17. LION
17
LION
The Feline Yard was shaded by the Western walls, offering a welcome respite for the King’s beasts who trained there vigorously under the afternoon sun.
Lion stood on a balance pole, his upper body bare, except for a pair of brass arm guards. Joharin walked around the pole with a basket full of hand-sized rocks. He threw them at him with a deceptive flick of his wrist, giving no hint and trying to catch him off-guard. Lion either dodged or parried the rocks with his arm guards, keeping his balance at the same time.
This was one of the easier exercises. He switched his feet and continued to trace Joharin’s body language with quick glances. The older trainer was good at keeping his face blank. He picked up a rock, threw it up, caught it, inspected it closely, and then threw it at Lion with incredible speed. Lion deflected it with his right armguard and shifted his weight to keep his balance.
Piece of cake.
He wished the girl’s tasks were this easy, too. Finding something new to tell her about himself was more difficult than he ever imagined. It had been three nights since he had discovered his desire for her. Three nights since he had admitted he wanted her with such intense craving, it horrified him. He was doomed. If his Masters knew how much he was looking forward to finishing this boring drill and heading back to his room so he could have her like his life depended on it, he would be screwed. He would be sent back to Faychill Ranch for some retraining for at least a few months. Or worse, straight to White Tower.
Lion dodged the next rock Joharin sent from his right, keeping his balance without breaking a sweat. This wasn’t his favourite drill. He still found the concept of favourite stupid and pointless. The other night, they had a ridiculously long conversation that left them both frustrated and confused when the girl asked him what his favourite weapon was. She would not accept the answer that as a purebred, Lion was trained in multiple combat classes and styles, and was extremely efficient with a range of weapons. She had then asked which weapon he was most comfortable with, and Lion’s answer was the same — that he was comfortable with many. And then she had rolled her eyes and asked if he was presented with a selection of weapons, which one would he pick. But when Lion asked perfectly reasonable follow-up questions — was he allowed an armour, or a shield? What was his opponent equipped with? Would he be Raged or Unraged? — she had seemed infuriated.
Eventually, they had discovered that Lion did have a preference. As foolish as it sounded, he did have a favourite weapon. It was a lor’qas paired with a tall shield. Not only he was extremely efficient, confident, and experienced with it, he also enjoyed wielding that weapon.
Every time he told her something about himself that his Masters didn’t know, the cold fingers of anxiety strangled him. He knew he shouldn’t harbour opinions. He shouldn’t have favourites or preferences. He shouldn’t desire. Desire led to wanting. Wanting led to taking. And taking was a gateway to defiance. He was acutely aware of what the girl was doing to him. She was eroding his purebred discipline, slowly breaking him. Yet he couldn’t resist her. The moment he admitted his desire for her, he found himself addicted.
Every whispered conversation was concluded with hungry, passionate kisses that made Lion forget all about getting into trouble. The world outside the room stopped existing for a few hours. He was ever so thirsty for her body. No matter how many times he took her, he could never have enough. The way she touched and kissed him proved she longed for his body, too. Seeing how much she wanted him, how she shared his pleasure, was a thrill.
He swatted another rock with a lazy wave of his arm and switched his feet. What was he going to tell her about himself tonight? Her annoying game forced him to reflect on himself. Discover himself in a way he hadn’t before.
He shuddered.
Moreover, there was the eye contact component of the game. She pointed out that he had at least stopped throwing up out of pain and fear. She acted like this was a victory, an improvement, but Lion’s body was still convinced it was painful. Unless he distracted himself by kissing her immediately after, he still slumped against the wall, shivering with dread.
It helped that at least her eyes were beautiful to look at. He wanted to…
The rock hit the side of his head. He flapped his arms to catch his balance, failed, and fell.
He wasn’t knocked out for long. It felt like he had only blinked, and Joharin was there, hovering over him, cursing nonstop.
“Injuries?” the old trainer barked between curses.
“No, Master,” Lion blurted out without hesitation. He hadn’t even finished mentally assessing his body, but the answer to that question was always ‘no’. He couldn’t have any injuries. He couldn’t…
He jumped up to his feet — ignoring the disturbing pang on his elbow — and stood ready with his hands clasped in front of him. He discretely moved his fingers, confirming nothing was broken. Joharin looked him up and down, dismissed the bloody graze on his elbow, and nodded.
“Good,” the old trainer snorted before punching him in the face.
