Chapter 11
The large iron door creaked when I tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. I cursed my lack of strength. “Cassius, are you there? Can you open the door?” I shouted.
The door suddenly gave way, slamming inward with more force than I expected. I stumbled forward with it—
—and collided straight into a solid wall of armor.
Strong hands caught me before I could fall, steadying me. For a brief moment, I was pressed against a hard chest, the heat seeping through metal and leather. A jolt ran through me.
Then, as if the contact registered a fraction too late, the grip loosened.
It wasn’t Cassius. It was Thanor standing in front of me, a faint frown settled on his features as he looked down at me.
Sweat glistened on the dark stubble covering his jaw.
Fine grains of bloodied sand clung to the dark hair pulled back from his temples, and my attention caught on the curled serpent worked into the center of his blackened steel chestplate. I tore my gaze away in disgust.
Behind him, Cassius paced the length of the room, his boots scraping against the stone as he moved back and forth with restless urgency. His white tunic was streaked with Kharos’s blood, and his hair had come loose from its tie. His satchel lay open on the table, its contents spread in disarray.
I frowned, looking up at Thanor. “What’s wrong with him?”
He didn’t answer. For a beat, he simply stood there, blocking the doorway as though he hadn’t even considered stepping aside. I shot him a glare and pushed past him, forcing my way through the narrow space.
Kharos lay nearby, his massive form stretched along the wall. His front paw bled steadily where the gash split the flesh. It was already swelling. Thanor leaned back against the stone ridge behind me, arms crossed, his jaw tight as he watched the older Bondward.
“Cassius. What’s wrong? Let me help.”
He looked up. “I can’t find the right compound… if the wound festers—”
“I’m here,” I said, stepping forward.
Thanor’s eyes snapped to me, his pupils blown wide with adrenaline.
“Congratulations,” I said coolly as I rummaged through the contents of Cassius’s satchel. “On your victory.”
He merely grunted. I scowled, turning away from him as I lifted the cure in triumph.
Cassius’s hands were shaking now. His fingers fumbled through vials and folded cloths beside Kharos. He looked older suddenly, strain etched deep into his features.
I dropped to my knees beside him, moving with practiced confidence. “You left some of your vials on the table.” I handed him the correct tincture.
He drew a slow breath, gratitude flickering across his face. “Can you get me some water? My hands—I can’t get them to stop shaking. I need to calm down.”
He was right to be panicked. An hour was all he had. A pitcher sat on the table beside Thanor. I poured a cup and handed it to him. With trembling fingers, he took it and drank greedily.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
His hands seemed steadier as he turned back toward Kharos. Before he could kneel, the cup slipped from his grasp.
It shattered against the stone.
Water spread across the floor, dripping from the broken pieces.
He gasped.
A sound tore from deep within his chest before he folded in on himself as if something had seized him from within. He collapsed hard, clutching his throat as a gurgled scream tore free from him, pain wracking his body.
“No—Cassius!” I dropped beside him, catching his head between my hands. “Thanor—do something!”
He pushed away from the wall. Before reaching us, he stopped short. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
Cassius convulsed once. Twice. His fingers clawed weakly at me—
then he went terribly still in my arms. I stared at his face, my breath stuttering as I waited for movement… anything.
But I waited in vain.
“No,” I whispered as tears blurred my vision. “No, Cassius… no.”
Thanor crouched beside me and lifted the fallen cup from the floor. He inhaled the remaining liquid and his expression darkened instantly.
“Poison,” he said flatly.
With a roar of rage, he hurled the pitcher from the table and smashed it against the wall. It shattered on impact, shards raining across the stone as I flinched away.
“Another Bondward dead,” he gritted between his teeth. “Someone will fucking answer for this.”
For the first time since meeting him, fear threaded through my awareness. Standing so close to him now felt dangerous in a way it never had before.
He turned to me. “Stay here and tend to Kharos. Do not leave this cell.”
I forced a nod. Then he was gone, his boots striking the stone as he stormed away.
I remained still, cradling Cassius’s head against my chest before gently lowering him to the floor. Tears burned hot on my face as I moved with trembling hands. I searched inside my satchel until I found a clean cloth, folded it carefully, and draped it over his eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
There wasn’t any time to grieve. Kharos needed help. I faced him as he watched me calmly, his green eyes steady. He dipped his head as I approached.
