The eight winners of the first round of the tournament were invited to a special banquet in their honor. What it really looked like was a who’s who of Domaran nobility, eating large quantities of food from an overstuffed buffet while mostly naked servants refilled wine goblets. Meanwhile, the actual honored guests stood in a stiff line before them. More statues than competitors.
Constantine had been banned to a separate room because he was Andine. Kerrigan didn’t know why he had even been invited at all if he was going to be holed up in some closet with lesser folks. The indignation on his face had only made it worse for her to watch him be swept away.
The competitors were placed in competition order, which meant that Kerrigan stood on one side in the white and gold-trimmed Doma-style dress, and Fordham was on the other in all black. The other winners were a mix of men and women from Domara’s conquered countries—Alfheim, Gallia, Cendrea, Andine, and Rutslan. Only the Larksian competitor had been eliminated by a Domaran. That meant two of the eight competitors left were Domaran, which Kerrigan thought said something for the quality of their fighters. Or perhaps most people refused to risk good Domaran men when there were plenty of conquered slaves to throw at a fight. Either way, it made her blood boil.
If all of that wasn’t bad enough, Tarcus was seated directly in front of her. His smirk said it wasn’t a coincidence. With Constantine absent, she didn’t trust Tarcus not to do something stupid. Especially with his wife throwing furtive looks at her husband and then angry looks at Kerrigan when she couldn’t get his attention. As if Kerrigan wanted his attention.
Kerrigan glanced over at Senovara, the Gallian woman who had won the second fight. She was taller than Kerrigan. Though not by much. Her skin was fair with an almost burnt, leathery complexion, likely from too much sun. Her hair was almost straw blonde with light, nearly colorless eyes. She wore a hard expression and refused to look anywhere but straight ahead.
“Fun party, huh?” Kerrigan asked.
Senovara sneered at her. “I’m sure you’re used to it.”
“What does that mean?”
She made a slight gesture with her hand, as if to say, Isn’t it obvious? Senovara must have bought into the idea that Kerrigan was somehow a Doma competing in a fight to the death without magic, like an idiot. Kerrigan didn’t know what other explanation there was. But considering they were going to have to compete against each other in a matter of days, maybe it was better not to learn anything else about her than was necessary. It wasn’t like it was going to get easier to kill her.
Kerrigan turned her face fully forward again, lifting her eyes just above eye-level—that way, she didn’t have to see Tarcus or his wife. She let her mind drift as the dinner progressed and her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten beforehand. Last time, food had been piled everywhere. Constantine had figured that she would eat with everyone else. His ignorance was definitely on display.
All she wanted was to forgo the show of all of this and fall back into Fordham’s arms. He had fresh scars over his heart. Whatever Iris had done to him, Kerrigan intended to unravel all those new problems. She had just gotten her broody, sad boy back from the brink of his father’s own abuse. The thought that anyone else could hurt him infuriated her.
After the meal was complete, Augustan came to his feet and thanked everyone assembled for attending. “It’s with a great honor that we have the competitors in attendance at our festivities. While we have eight with us at this time, only one will walk out of the arena victorious. I might be biased, as I have a competitor in the arena this year, but I believe it is going to be a fight to behold.”
Everyone applauded. Eyes went up and down the competition line. They sized each of them up, trying to figure out who would eventually become victorious. Likely who to place a bet on and who to try to sabotage. Kerrigan had learned that was all part of the game. None of the competition were people. No more than their staff or anyone else who wasn’t Domaran nobility.
Expendable.
They were all expendable. And Vulsan’s order for death matches proved how little they mattered. The nobility was eating it up.
One by one, the nobles stood from their seats and came over to inspect the competition up close. Kerrigan wanted nothing more than to leave. The theatrics were unnecessary. It had nothing to do with the actual fights that were coming. This was for their benefit alone.
And it meant Tarcus could get close to her again.