Despite seeing the punch coming even before Joharin had curled his fingers into a fist, Lion didn’t move to defend himself. He stood motionless, hands down, with not so much as a flinch.
If your Owners choose to inflict physical pain, you must receive it with respect , Breeder Astaldo had taught him. The slave breeder had beaten him regularly until he had learned not to raise his hands to defend himself, or flinch, or turn his head away.
Joharin’s knuckles connected with his jaw, sending a jolt of pain. He blinked it away. The other beasts continued their drills, led by Doha and Caesh, without so much as a second glance. Joharin punched his stomach next, while Lion received it with respect . When the old trainer drew his fist back for a third time, Badimar stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“ Prihjtivaviula ,” Badimar said.
Lion sunk into the pit of pain. Joharin and Badimar stepped out of the range of his thrashing legs. They waited coldly while he finished being tortured. As soon as the pain receded enough for him to regain control, Lion pulled his knees underneath, pressed his forehead on the ground, and wrapped his arms around his head, holding back a whimper.
“Up,” Badimar ordered and Lion jumped up to his feet, his knees still shaking from the pain.
Badimar stepped closer until Lion could smell the staleness of his breath. “What is wrong with you, Lion?” Badimar growled quietly. The glimmer of fury in his eyes contrasted with the fake calmness of his voice. “You fucked up your steps yesterday. You let Crow land a blow on you the day before. You don’t make mistakes. Ever. What the fuck is up with you? ”
“I am well, Master,” Lion said.
“We have three months left until the Serpent’s Grip ,” Badimar continued. “Three months! Are you physically unwell?”
“No, Master.”
“Then why the fuck did you fall?”
“The rock hit my head, and I lost balance, Master.”
The veins on Badimar’s neck bulged and his whole face flushed red. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then placed his hand on Lion’s shoulder. It was surprisingly gentle. It made Lion’s stomach churn with alarm.
“Tell me, Lion,” he said with an eerie softness in his tone. “I’m listening. Tell me, why did you get hit by that rock?”
“I couldn’t block or dodge it, Master,” Lion answered weakly. He didn’t trust this fake patience at all. Badimar was pissed and Lion had accepted he was fucked.
“And why didn’t you block it?”
“I did not see it coming, Master.”
“You did not see…” Badimar took another deep breath, visibly forcing himself to remain calm. “Why? Were you not looking?”
“I was looking, Master.”
“And you still didn’t see it?”
“No, Master.”
Suspicion flashed across Badimar’s face as he glanced at the fading scratch mark near Lion’s left eye. It had almost healed completely. “Is there anything wrong with your eyesight?” he asked carefully.
“No, Master.”
Vanalten had already checked his eyesight after the event, confirming there was no damage. Badimar already knew this. He nodded thoughtfully. His next question took Lion by surprise.
“Were you looking with your eyes, or with your mind?”
“With… my eyes, Master.”
“Then, what was your mind looking at?”
Lion didn’t want to confess what he was thinking. He shouldn’t have been thinking at all. He should have been focusing on the drill, keeping his mind blank and ready. The lie slipped out of his lips without intention: “I don’t know, Master.”
Badimar’s eyes narrowed. His intense stare raked Lion’s face for any hint of deception, but purebreds didn’t lie, and Lion’s face was perfectly blank, though his heart was beating wildly. If he thought Lion was being dishonest, he didn’t let it show. “Your mind was occupied with something,” Badimar muttered, more to himself.
It wasn’t a question, neither was it an order, so Lion remained silent.
Badimar casually put his arm around Lion’s shoulder and rested his hand behind his head. The gesture appeared friendly and disarming, though it didn’t put Lion at ease. If anything, it only made him more nervous. “You were distracted,” Badimar decided, nodding thoughtfully.
Joharin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Purebreds didn’t get distracted. What could possibly distract them from a training drill? Badimar’s statement still wasn’t a question, so Lion resumed his silence.
Badimar grabbed a handful of Lion’s hair in his fist and yanked firmly. It was a warning pain. “Tell me the truth,” he ordered. “What is distracting you?”
An order and a direct question. It gave Lion little room to wiggle. He couldn’t lie, but he was going to be punished, anyway. He just wanted to avoid getting a worse punishment.
He wanted to avoid pain.
“I don't know, Master,” he said carefully, keeping his voice flat.
“It’s that bitch,” Badimar growled. His voice was still calm, but his grip tightened, sending a jolt of pain through Lion’s scalp. “That bitch is distracting you.”
