Chapter 20 #2
Sand exploded beside my head as he twisted away at the last possible moment, his massive body veering aside with a violent snap of muscle and claws before landing beside me instead of on top of me.
A bark of laughter rang out. Sevrak stood several paces away, a cruel smile spreading across his maimed face.
Lucina leaned against one of the wooden posts nearby, amusement flickering across her face as Voryx prowled in a slow circle around me.
“Well,” Sevrak drawled, “at least she didn’t scream.”
Jorius grabbed my arm and hauled me upright. “Ignore them,” he muttered under his breath, though tension tightened his voice.
I brushed sand from my palms, pulse still hammering, acutely aware of Voryx standing somewhere behind me. Waiting. Watching. I glanced toward Sevrak again, then spotted Ilyth across the courtyard. She was loose as well.
The cream saber paced calmly beside Rhenik near the center of the courtyard. Jorius hurried toward them, amusement plain across his face the moment Ilyth nudged against his shoulder.
Training had already begun. The warriors moved across the sand in disciplined lines, sabers pacing beside them, muscle rolling beneath fur and skin alike as Doctore stalked with his whip in hand.
I narrowed my eyes against the glare of the sun and searched the sands.
It didn’t take long to find him. Kharos moved alongside Thanor near the far edge, the two of them perfectly aligned, rehearsing strikes and counters with lethal precision.
Thanor’s movements were economical and sure, Kharos matching him step for step, teeth flashing, claws carving shallow lines through the sand.
Together, they looked effortless and entirely in their element.
It was almost impossible to drag my eyes away—but I did.
My gaze dropped to the sand beneath my boots, and with it came the memory of standing here the night before, the courtyard still beneath the moon, pale light silvering the ground where I had worn only thin sandals.
I remembered the weight of the day pressing down on me, the exhaustion, the way my resolve had wavered when Thanor spoke, when the idea of being taken care of—of not having to stand alone for once—had almost been enough.
Almost.
The clash of steel and claws pulled me back to the present. I straightened, the weakness already passing, a momentary lapse, nothing more, and reminded myself that whatever I had nearly surrendered then, I hadn’t done so.
Doctore’s voice rang out across the courtyard. All Bondwards were called forward as he gestured toward the center of the sand.
“All of you, observe. Don’t look at the warriors. Focus on the sabers and their motions. Study their anatomy, their weaknesses.”
Sevrak stepped into the center. Goddess I hated him.
Instinct urged me to step back as Voryx prowled beside him with menacing power.
Had he landed fully on top of me instead of veering away at the last second, he likely would have killed me from the impact alone.
But against other sabers, size wasn’t everything.
It made him devastatingly powerful, yes—but slower too. Less precise.
Opposite them stood Rhenik, tall and lean, his short black curls catching the morning light, one hand resting lightly against Ilyth’s flank. She stood beside him in controlled silence, elegant where Voryx was monstrous, her lavender eyes never stopping their assessment of the space between them.
The courtyard fell quiet. Jorius leaned closer, his voice low. “Rhenik hates Sevrak. Has since the day he joined the Ludaryn.”
“None of the others respect him.” He went on. “They tolerate him at best. I’ve seen Vayren step in more than once to put him back in his place.” He nodded toward Rhenik, who stood still as stone. “He’s been waiting a long time for this. Longer than he’ll admit. This should be interesting.”
“How long have you been bonded to him?”
“I arrived at the Ludaryn when I was twenty-five. I was bonded to him almost immediately. So—four years now.”
“Do you two ever talk about what it’s like for him to be a warrior?”
“No,” he said after a moment. “Not really. Why?”
“Just curious.” I kept my eyes on the sand as he studied me.
“You’re trying to figure out Vayren, aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
“Tina… don’t fall for him. You know what happened with Lucina.”
I turned to him. “I told you not to compare us. We’re very different.”
“It won’t matter. He’s the same.” His voice softened, but not his meaning. “He won’t ever care for you.”
“Just leave it,” I snapped.
“Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His words barely registered. My thoughts had already turned inward. Was I falling for Thanor? Before I could dwell on it any longer, Doctore gave a signal, and the exhibition match began. Jorius and I both whipped toward the sand as Sevrak circled Rhenik. Voryx paced at his side.
Then the great white saber lunged.
