinked. “Training?”
“You think I’m going to let you into the coliseum without seeing where you’re at? I’ve been working with Myron for a year. I’m not putting my name behind you any other way.”
“A year,” she said softly. “And I still beat him in a few minutes.”
“Maybe don’t keep saying that where people can hear you.”
She shrugged. “I’m used to long training hours.”
“I want you to know that if I don’t find you up to it, then I’ll pull your name from the tournament myself.”
She glared up at him. “What benchmark are you going to move to prove that a woman shouldn’t be in this tournament? Because you were going to let Myron go off and die without much effort. I could see easily that he wasn’t ready, and now, you want to judge for yourself whether or not I am.”
Constantine returned her heated expression. “I don’t believe in training women, but you’ve forced myself. So, I’ll give you the same instruction I gave Myron. He was ready, which is the only reason we’re having this conversation. Because if you beat my prized warrior, then you might have a chance of winning this thing.”
“Then, let’s get started.”
Sweat coated Kerrigan’s pale skin, running down her back and into her eyes. Sand was a second layer on her body. It kicked up onto her legs and chest and arms. It got into every nook and cranny. No wonder the men headed to the baths every day after training ended. She had sand where no sand should ever belong. Her hair was dripping, even with the tie that she’d taken from one of the other gladiators earlier in the day to hold it off her back.
She received some good-natured ribbing about her training, but most chose to leave her alone. Theo continued his persistent flirting. At least this hadn’t changed his opinion of her. Though Myron’s distaste was apparent. Even that she had to block out. She had no room to do anything but react when fighting Constantine. Before today she had never seen him fight or train anyone. Evander had done much of the actual coaching. But was a reason Constantine was the general. Why he was kurios.
His men respected him because he had earned that respect.
“Again,” he snapped at her.
She came forward with her sword, beating the series of attacks he threw at her. They shifted throughout the hours of exertion. They were like nothing she had ever fought against back home.
“The last step is like this,” Constantine said when she finished. He cut through the sand like water. His movements effortless. “See?”
“It’s like coming at it sideways.” She brought her sword up and tried again. It wasn’t perfect, but she was getting there. It didn’t matter how good she was. She always wanted to get better.
“Yes,” he said without emotion. “That was it. Now, do it again.”
So, she did. Again and again until the movements sailed out of her. It was different than her training in Alandria. Yet they were related moves. As if they had been trained side by side, but not interacting. One person mimicking, but not replicating.
“Take a break. Get some water.”
Kerrigan let the sword swing down to her side. Her muscles ached in the best way. She swiped sweat off of her brow and reached for the jug of water. She wanted to upend the entire thing over her head.
“What is this style called?”
Constantine continued to flow through the moves. “It’s the Andine style. I was trained by my father, who was trained by his father before him and so on. The kurios’s greatest weapons are his people and his sword. We begin training as soon as we can walk.”
“It’s beautiful. Similar to my training, but a distant relative.”
“Are you going to tell me where you’re really from?” He slid his sword into the sheath at his waist. “I agree about the differences between our sword work, but I’ve never seen anyone fight the way you do. Let alone … a woman.”
She let out a stilted laugh and took another sip of water. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“Fine.” She set the water down and brought her sword back before her. She ran through her paces from the ancients of her people. They required no thought at all. Not like the Andine style. “I come from a world called Alandria, where Fae rule in a society of dragon riders. I was one such dragon rider. An organization rose up to subjugate those who were not fully Fae. I was sent here through a portal to find help.” She whirled her blade in an arc and met his intrigued gaze. “Instead, I found Flavia. I found you. I found this world, just as shattered and broken as mine. And still, I seek a way to help them.”
He pursed his lips as he considered the information. “You wish me to believe this tale? Dragon riders and magic portals and Fae safe havens?”
Kerrigan shrugged, her breathing even and measured. “I don’t care what you believe. You asked. I answered.”
“This is why you want to be in the tournament? Not just to get out of the bidding?”
“Wouldn’t you do anything to save Andine if you could?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
For that moment, they were the same. Both fighters wanting nothing more than to regain what had been lost. She still had a chance of that. She hoped, one day, maybe he would too.