Chapter 2 #3
I stepped closer and gestured toward Atticus. “If you strike him, Nyra’s distress will worsen. She’ll start to thrash and tear the injury further. You’ll lose valuable training time and risk infection. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Not when every saber matters.”
For a long moment Karvus examined my face, weighing my words, then threw his head back with a laugh. “Smart girl. Too smart for your own good. Alright, I won’t strike him. But the boy will run drills until dusk.” His pewter eyes shifted to Atticus. “No rest.”
Atticus nodded, relief loosening his features.
Karvus turned to leave, pausing to cast another look over his shoulder. His gaze moved over me again, appraising me openly. “This work isn’t kind to soft hands, Bondward. The grounds chew up pretty things.”
I forced a sweet, accommodating smile. “Then it’s fortunate I’m harder to break than I look.”
“You’re a spirited one. I like that.” For a heartbeat his eyes remained on mine before he smirked and stepped out of the enclosure.
The tension left my shoulders only once he was gone. I rested a hand on Atticus’s shoulder. “You did well.”
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and nodded, and we began again.
This time Nyra trusted me. I worked with practiced hands.
Healing a saber wasn’t just magic, but craft—knowledge passed down through generations of Bondwards.
We made the elixirs beneath the full moon in the Lornwild, pouring our magic into them.
Each mixture was precise. A single mistake could be fatal.
I cleaned her wound first. “Easy,” I murmured. “I know it hurts, but it will be over soon.” I applied the salve generously, its scent earthy, and Nyra yawned as her posture relaxed. The balm dulled the pain within moments, and she drifted to sleep beneath Atticus’s gentle hands.
I gathered my instruments into my satchel and straightened. “Her paw will be healed by nightfall, but only if you keep her still. Can you do that for me?”
He nodded fervently. “Thank you, miss. I will. I promise.”
As I walked over to ruffle his hair, a prickling sensation crawled along my ear where my piercing rested, a cold bite against my skin.
I turned toward the caretaker’s platform.
A man stood there. He was dressed immaculately in dark finery, undeniably handsome even from a distance, his features smooth and carefully kept, sand-blond hair styled with precision, the sort of beauty polished by comfort rather than forged by hardship.
Legionnaires flanked him, a cluster of servants waiting at his back. He pressed coins discreetly into one of the caretaker’s palms before clasping the man’s arm and leaning in to whisper something too low to catch.
When he drew back, he found me. His gaze moved slowly over me, tracing from my hands dusted with salve upward. A slow smile curved his mouth, drawing my attention to the golden ring pierced through his lip as he neared.
The sensation in my blood flared cold, my mouth drying. It felt like being seen too closely—not as a person, but as something to be taken.
“My Lord Praetor.” Elion’s voice broke the moment as he stepped between us, bowing his head. “An honor. It has been too long since we last spoke.”
So this was Praetor Decimus Muraena. The sensation at my piercing deepened, a cold awareness settling beneath it as I moved toward them.
As I neared, Elion clasped the Praetor’s hand, smoothly turning them toward the gates. Decimus paused at the touch, irritation flickering across his face before it smoothed away.
“Bondward Elion, a pleasure to see you. And in such pleasant company as well. Who is she?”
I froze, keeping my distance.
“She is my niece, Valentina Greenwillow. She is under my supervision to become a Bondward. She isn’t of age yet.”
“Hmm, a promising apprentice. Caelora breeds its finest in unlikely places.”
Elion’s mouth twitched. “Yes, her skill surpasses any I have witnessed so far. She is a natural.”
Decimus’s brow lifted, and something unreadable passed through his expression. “Intriguing,” he murmured.
He let the word hang, then continued smoothly, as though the thought had just occurred to him.
“Aedile Tiberion Valystor and his wife are hosting a gathering a week from now—games and sport in celebration of recent victories.” His eyes shifted toward me again.
“It would be instructive, I think, for your apprentice to observe such things firsthand and meet her future Lanista, Marcus—not in any official capacity, of course. She can enjoy the festivities. There will even be a showing of Caelora’s finest Saber Warriors. You are hereby invited. Bring her.”
“A generous offer, My Lord. We look forward to the festivities.” As he spoke, Elion’s hand tightened at his side, a flicker of strain he rarely allowed to show.
Decimus nodded once more to the caretaker before his servants opened the gate for him to leave. The air on the grounds felt lighter as he departed, legionnaires falling into step beside him. But the weight of his attention didn’t lift with him.
My gaze found Elion, and what I saw didn’t comfort me. He understood, as I did, that this wasn’t an invitation but a command.
This was why he’d never allowed me to shadow him in daylight.
As I moved toward him, the caretakers dragged a young saber cub through a backdoor leading to the Lornwild, their grip rough. It whimpered once—then fell silent.
My thoughts churned as we walked home in silence. Only once we were beyond the War Quarter did Elion speak.
“What you saw at the grounds is horrible. The elite have stakes in the victories of the Maw, and they hold sway over the caretakers. To restrict their competitors’ success, they remove entire bloodlines or bribe the caretakers to kill promising cubs.”
I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my skin.
“It’s all corrupt,” he continued. “We Bondwards do what we can. I know that is little comfort, but remember—we heal them. There’s less suffering because of us.”
“It’s horrible,” I said, rubbing my ear without thinking.
His eyes narrowed at the movement. “Is your piercing flaring up again?” He caught my arm and lowered his voice as he glanced around the street.
“It’s nothing…”
“No it’s not. What did you feel?”
“Just… cold, I guess. Like a warning before I noticed the Praetor.”
He sighed. “Stop touching it. You know better than to draw attention to it.”
I nodded, lowering my hand. We walked on in silence before he spoke again.
“The Praetor’s invitation leaves us little choice. We will attend the gathering. There’s no avoiding it without consequence. You will stay by my side the entire evening. These gatherings are never as innocent as they pretend.”
“I understand.”
As we turned onto our street, I resisted the urge to run ahead and close the door behind me. It felt as though I had stepped into the real world for the first time. I’d wanted Elion to see me as a grown woman, to trust me, to loosen his grip—but this didn’t feel like freedom.
It felt dangerous.
A week from now I would step into a room filled with men like the Praetor, men who smiled because they had likely never been told no.