The last she’d seen him, she’d been escorted to Vulsan’s tent. He’d looked shocked at her appearance, courtesy of Myron’s beating, but he hadn’t yet known about the fact that she’d entered the tournament. Tonight would be different.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Tarcus said as he approached her, alone.
“Is it?” she asked.
“Frankly, no.” But he laughed as if it were all a joke. “You were supposed to be in my bed, not in the coliseum.”
“Tough luck.”
He narrowed his eyes at her insolence. “I pegged you for a stallion that needed breaking from the start.”
That at least was true.
“You weren’t wrong,” she agreed. His smile stretched at that, but she wasn’t done. “It just was never going to be you who did the breaking.”
Tarcus raised a hand, as if to backhand her across the face. A woman rumbled with laughter next to him. Her hand came over his, stopping him from what was clearly going to be a mistake.
“I wouldn’t try it with that one,” Iris said, coming into view. “She doesn’t seem the type to respond to corporal punishment.”
Tarcus seethed at the interruption. As if he would have been able to get that hit off. Kerrigan refused to take that sort of abuse. Her body had already coiled, ready to block the strike. She wasn’t stupid enough to lay a hand on him, but she wouldn’t let him get one on her either.
“I’ve never met anyone who wouldn’t get in line after a little slapping,” Tarcus said.
Iris eyed him and then laughed, releasing his hand. “Well, that’s why you don’t have gladiators, Valerii.”
He sniffed. “That was always your family’s favorite trick. We’re interested in different endeavors.”
Iris’s smile was deadly. “Oh, I’m sure. Like the last couple of whores you purchased and broke and discarded. Very lucrative.”
Tarcus’s ears went red at the insult. It took everything in Kerrigan not to show any emotion at the conversation. She hated Iris with a passion. Whatever she’d done to Fordham was unacceptable, but she was humiliating Tarcus with a few cutting words. That was something she could appreciate.
“My family is doing fine,” he growled.
“Because of or despite you?” she asked with a laugh. She clapped him on the back twice at the aghast look in his eyes. “Oh, don’t be daft, Valerii. I’m just having a bit of fun. Weren’t you saying only days earlier how this one was going to be your crown jewel?”
“I decided she wasn’t that special.”
Iris laughed, and this time, it was definitely at him. “Then, you were wrong on all fronts, weren’t you?” Iris reached out and caressed Kerrigan’s cheek. “She’s not a Doma, but she’s damn special. She’d be wasted in your bed. The only place she should be is in my training facility. What do you think, pet? Just say the word, and you’ll be transferred from that barbarian’s facility to somewhere you’ll be appreciated. I’ve seen how you look at my Fae. I could arrange something between you two.”
Iris’s eyes were a deep violet around the edges of the pupils. The violet almost swirled around, drawing Kerrigan in and making her want nothing more than to agree with the woman. She was mesmerizing. Except … Kerrigan hated her with all of her being for enslaving Fordham.
She blinked twice to clear the look from her eyes. Magic. It had the feel of magic. “No, thank you.”
Iris gave her an appraising look. “You are special, aren’t you?”
“Don’t cheat,” Tarcus snapped.
“Oh, it was just a little fun, Valerii,” Iris said with a laugh. Though she was still looking at Kerrigan with far too much interest. “You were going around, telling everyone she was already yours so you wouldn’t be outbid. No need to be so touchy.”
Iris threaded her arm through Tarcus’s and pulled him away. Kerrigan was seemingly forgotten. In fact, almost all the other senators had left. Tarcus and Iris were the last in attendance. Tarcus shot her one look over his shoulder before departing.
She breathed out a sigh of relief. As much as she wanted food next, Fordham was her priority. She headed out of the room and straight toward the massive gardens that took up the center of the property. They were empty when she strolled into them. The gentle splash of the fountains and distant sound of musicians playing for the nobility were the sole sources of noise on the muggy evening. A breeze fluttered through the large courtyard, giving her a momentary reprieve from the heat.
