Chapter 6 #3
“In time,” he continued, “you will assist the other Bondwards. For now, you will familiarize yourself with the sabers and their warriors. And when the need arises, one of the warriors may choose you.”
Four more years—gone. Stolen before I could claim them. My grip tightened around the cup. The Praetor had taken them. Not everything. He would not take everything. I wouldn’t let him.
“This evening you will take your meal with the other Bondwards. Get to know them, relax if you can. When I hear more of Elion, I will let you know,” he said.
He stood and opened the door. “Livia will guide you to your chamber. Rest. We will speak again tomorrow.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” I forced out.
“Marcus,” he corrected.
I smoothed my expression, just as Elion had taught me, and offered him a polite smile as Livia led me away, back through the corridors and down the stairs.
By the time we reached the first floor, the atmosphere had shifted.
Servants spoke to one another and greeted us.
Everyone seemed more at ease. We entered through a narrow corridor before walking into a Grand Hall.
The Bondward Wing seemed older than the rest of the Ludaryn, its stonework worn smooth with age.
I didn’t know where to look first. The walls were lined with statues, their descriptions carved into stone slabs before them.
Bondwards of ages past. At the far end stood two saber statues, jaws parted, violence carved into stone.
They loomed twice life-size, their names etched beneath them, tallies of their victories carved below.
The room felt like a monument. I slowed, taking it in .
“A sight to behold, isn’t it?” Livia said.
“I never knew the Ludaryn was so grand. From the outside it looks like a cathedral, but this…” I shook my head. “This is something else.”
“Here we are, the Bondward Atrium.” She opened the doors.
It was a grand round chamber open to the sky.
Vines were draped from the edges of the exposed roof, and sunlight filtered through green leaves.
Couches were scattered across the floor, tables laden with books, vials, and scrolls.
Tall marble shelves covered every inch of the walls.
“This is where the Bondwards are allowed to roam freely. There are no guards here, you should try to make yourself at home,” she said before guiding me through another door leading to a hallway.
“Here are the Bondward chambers.” She stopped before a door with my name carved into a stone beside it.
“This is your chamber. It was prepared for you as soon as you arrived.”
She gestured to the door next to mine. “If you need anything, anything at all, call for me. My room adjoins yours.”
I studied her face, wondering if I could trust her. I felt connected to her somehow; her fate was entwined with mine.
“Livia… Am I safe here? Can I let my guard down?”
She hesitated, just for a moment. Then she shook her head, before leaning closer.
“Please be careful. The Bondwards seem pleasant, but they need their warriors and sabers to win. They won’t hesitate to maneuver themselves above you.
Many Bondwards disappear. Or die. Stay away from Vayren and Sevrak.
Vayren’s Bondwards keep vanishing, and Sevrak… well, you will see for yourself.”
At the mention of the champion’s name, a faint tingle flared at my piercing. I’d already resolved to avoid him—and Sevrak. Her warning confirmed Decimus’s earlier words. Did Thanor kill his own Bondwards?
I offered a small smile. “Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it. I hope… in time, we might be friends. Or at least allies.”
Her expression softened. “I would like that very much.” She opened the door to my chamber and left to enter her own.
Inside, the room was elegant. The stone walls were bare but clean, warmed by a single brazier and the glow of sconces set into iron brackets.
A narrow bed stood against one wall, its linens practical rather than indulgent.
A writing table was placed on the opposite side, scarred by use.
It was stocked with ink, parchment, and neatly stacked notes.
I took it all in; it was a room meant for someone useful.
Along the far wall stood a cabinet. Dresses hung in every color—silks and embroidered fabrics in jewel tones, pale creams, and ceremonial hues meant to impress.
They looked expensive, like offerings for a role I hadn’t asked to play.
I would likely be expected to wear them to exhibition matches or gatherings.
Beneath them lay a pair of slate-gray Bondward leathers. I lifted them, then threw them aside, preferring my own. I would continue to wear mine—not out of defiance, but to ground myself. It would remind me not to lose myself here, no matter what this place demanded.
My mother’s satchel lay on the small table beside the bed. I grabbed it, clutching it to my chest as a single tear slipped free. I looked inside. Thank the goddess, my father’s dagger was here!
I shed the linen dress and changed into my own brown leathers. I wrapped the Praetor’s rose in a cloth and shoved it beneath the bed. If it were up to me, I’d never look at it again; it filled me with disgust.
I closed my eyes, pulling my hair high and stilling for a moment.
Please be alive. Please be safe, Elion.
And when I opened them, I stepped before the bronze mirror in the corner of the room, bracing for the evening. If the Praetor came again, I would endure him. If Elion lived, he would come for me. And if he couldn’t... I’d find my own way out.