SILVERY MOONLIGHT BATHED the arena sands as Tiwaz went through practice routines with the various training weapons. Her pace was slow, her motions methodical. Her green eyes flashed in the moon’s glow, fixed on opponents in her mind’s eye.

On the ground level corridor that encircled the sands, Harther and Doom watched. “I have to admit,” Harther commented, glancing sideways to the gromek who leaned on the arena ring wall beside him to watch. “She’s improved faster than I had expected. Though if rumors of her skills are even half true, she has a long way to go before she’s back in her prime. Her rhythm is off.”

Doom frowned, not looking away from his friend. “Will this be a problem?”

“Nah. She is already heads and shoulders above most of what ends up signing up for the open matches. Only challenge she might face is someone trying to make a name for themselves to get picked up as a circuit gladiator.” Harther smiled faintly. “That’s what the open bouts during festivals are designed for. Recruiting new blood for the arenas. Most who will fight are those who think they have skills and believe fighting’s a quick way to gold and glory. So long as she doesn’t identify herself by the word ‘tiwaz’ or as ‘Warrior,’ and lets the crowd nickname her, then she’ll just be seen as an anomaly.”

The gromek snorted. “She will complain because they are beneath her skill level.”

Harther laughed in agreement, then yawned hugely. “Ah, I mourn the passing of the stamina of my youth. I’m going to turn in. I’ll stoke the fire for the bathing room, and put food for the day in your room. The water should be ready when she finally decides she’s had enough for tonight. If you need any medicines, you know where to find them, just make sure you both are holed up before sunrise. The closer it gets to the festival, the earlier my trainers arrive to allow people to practice.”

“Will do. Thank you again, Master Harther. For everything.”

Harther waved a dismissive hand. “Bah. Just making up now for what I could not do then. I wanted to help Tiwaz escape long before now. Children have no business being in this profession. But she refused.”

Doom turned away. “Because of me.”

“Not just you, even if you were her primary reason to decline,” Harther contradicted. “You. Me. The people of this city. Anyone that bastard might have felt deserved his wrath if she even attempted escape.” The man looked into the arena. “I’ve known slaves who stay because they’re afraid of the unknown. Not her. The idea that we might come to harm…” He shook his head. “She is a special woman, Doom. Her only thoughts were to protect everyone and she used herself to do it. Not many are willing to suffer what she must have for people she didn’t know nor had ever met.”

Doom looked at him, then out at Tiwaz. “Yes, she is.” He looked over his shoulder. “Good night, Master Harther. Sleep well.”

“Night, lad.”

Despite the chill in the night air, Tiwaz wore only short pants, a sleeveless shirt, and the simple leather bracers Harther had made for her. After a few hours, he squinted at her closely. He vaulted over the low wall and ran to her, catching her before she collapsed. “Ti!” He lifted one hand, looking at the blood that streaked over her hands and down her arms from under the soaked bandages. “What the hell, Ti? Why didn’t you stop? You’re bleeding!”

“Sorry.” She looked up and managed a sad smile, touching his cheek in reassurance. “I promise, I am fine. I focused so much on training, I forgot to pay attention that it was the full moon.”

“The full moon?” He looked up at the silvery disk barely obscured by thin wisps of clouds with a frown. “What does the moon have to do with anything?” The gromek took the training sword from her and flung it into the cart with the rest of the weapons. He scooped her up in his arms. “No more fighting for tonight. You’ve lost too much blood.” He tightened his arms around her in growing worry when she did not argue, simply resting her head on his shoulder. “Ti, are you sure you’re all right?”

“You do not approve of me,” she said dully. “Of my fighting.”

Doom sighed, brushing the top of her head with the side of his chin affectionately. “I always hate seeing you hurt, Ti. I hated knowing you suffered to keep me safe when I did not think I was worth—” He fell silent when she touched his mouth with bloody fingers. “I always dreamed you would never need to fight again if we were ever free. I feel like I failed you.”

“How could you have failed me? Freedom was only a dream you could have. Not me. I have never had memory of what freedom was, so I could never share your dream. I could only try to help you achieve it.

“I had only ever known slavery. Except for gladiating. I knew it was not just a slave’s occupation. I fought freemen who were gladiators, and I imagine I was like them.” She closed her eyes. “When I fought, I felt capable. I felt whole. I felt powerful. The sands are the only place I feel whole, at least for a while. Fighting on the sands was freedom for me. Then Alimar took that away from me when he forced me to kill.” She sighed heavily, resting her head against the wall as he sat her on the edge of the stonework pool. “I felt free except when the moon was full.”

Doom unwound the bloody bandages, dropping them in a bowl. He dipped a rag in the warm water and began wiping the blood from her arms and hands. He eyed the lumps writhing more energetically under her skin with a mixture of revulsion and anger. “Was that part of the magic Alimar used on you? When the moon is full you bleed like this?”

She shook her head, struggling to sit up to unlace and remove her shirt and pants. “The spells are a prison. I do not know what I am, but I know I am not a human.” She looked up at him with sad eyes. “Alimar would not have been so fascinated with me if I were human.”

“Alimar is a twisted bastard,” Doom growled as he helped her into the warm bath. He sat on the edge, watching her closely. “I remember when he took you away and he brought you back with the gold shackles.” His eyes flashed with deep-seated rage. “I remember your screams when he tortured you.”

“He was not torturing me,” she sighed. “At least, that was not his direct intent, only a side pleasure for him.” She held up her hands, looking at the sickly, but healing, skin, washed pink with water-drenched blood as the flow eased. “They are magic symbols called glyphs. Runic magic, I think he called it.” She lowered her hands into the water again, eyes on the reflection of light on the ripples. “I learned enough of magic in Alimar’s company to know they were meant to confine…something…within me.”

Raising her eyes to the full moon framed by the small window, she spoke with a hint of despair. “There has always been something inside me that just wants to burst out. Yearns to break free. During times of the full or new moon, the need is nearly unbearable.” She was silent for so long, he moved to sit by her head. She rested against his thigh as he gently stroked her hair. “It feels like a fist around my heart that just squeezes until I cannot breathe and I just wish I could die so it would stop. Until I remember.”

“Remember?”

“Your words. Our promise to each other. To live to see Alimar dead.”

“I also promised you that you would be free.” He looked at her as she looked up. “The metal was broken, but you still bear his shackles. Somehow, I will make sure you are free of him once and for all.” She smiled and rested her head against his thigh again.