“I won’t hurt you,” I murmured, my voice breaking. “I promise.”
He closed his eyes and relaxed his posture.
Using the bowl of water Cassius had already brought, I cleaned the wound, ridding it of dirt and much of the blood.
I grabbed salves from my own satchel at my hip, secretly glad I had taken it with me even though I didn’t get to wear my leathers.
I spread the ointment gently across the wound.
Kharos didn’t flinch. His breathing slowed as he endured my ministrations.
The door slammed open beside me, the hinges protesting under the force of it. I straightened, startled.
Marcus burst into the cell, Thanor standing behind him. He rushed to Cassius’s side and dropped to his knees, despair cracking through his voice.
“No,” he rasped. “Cassius…” He swallowed before closing his eyes.
“You endured with pride what so many did not. You were one of the most honorable among us. You deserved more time, my friend. May the afterlife grant you the peace this world denied.”
The words echoed in the stone chamber, laden with loss.
I woke with a gasp, heart racing, the sensation of Cassius in my arms still haunting me.
Gray morning light bled into my chamber.
Sleep had never truly come—only fragments, half-formed dreams that dissolved the moment I reached for them.
I lay still for a moment, forcing my breathing to slow.
My body felt drained, as if the night had wrung something out of me. Again.
At least Kharos had accepted my touch yesterday where others had failed. A small mercy, after everything that had happened. The poultice had held and the swelling had reduced beneath my hands. We’d made our slow way back through the tunnels of the Maw, and he regarded me differently.
The elation of the midday bout among the Bondwards had faded along with the rush of adrenaline. We’d all walked back in silence. Victory brought no celebration. Our shoulders were bowed with grief, Cassius’s absence weighing heavily.
Lucina hadn’t looked guilty. She’d looked watchful, but not afraid. If she’d orchestrated his death, she hid it well. Too well. Which meant either she wasn’t responsible…
Or she was far more dangerous than I’d accounted for.
Nearly a week had passed since the Praetor brought me here. By now I understood that, in the Ludaryn, a moment’s inattention could cost me more than pride. I couldn’t afford to have more sleepless nights.
A soft knock came at my door, as it did every morning. Today was no different, even though we’d just lost another honorable Bondward.
“Tina?” Livia’s voice followed, hesitant.
Shuffling came from outside my door.
“You should rise,” she tried again.
I groaned, rubbing my eyes as I pulled on my leathers. Our breakfast passed in near silence. Neither of us had much of an appetite. Another knock came, firmer this time. A servant entered.
“Bondward Valentina. You’ve been summoned. Follow me.”
My steps dragged as we reached Marcus’s office.
I crossed the threshold as the door closed behind me.
He studied me carefully from behind his desk, his fingers drumming against the polished wood.
His dark, graying hair remained neatly parted, as impeccably kept as ever, but today he wore a simple dark tunic in mourning.
His complexion had turned ashen, and the grief seemed to have aged him overnight.
“You were shadowing Cassius,” he said. “In the days leading up to his death, did you notice anything unusual?”
“No. Only… warnings. There were whispers that Thanor’s Bondwards end up dead. And that it happens by his own hand.”
His gaze sharpened.
Hastily I added, “I saw enough to know that wasn’t the case here. Whatever Thanor is, Cassius’s death wasn’t his doing. He was as shocked as I was. Angry, even.”
My certainty felt thin even as I spoke it. But why would he kill his own Bondwards? Silence stretched between us before he broke it.
“Good. That matters.”
Then he inhaled slowly, as if bracing himself.
“Given the circumstances, you will step in as Vayren’s Bondward.”
The words struck harder than any blow. For a moment, sound dulled, the air pressing thick against my ears as though I’d been submerged.
I laughed. He must be joking. But he remained composed. I frowned. “What?” The word slipped out before I could stop it. “No—you can’t—”
“Kharos healed exceptionally well under your care,” he interrupted calmly. “And he has accepted you.”
“That isn’t enough,” I shot back. “The bond between warrior and Bondward must be strong to be effective. The codex is clear. Thanor and I—” I stopped myself.
