4. Freedom Traders
Chapter four
Freedom Traders
Imalroc tucked the sheets tight beneath the enormous mattress of his bed, yanked the coverlet into place, and folded the extra fabric back neatly.
He tugged at the covers, smoothing away wrinkles.
A few final smacks to plump up the pillows, and he stood back to admire his handiwork.
The bed looked immaculate. If he ever made it out of the battleboxes alive, he could seek work as a servant and straighten up beds for the rest of his miserable life.
The door creaked open for the millionth time, and Rerdas slipped inside. He had been popping in and out of the room since early morning, feigning cheerfulness.
“Don’t sit on the—” Imalroc began, too late.
“What?” Rerdas bounced into place on the bed and rumpled the covers. A pillow toppled onto the floor.
“Never you mind,” Imalroc growled, circling around and slapping the pillow back up against the headboard.
Rerdas slunk off the bed, chagrin all over his face.
Imalroc knew he was smacking the pillow with more force than was called for, but the huntmaster’s apprehension just made him slug it a few more times.
“Are you hungry?” Rerdas asked.
“Ate breakfast.” More food sitting like a stone in his stomach sounded disgusting.
“That was this morning. I can have something brought up for you.”
“I’m alright.”
“Duck? Lamb?”
“No.”
“You’re right. Too rich. A little chicken will do the—”
“Rerdas,” Imalroc snapped, “I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.” Rerdas cocked his head. There was a freckle on his neck. Imalroc wanted to suck a bruise right over it.
“Fine might be overstating it. But I’m not hungry.”
“What can I do to help?” He looked at Imalroc steadily, with his jade-water eyes, and Imalroc rammed his fist into the pillow again.
That kiss, that tiny, woefully insufficient, helpless kiss in the baths meant he had crossed the line he’d tried to draw.
The huntmaster was beyond frustrating. The worst part was that Rerdas was terrible at hiding his own desire.
It was confusing, to be wanted and yet never reached for.
If he let himself think of it too long, that confusion turned to hurt, because all it meant was that he wasn’t wanted quite enough.
Briskly, Imalroc put more space between them. “Nothing.”
“I know this isn’t what you’re used to, but this Vativa, she’s never seen the likes of you, either. She won’t last. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
That put a welcome chill in the air. “Nothing to be afraid of?” he echoed. A muscle in his back spasmed.
Rerdas bit his own lip hard enough that a bead of red welled up.
Imalroc glared at him. “Stop biting yourself like that.” He reached toward the huntmaster without thinking and then pulled his hand back as if scalded.
Fuck, what was he doing? He was most likely about to drown.
And here he was, worried about a tiny mark on the overly perfect lips of the man who was largely responsible for his soon-to-be-drowned state.
“Rerdas! Imalroc!” Etiana thundered from the hallway. She kicked the door open. “There you are. I know it’s early in the afternoon, but I want to beat the crowds to Navona. We should leave now.”
“Wonderful.” Imalroc rushed into the hallway, leaving Rerdas and his worthless sympathy to crumple up his formerly neat bed.
They had not gone far from the inn when Imalroc noticed how deserted Lakara was.
The sun had quit the blue arena of the sky, but it was still too early for so many shops to be shuttered and windows dark.
The creaking cage echoed down empty streets.
He leaned close to the slats, peering left and right.
Kirinoll never looked this dead, unless the Red Guard were on a rampage.
The horses swung wide around the turn that led toward Navona, and he shrank back.
This was where everyone had gone. Enormous torches lined the walk toward Navona’s entrance and washed light and smoke over masses of people as they pressed forward, rumbling with excitement.
It was as though the whole fucking city had dropped whatever they were doing and descended on the battlebox.
The crowd packed the wide avenue as far up as Imalroc could see, waving flags with a symbol on them that he could not make out.
The rumble turned into a distorted roar once the onlookers realized who rode up to Navona’s white walls and blood-red roof.
Imalroc hunched down behind his knees as buoyant shouts and jeers circled him.
He caught snatches of Etiana bellowing out the window, urging the coachman to go faster.
But the horses were almost at a standstill, corralled by people on all sides.
Someone hurled a flag at the cage. The stick hummed through the slats like a javelin.
It rolled out near Imalroc’s boot, and he finally recognized the shape emblazoned in dark red and silver.
It was the same creature that Rerdas had noticed on the stones.
The crocodile. Imalroc kicked the flag to the opposite end of the cage.