Her name is Saradra , Lion thought unexpectedly, surprising himself. Standing next to him, Joharin’s mouth gaped in disbelief. Badimar still hadn't asked a question. Despite his querying tone, he was only confirming what he already knew. Lion pressed his lips shut and once again took refuge behind the silence. He focused on the dirt floor beneath his feet, not letting himself witness the promises Badimar’s face offered.
His scalp throbbed sharply as Badimar’s pull intensified. Then, the Master of the Beasts pushed him towards the centre of the training yard. “Turn around. On your knees.”
Lion did as he was ordered. He rested his hands on his knees, ducked his head between his shoulders, and braced. He focused on a spot on the dirt ground as he waited. Not my body, it’s their property, he thought, willing his mind to crawl into that place before Badimar started.
It didn’t work.
Lion swallowed, narrowing his eyes. Doha and Caesh had stopped to watch, not heeding any attention to the beasts. Purebreds continued their drills as if nothing was happening, but the two freeborns threw occasional glances at Lion. Behind him, he heard the crisp snap of leather as Badimar pulled his whip from his belt.
Not my body, it’s their property, Lion thought furiously. Not my body. Not… Not my body . He even closed his eyes, which only made it worse, because now the girl’s eyes flashed across his mind, and the memory of her body grinding against his body filled his thoughts.
Not my body. Not…
He blinked his eyes open, trying to shake the images out of his head and focus. He had to escape his body and go hide in that place before Badimar started…
The whip cracked in the air and landed on Lion’s back. He held back a gasp and breathed out slowly. The first one was always more tolerable, a sharp and stinging pain that surprised more than it hurt. It usually started becoming too painful after the third.
Lion locked his muscles in place and concentrated on enduring his punishment in silence. Not my body…
The second strike lit his back on fire. He took a sharp breath and held it in, his fists clenched on his knees.
Why couldn’t he escape? It wouldn’t stop the pain, but it would at least help him tolerate—
Crack, whoosh, pain.
Lion stopped counting. He had discovered that counting somehow intensified the pain. Blood trickled between his shoulder blades, down his waist. His skin felt tight and on fire.
It was the girl. The girl was somehow stopping him from summoning that numbness. Another crack, followed by a jolt of pain spreading across his back. Lion smothered a grunt and kept his fists on his knees.
Badimar could have inflicted more pain if he had used Lion’s Pain Word. There was no other torture or punishment that could compete with the agony of that half a minute. However, Badimar’s intention wasn’t just to punish Lion now. He wanted Lion to learn a lesson, and he wanted it to be learnt over time. The flogging was going to hurt for days, reminding Lion the consequences of getting distracted by that girl’s stupid games. Inspiring him to be more careful.
Badimar was a good trainer.
The next strike nearly made him collapse. He clenched his core muscles, willing himself to stay upright. Sweat beaded down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He braced for the next one.
“Get up,” Badimar grunted. “Get your ass back on that pole.”
Breathe in, breathe out…
As soon as he moved, a scorching pain exploded on Lion’s back. All he could do was to gasp quietly and keep his face neutral. He wiped the sweat from his face, doing his best not to flinch as he staggered to the pole. Darkness creeped in at the edges of his vision, as he fought to stay conscious.
Breathe in, breathe out…
His body swayed with every agonizing step as he hauled himself onto the pole. His knees buckled slightly, and he wavered unsteadily. He balanced his weight on one foot and slowly stood.
Breathe. Focus.
He raised his arm guards, fixing his gaze straight ahead. Badimar borrowed a handful of rocks from Joharin. Together, they started circling the balance pole and throwing their rocks at him. Lion tracked their movements through a haze of pain, his vision still blurry. He failed to deflect half the shots, but at least he didn’t fall or get hit on the head.
After the balance pole, Badimar ran two more training drills with him, pushing him ruthlessly on each one. He almost seemed to test whether Lion would pass out or collapse. Several times, he came close to losing his consciousness, but he didn't.
After the other beasts were finished with their exercises, Badimar had Lion run laps around the training yard. It was only after the sun set that Lion was excused to go and have his dinner.
He skipped his bath. He couldn’t imagine soaking his searing back in hot water. He put his tunic on, cringing at the friction of the fabric against the welts, and went straight to the kitchen. He forced himself to eat, despite having no appetite. His head down, he focused on his breathing; on not letting out any sound louder than an exhale.