With Fordham not yet in sight, she strolled through the grounds. She’d had a home like this back in Alandria with immeasurable wealth. Unlike so many others, she had chosen to open her home to refugees from the House of Shadows. The half-Fae and humans who’d had nowhere to go and nothing to their name once they were taken from the northern mountains. It was hard not to feel depressed that those efforts were probably wasted at this point. The Red Masks would have stopped that for certain in her absence.
Thinking of home made her melancholy. Her father had sent her here to get help, but all she’d found was more trouble. Was he even still alive?
“There you are.”
Kerrigan whipped around, expecting Fordham to have found her, but instead, Tarcus stood before her. She held her ground while adrenaline rocked through her. If this were a fair fight, she would have already ended it before it could have started, but this was nothing of the sort.
Tarcus’s face was pure pleasure. The pomp senator who had grown up with nothing but wealth and privilege. He’d gotten everything he wanted. And Iris’s teasing had only egged him on to take the one thing that had slipped out of his grasp.
He had magic.
And she did not.
She might have been training with her Andine trainers to get herself out of these situations, but that had been for the tournament. Not to go up against a senator. Not someone with that level of magic and nothing to lose.
“Here I am,” she finally said as he stepped toward her.
“I thought that I’d have to do more to get you alone.”
“Who said that I’m alone?”
“I ditched that hag almost as soon as we left your sight. There is no one else out here. Just me and you.”
“And soon, it will be just you,” she said, hoping for diplomacy.
Tarcus grasped her wrist. “Not so fast.”
She breathed out through her nose. “You don’t want to do this.”
A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Oh, but I do.”
He yanked her forward. She dropped her other hand at the same time, breaking his hold and shattering something in his wrist. He yelled in pain, cradling the broken bone. But she was already running. Maybe she could have taken him on, even with his magic, but she had no interest in finding out. She was nearly to an open doorway when something shifted in the air. Kerrigan coughed, gasped, and then crumpled to her knees on the pathway.
“You dare,” he snarled as he stalked toward her, “touch a senator!”
Kerrigan looked up at him from her place on her knees. She couldn’t move. Not even an inch. She could blink. Everything but basic motor functions was completely gone. She could only imagine how he had used this ability with others.
His hand came harshly across her face. The backhand he’d saved up from earlier. He released her enough for her head to whip to the side. Blood welled in her mouth, and she spat it out into the grass.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She did as he wanted. She had no control to do otherwise. It was worse than fury on her face when their eyes met.
“You don’t understand how things work around here.” He lifted her chin without touching her. “But I’ll teach you.”
Pulses of anger seethed through her. She would not let this happen. She would never be what he wanted. She had been vilified and threatened and beaten to within an inch of her life. She’d been called a leatha, kicked out of her dragon program, and lost her magic. But she would not lose her dignity to anyone. Let alone this man.
So, as he took that last step toward her, she pushed against the immobilizing spell he’d cast on her body. She didn’t have her own magic anymore, but she had not just broken Flavia’s magic without trying; she had also broken Danae’s, which she assumed was much stronger. Tarcus might be more than either of them, but it wouldn’t matter. If all she had was magic resistance, then it had to be useful.
Tarcus bent down and fitted his mouth to hers. The anger that she’d barely been able to suppress in his presence reared its ugly head.
“No!” she screamed.
Her body rocketed off of the ground and threw him backward a step. He stumbled. His eyes wide with shock.
“No,” she repeated. Her chest heaved, as if she had moved a mountain instead of her own body.
“How …” he gasped. “How is that possible?”
“You know nothing about me, and I promise, you do not want to find out.”
Tarcus shook his head, already recovering from something that seemed impossible to him. As he moved toward her, a sword came down between them.
Tarcus looked at it as if he’d never seen a sword before.
“The lady said no,” Fordham said.
Tarcus gulped as her dark king lowered the blade from his chest to his nether regions.
“And I would listen to her.”
Tarcus took one look into Fordham’s menacing eyes. The thunderclouds roaring through his irises. Murder carved into his expression. And he did the first intelligent thing Kerrigan had ever seen him do. He turned tail and fled.