No uncertainty as to whose side this crowd was on.
He kept his head bowed and stared at his empty palms, imagining the weight of his sword in his hands.
When they finally made it into Navona’s looming shadow, the battlebox clearers emerged and helped carve a path toward one of the side doors. They kept the crowd at bay, but the courtyard inside seemed nearly as chaotic.
Rerdas appeared at the back of the cage and climbed inside. “You alright?” he muttered, making a show of checking the manacles that secured Imalroc’s hands. “Nobody in that crowd got to you?”
“I’m fine,” Imalroc repeated flatly.
“Earthbound gods, I can’t believe you can just hop into his cage like that!” It was the battlebox guard they had met the day before, his moon-face shining up at them both from between the slats of the cage wall.
“Oh, um, yes, it’s really not a problem,” Rerdas said.
“You’re quite a handler, sir,” the guard breathed.
Imalroc resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He vaulted into a standing position and knocked Rerdas back on his ass.
“Sir!” the guard shouted.
Imalroc tilted into a bow. “Apologies, Master,” he murmured. “I thought you instructed me to stand.”
Rerdas shot Imalroc an exasperated glare while he waved the guard away from the cage door. “An innocent mistake.” He pulled himself up and looked down at the guard.
“Why all the frenzy?” Rerdas nodded toward the people scurrying every which way across the courtyard.
The guard’s eager expression dimmed. “Oh. The river is high, and some of Navona’s old pipes aren’t quite what they used to be.
When they opened the water lines, a few things burst. Minor flooding in the south side of the building.
Nothing too bad, but they’re moving all the battleboxers to the north holding cells.
Trouble is, it’s all got to be done before Vativa gets here, and she’s close. ”
“How can you tell?” Rerdas asked.
The guard held up one finger to his ear in answer. Imalroc blinked, and then he heard it. Thrumming from somewhere outside of Navona came the sound of many voices rising and falling as one. Chanting. The words were lost, but the steady, rhythmic sound crept beneath his skin.
“Best guess is she’s on the avenue now. When you hear the big drums, that’s when you’ll know she’s entered Navona. Her owners have all sorts of traditions for her.”
“Lovely,” Rerdas muttered. He glanced toward the noise from the front entrance. “We’d... we’d better get inside before that parade hits. Where should we take our fighter?”
They brought him to a holding cell, dark and cold. Rerdas had the decency to look miserable as the guards shut the gate on Imalroc’s face, but he did nothing to stop it either. His cousin towed the huntmaster off in search of Mistress DeRosco.
There was still a good deal of commotion in the underground tunnels, but everyone steered clear of the corner cell where Imalroc was penned.
He leaned against the grated wall and wrinkled his nose at the dank smell.
Everything here was soaked. If he stood too close to the solid wall opposite, he could hear water gurgling behind the plaster.
A servant passed by, pushing a broad mop that seemed to spread more water than it absorbed as she thrust it left and right.
Imalroc stepped away, retreating to the far corner as dirty water splattered the walls of the cell.
Wayward droplets sizzled into the torches of a trio of approaching guards, who moved at the head of a long line of shuffling battleboxers.
“It says these ones are supposed to go in North Block Four. But I think we’ve taken a wrong turn back thataway,” a man’s voice said.
“Earthbound gods,” groaned a female guard, “you must be joking. This is the slowest moving bunch yet, and it’ll take fucking forever to get them back. There are cells here, aren't there?”
“But this isn’t Block Four. At least, I don’t think it is?”
The planks and plaster overhead shivered.
A shower of dust crackled down. Imalroc sank into a crouch, eyeing the ceiling in alarm.
The walls shuddered again, and the grated entrance to the cell hummed dully.
A gong sounded, muted by distance, and then staccato drums. The tremors in the ceiling kept time with the beat of the drums, and his pulse leapt with every strike.
“Ah shit,” the female guard said. “Vativa. We’ve got to get this lot in cells!”
“Just put them in any empty one. We’ll sort it later.”
Chains jangled and cell doors squeaked open as the battleboxers were unfastened from the line, one by one. Someone stumbled into the cell on the other side of Imalroc’s wall. The drums grew louder, accompanied by the stomping of thousands of feet. Navona shook to its foundations.
“Nearly there!” The guards spurred each other on, slamming cell doors and bolting them as fast as they could. Imalroc jerked his gaze down from the ceiling when he spotted a flash of movement outside his cell. The door opened, and a hunched body was shoved into his space.