Not until he returned to his room.
As soon as he closed the door behind him, he collapsed on his knees, letting out a strained cry.
“Merciful Alunwea!” the girl gasped. The smirk she had prepared for him was erased from her face. She rushed to his side, kneeling beside him. “What… What happened?”
When she placed her hand right in the middle of his back, Lion cried out in pain. He shoved her away, hard enough to send her stumbling into the wall.
No.
He ignored the look of shock and hurt on her face. He wasn’t going to play her game tonight. No more. He squirmed to take his tunic off, recoiling every time the clothing brushed against his back. He walked to the basin and filled it with cold water.
Behind him, the girl gasped at the sight of his back. “What… Who did this to you?”
Lion didn’t reply. He soaked the towel in water and reached back to dab it gently against his back.
“Here, let me do that for you.”
When the girl tried to take the towel off him, Lion pushed her again. She tripped and fell onto the bed. Her eyes welled with tears as she gave him a wounded look. She didn’t try to come near him again.
This was all her fault. She needed to stop what she was doing to him. She was compromising his training, his obedience, his focus. He couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t want to talk to her again. He didn’t even want to be in the same room with her again.
He scowled at himself. There he was wanting and not wanting things. How was he ever going to undo what she had done to him?
He reached as far back as he could, dabbing the cold towel against his burning skin, desperately trying to ease the pain.
After watching him for a moment, the girl wiped that wounded expression off her face and replaced it with concern. She stood up hesitantly. She opened her mouth to speak to him, then changed her mind and sat back down, her shoulders sagged.
Pushing her away turned out to be the smartest decision Lion had made today. When Badimar barged into the room with no warning — no footsteps to give away his approach — they were at opposite sides of the small room, not even looking at each other’s direction.
Lion straightened up to greet him, ignoring the jolt of pain on his back. The girl jumped to her feet.
The Master of the Beasts must have been hoping to catch them doing something they shouldn’t have been doing — like chatting about Lion’s favourite food or weapons — because his eyes flew between the two slaves, narrowed with suspicion. His gaze scanned the room next, dismissing the bloody towel in Lion’s hand, before returning to the girl’s face.
Lion’s stomach twisted when Badimar walked up to her. Her bruises hadn’t even fully recovered from the beating. Lion bit inside his cheek. If Badimar started beating her again… The fear sat like a rock on his chest, worse than what he felt earlier in the yard. He kept his head down, watching Badimar out of the corner of his eyes.
Don’t piss him off, he thought desperately.
The girl looked at her toes, trembling slightly under Badimar’s irritated gaze. After torturing them both with his silence for half a minute, “You will go to Vanalten first thing in the morning,” Badimar finally growled. “Have him check whatever he needs to check to confirm you’re with child. So I can get rid of you.”
“Yes, Master,” Saradra said without a beat. Her posture and her voice were submissive enough to please Badimar.
The Master of the Beasts scanned the room one more time, suspicion etched on his face. Not finding anything out of the ordinary, he stormed out.
The girl lowered herself onto the bed, shuddering and breathing heavily. When she glanced at Lion, he looked away and resumed trying to soothe his back, which felt like an impossible task. The more he tried to reach the welts, the worse it hurt. He gave up, feeling exhausted from fighting the pain all day. The towel slipped from his fingers as he sank to his knees. He was ready to pass out now. Just end the day. Take a break.
Her hands were gentle on his arm and she draped it around her shoulder to help him stand, and guided him to the bed. Lion collapsed on his stomach, breathing heavily. The searing pain made every breath a struggle. His muscles were tense, and an occasional shiver ran through his body. The girl soaked the towel in cold water and gently dabbed it against his back. Lion winced but didn’t move. He was too exhausted. He wanted to sleep.
“This happened because of me,” she whispered with sorrow. “I’m sorry.”
Lion opened his eyes. Tears ran down the girl’s face. She wiped them with the back of her hand and focused on cleaning the welts without causing more pain. Coolness of the towel at least gave him some relief.
“I’ll stop,” she said. “I promise. No more.”
Something in the girl’s voice pulled Lion back from the brink of passing out. He blinked, trying to focus on her words. No more? No more what? No more forcing him to talk and think? Good. That was what he wanted.
The girl started whispering calming words into his ear, telling him he was going to be okay, and that she was sorry. And she cried. Why? Why was she upset? Why was she backing off now? She dried her cheeks and dunked the towel in cold water again before gently pressing it, apologising over and over again.