“We despise each other. It won’t work.”
He lifted a hand, silencing me with the smallest gesture. “Doctore disagrees.”
I merely stared at him.
“You are bound to my orders,” he continued coolly. “This is not a matter of preference.”
The fight drained out of me all at once, leaving only disbelief in its wake—hollow and nauseating. It sank into my bones.
“But… how can you guarantee my safety? Cassius is only the latest of his Bondwards to be murdered. And what about Nexra, do you know anything about her death? How do you know I won’t be next?”
“We are investigating as we speak. It will only be a matter of time before we find the culprit. The incidents are most likely linked. The Praetor is aware of Vayren’s Bondwards dying, and he has assured me he is doing everything in his power to restore order here and outside the Ludaryn.
My guards have regrettably not found Nexra’s murderer.
We have interrogated everyone—Decimus will investigate hers as well. He will arrive next week.”
A snort escaped me. That man wouldn’t lift a finger to aid Thanor, and he certainly wouldn’t care about a Bondward not even bonded to the champion.
“The funeral will be held this evening,” Marcus went on, interrupting my thoughts as if he hadn’t upended my world and signed my death sentence.
“A pyre will be prepared. And words will be spoken for Cassius.” His voice softened.
“As tradition demands, our champion will carry the torch. Vayren is already aware of Doctore’s recommendation, and of my decision. ”
The room felt too small to breathe in, and my eyes watered. No choice. My body, my skill, my presence—all conscripted without consent. If Thanor’s restraint snapped…
My hands gripped the chair in front of me harshly. I didn’t resent him solely for his violence. For the first time, I sensed I had met my match. Not a man I could placate. But one who might not bend at all. I drew in a slow breath before meeting Marcus’s eyes.
“And if I refuse?”
My voice was steady, though it scraped on its way out.
“If I say I will not stand beside him.”
He regarded me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was measured with care.
“You must be exhausted. Grief has sharpened everything. This assignment feels larger than it is.”
His words were almost convincing—were they not so condescending.
“I expect that you will become one of the most capable Bondwards this Ludaryn has produced in years. Under Elion’s tutelage, you have already surpassed expectations. Paired with Kharos you could form a bond formidable enough to anchor us through this transition.”
“And Vayren,” he added carefully, “is not without merit. Whatever his excesses in the Maw, his discipline on the field is unquestioned. With you to temper him, to focus him—”
“To leash him,” I cut in. “That is what you are asking of me. To leash a monster.”
I didn’t waver.
“Have you given any thought to my safety? He hates me.”
He didn’t bristle. He smiled instead, patient as he corrected me.
“I want you to balance him. He will be compelled to protect you. If he wishes to compete in the Maw, he will have no alternative. Other Bondwards exist, but none with your standing. If he wishes to keep his title, he will have to learn to take care of you.”
I said nothing. My mind raced.
“In time,” he went on, “he will learn what Kharos already understands—that you are deserving of his respect. Kharos’s regard is already evident. Vayren’s will follow. It is the only outcome he can afford.”
My eyes closed. My temper, his restraint—both stretched taut. If either gave way, I feared what we might ignite. A wrong word, a single misstep from me, and he could snap my neck as easily as he would a twig.
“You are being asked to step into your potential,” he continued in an encouraging tone. “To become the finest Bondward the Ludaryn has ever known. This is not a punishment, Valentina. It is the opportunity of a lifetime.”
He needed to stop talking. My vision blurred as he rambled on.
“Opportunities are usually offered. Not enforced,” I whispered.
Something flickered in his eyes—irritation, perhaps—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
“Elion’s recovery is progressing well. My Medicus believes he will soon be strong enough for you to visit him.” He smiled at me.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I breathed.
He nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Rest. Center yourself. The Ludaryn will need you clear-minded in the coming days.”
I turned before he could dismiss me outright, or I would lose my composure in front of him. Only once the door closed behind me did I let out a breath. He’d wrapped his orders in flattery and called it the opportunity of a lifetime. I’d seen the shape of his manipulation clearly enough.
But the danger wasn’t that I would be forced to obey. It was that, piece by piece, he meant to make me accept it. Want it, even. He wouldn’t succeed. I would bend for no one—friend or foe.