He closed the distance in a single bound, slamming into Ilyth before she could fully turn. Sand burst beneath them as they collided—claws scraping, teeth flashing—Voryx driving her back with sheer force.
Ilyth hissed and twisted, fighting for her footing as she was forced sideways.
Steel rang out as Rhenik’s sword met Sevrak’s hammer at last. Any trace of conversation faded as we watched, drawn into the brutal rhythm unfolding before us.
Rhenik fought cleanly, every movement measured. His strikes were precise, his footing careful as he met Sevrak head-on. He didn’t rush, didn’t bait, didn’t press when openings came too easily. There was honor in the way he moved. Sevrak had no such limits.
He laughed as he fought, the jagged cadence matching his style.
He darted in too close, striking low, feinting, then drove his shoulder into Rhenik’s chest as their weapons collided.
He kicked sand into Rhenik’s face and shoved him back toward the edge of the ring, pressing every advantage with feral delight.
There was no rhythm to him. Only aggression.
It became clear almost at once that Rhenik’s honor was a weakness here.
Each time he hesitated, Sevrak took ground.
Each time he pulled a strike, Sevrak punished him, driving him farther back, crowding his space until the sand beneath his boots churned and gave way.
Tension tightened my shoulders as he lost ground inch by inch, cornered not by lack of skill, but by the simple truth that fairness had no place in this fight. And Sevrak knew it.
Sevrak surged forward with a sudden burst of speed, crashing into Rhenik’s space before he could recover his footing. Hammer met sword once more, but this time Sevrak twisted hard, wrenching the weapon free with a brutal jerk.
The blade tore from Rhenik’s grasp and skidded across the sand. Rhenik barely had time to react. Sevrak drove the hilt of his hammer up into his face with a bone-jarring blow. The impact was dull and sickening, and Rhenik went down, collapsing into the sand.
He didn’t move.
Silence rippled through the courtyard, broken only by Sevrak’s breathing as he stood over him, his chest rising and falling, victory carved plainly into his posture while Rhenik lay unconscious at his feet.
My hands prickled, and I frowned, rubbing them against my leathers before Jorius let out a low breath beside me. “Well,” he said dryly, “I doubt Rhenik will be enjoying Carnis Noctyra tonight. Though perhaps a mask will spare the city the sight of what his face will look like by then.”
I didn’t smile, too overcome by annoyance. Sevrak stood there, victorious and far too pleased with himself. Someday, hopefully sooner than later, he’d get what he deserved. I hoped I’d be there to witness it.
Ilyth moved, snapping to Rhenik’s fallen form, her steps faltering just long enough to matter. Voryx didn’t hesitate. He charged, all pale fury and muscle, jaws snapping closed around her tail with brutal force. She cried out as she twisted, blood darkening the sand beneath her.
“Enough,” Doctore barked, his whip cracking through the air. “Sevrak and Voryx, victorious.”
Jorius was already moving. He rushed forward with his satchel in hand, all trace of humor gone, worry etched deep as Ilyth dragged her tail behind her, the movement strained, blood seeping freely from the wound. I barely had time to follow before another presence stepped into the ring.
Thanor stepped forward, his expression hard as he cast a cold look toward Sevrak. He gave a short nod to the surrounding warriors. They moved without hesitation, hauling Rhenik up. Several of them needed to carry his unconscious weight toward the medicus.
I hurried after Jorius and dropped to my knees beside him, my hands already reaching forward. “Let me help,” I said as the sight of Ilyth’s injury filled my vision.
The other Bondwards gathered around us, drawn in by instinct and unease. Injuries weren’t uncommon in the Ludaryn, but it was rare for a complex one like this to be laid bare before so many eyes.
Jorius hesitated, his hand hovering for a moment above Ilyth’s tail. The muscle there was dense, one of the most difficult places to mend. The sabers were never able to keep it still for long. Repairing it would take time, careful stitching, and more than a simple salve.
“I’ve never mended a tail before,” he said. He looked up at the others. “Has anyone here?”
There was a brief exchange of glances, then hesitant answers.
Suggestions followed—how to angle the needle, where to bind first, how to keep the muscle from tearing further—but nothing he didn’t already know.
He nodded along all the same, his jaw tightening.
“I have the right cure for the venom,” he said at last. “That much I can manage. But the stitching…”
The moment stretched. I placed my hand over his before I could reconsider. “I can do it.”