No more talking. Good. He was better off left alone.
He closed his eyes, so exhausted, yet he still couldn’t lose consciousness. Like his mind refused to drift. The girl’s quiet sobs were still anchoring him. The meaning of Badimar’s instruction finally hit him. What was going to happen once Vanalten confirmed that the girl was with child?
No more talking.
They were going to take her, and he would never have to talk to her again.
Lion shivered and groaned.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s going to be okay. Try to sleep.” She took his hand in hers and squeezed it. He squeezed it back.
No more talking.
He would never talk to her again. Never see her again…
“Saradra,” he whispered.
She froze, the cold towel still in her hand.
“My favourite…” Lion turned his head and winced when the movement sent a wave of agony through him.
“No,” she whispered. “You don’t have to do this.”
Lion looked at her, his gaze inviting hers. “My favourite… song… is Galclad and the Coward ,” he said. He didn’t look away. If this was his last chance to look into those eyes, he would not look away.
“You don’t have to do this,” the girl — Saradra — shook her head. She kissed his hand, then leaned forward and kissed his lips. Lion surrendered to the kiss and everything seemed to fade away for a moment, his thoughts becoming fuzzy. He suspected he might have passed out briefly, as he didn’t remember when Saradra pulled back.
“I first heard the song… at the celebration,” Lion muttered. She rested her head on the bed, close to his. She brushed her fingers against his cheek as she listened intently. Lion continued, his voice rough and weak. “After the… Maiden’s Kiss Tournament. A bard… A bard came from… Kaldoria. He sang Galclad and the Coward … It made people sad… I don’t understand, but I liked the song.”
Saradra chuckled softly. He focused on the soothing sensation of her fingers on his face. “It’s a sad story,” she said.
“Because he dies?”
“Because his brother betrays him at the end, when he needs him the most.”
“Oh… Well… It’s my favourite song.”
“It’s a good song.”
“But you said… it makes people sad?”
“It’s a good song because it makes people sad.”
Lion closed his eyes. Saradra caressed his head, stroking her fingers through his hair.
“Why?” Lion asked, his eyes closed.
“Why does a good song make people sad?”
“Why do this? To me?” He squeezed her hand again, holding her delicate fingers securely in his palm. He just needed to know. “Why?”
Saradra’s fingers played with his hair. She leaned in and kissed him again, softer this time. “If I give them a son,” she whispered, her voice quivering, “They will send him to a slave ranch, to be raised by slave breeders, and they will do to him what they did to you. They will raise him to be like you. I need to see if what they do can be reversed. If my child can ever be free.”
Lion opened his mouth to tell her the boy would be lucky to have a life like his. He was well-fed, dressed, cared for. He worked out with the best trainers in the country. He slept in a real bed! Even his punishments were fair, including the flogging he endured today. He had made a mistake, became distracted during his training. He deserved the punishment. It was his fault. Not Saradra’s. Lion’s.
Instead, he whispered, “He can be free. If he’s good enough to win Twilight of Infinity.”
Saradra lifted her head. “Is that a tournament?” She sounded so excited. Hopeful. Not for herself, but for her child. The baby wasn’t even born yet, didn’t exist. And yet, he was already blessed with Saradra’s relentless affection.
Lion nodded, his eyes still closed. The exhaustion was rolling in to claim him. He wondered if she knew she wasn’t even going to spend a minute with the baby. That he would be taken from her straight after birth.
“Have you ever met anyone who won it?” Saradra asked. When Lion nodded again, she whispered eagerly, “What was he doing?”
Somehow, Lion sensed she wasn’t going to like the real answer to her question. The freed slave — a purebred beast — who had won the last Twilight of Infinity was still serving the same Owner. He was still following orders and keeping his eyes on the floor. It was a good thing the tournament was only held once every four years. Freeborns never won it, and the purebreds who did never knew what to do with their freedom.
“His tattoo was removed,” Lion whispered, his words slurring. He winced as another wave of pain shot through his back.
Saradra kissed him again. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Go to sleep.” Her hand trailed down his neck; her fingers circling the faded lines of Lion’s tattoo.
With a soft groan, Lion finally succumbed to exhaustion and passed out. Saradra stayed up all night, soothing his back with the cold towel, whispering comforting words into his ear, and kissing him every time he woke up shivering and groaning with pain.