19. LION
19
LION
Hopper was one of King Leonis’s freeborn beasts.
He was more agile than would have been expected from someone his size. He was clever enough to use his appearance to mislead his opponents in battle, make them believe he was slow, then prove them fatally wrong. His little strategy didn’t work on beasts who were familiar with Hopper’s actual agility.
Lion was one of them.
He was wielding a lor’qas against Hopper’s battle axe, both weapons blunted for training. The weapon, despite being his favourite, gave him a clear disadvantage. He wasn’t given a shield to complement it, and neither were wearing any armour. Not to mention, Lion was severely fatigued. His back muscles wouldn’t stop spasming and limiting his movements, and the pain relief Master Vanalten reluctantly gave him this morning was wearing off. Salty sweat trickled down Lion’s back, leaving a trail of fire behind them. Some of the welt marks had started bleeding again, and his entire back felt sore and swollen.
Still, Lion leveraged the pain to keep his focus on the fight.
The other beasts had formed a circle, sitting on the ground. Joharin was supervising the fight, while Badimar and the two trainers stood behind, studying. The Master of the Beasts crossed his arms as he tracked Lion’s movements, a scowl darkening his expression. He didn’t seem to take any pleasure from Lion’s suffering. Lion knew him enough; Badimar wasn’t one of those who enjoyed torture and power displays. If anything, he genuinely wanted to test what Lion could do in this state, and his intense stare suggested he wanted to see Lion succeed. Why else would he allow Lion to go see Vanalten first thing in the morning?
Lion didn’t want to fail Badimar. He wasn’t angry at the Master of the Beasts for what he had done to his back. He was just angry. And he didn’t want to lose.
Joharin shouted instructions now and then; “Where’s your bloody defence?” or “Don’t you see he’s bloody open?” or “You’re staying in his range for too long. Keep your bloody feet moving!”
‘Bloody’ was Joharin’s favourite word.
Favourite words. That could have been a conversation topic to discuss with Saradra. Except she would not be there when he returned to his room tonight.
When Hopper lunged forward like a viper and swung his battle axe low, Lion barely dodged it. Without losing any more ground, he countered immediately, forcing Hopper to retreat.
Hopper had a habit of staring at his opponent’s eyes. It was another one of his silly little strategies. He would use it to intimidate his opponents. However, the technique rarely worked on purebreds since they didn’t participate in eye contact.
Another topic he could talk to Saradra about: combat strategies. His favourite strategy, which weapons worked well against which combat style, how having a shield could entirely change the pacing of a combat, the importance of footwork, clever ways of using a handguard. He was certain Saradra would find the topic so interesting! He could imagine the fascination on her face when he told her all about how some weapons were only useful when paired with a shield, but others were designed for solo combat.
He suddenly found himself willing to talk to her for hours. And she wouldn’t be there tonight.
Saradra was asleep this morning when he woke up from his restless, half-conscious state that he couldn’t really call sleep. Not knowing what else to do, Lion had crawled out of bed, dressed, and left.
He had left. What else could he have done?
Being in that room with her, watching her peaceful face, knowing it would be the last time he would ever look at her, was a torture. He had just wanted to get out of there before she opened those beautiful eyes and forced him to confront his helplessness.
He had lost her. The searing pain on his raw, swollen, bleeding back could not compete with the ache he felt in his chest. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit. He wanted to win.
Lion stared at Hopper’s eyes, and the freeborn beast flinched. The flash of rage he saw in Lion’s eyes made him hesitate.
Lion charged at him with a furious howl. His lips were pulled back in a snarl. Hopper stepped back, swinging his axe at Lion’s head. Lion raised his lor’qas sideways, parrying the strike. He hooked his weapon under the blade of the axe, pulled, twisted, and kicked Hopper’s wrist at the same time, disarming him.
Throwing both weapons aside, Lion grabbed Hopper’s ears and buried his knee in his stomach. Hopper doubled over, gasping for air and holding his stomach. Lion brought his elbow down on the back of Hopper’s head. The blow sent Hopper sprawling onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath and disoriented.
Rage was roaming inside Lion, like an out-of-control bushfire. He was bloodthirsty. He wanted to win. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to stop feeling so helpless. When Hopper attempted to get up, Lion knocked him down and kept kicking repeatedly.
Hopper grappled Lion’s leg, rolled, and pulled him down with him. He punched Lion’s back, causing the welts to flare up. Lion screamed, blinded by the white-hot pain. Hopper attempted to roll away and stand, but Lion tackled him. The focus of his vision narrowed, and the rage obscured his thoughts. He pulled Hopper in a headlock.
“This is not a bloody wrestling drill!” Joharin yelled, getting ready to stop the fight.
“Leave them,” Badimar grunted, an amused grin on his lips.
Hopper wrestled his way free and attempted to lock one of Lion’s arms. With his free hand, he slapped Lion’s back, trying to distract him with pain. There were no such concept as cheap moves for beasts. Especially for freeborns when they versed purebreds. They fought dirty and did whatever it took to win. But all Hopper succeeded instead was to piss Lion off more.
Lion growled like a beast, reached forward, and bit Hopper’s leg. The freeborn was surprised enough to flinch, curse, and loosen his grip. Lion pulled his arm free. After elbowing Hopper’s jaw, dazzling him, he straddled his chest. He started punching.
Hopper scowled at him, murder in his eyes. Lion glared back. The nausea and the anticipation of pain started building in his chest. He hated the feeling, but he hated losing more.
He hated Hopper’s eyes. He hated how the freeborn was flaring his nostrils and looking at him like he wanted to kill him.
He hated how helpless he was.
He hated how much he wanted to avert his gaze.
He grabbed Hopper’s face and placed his thumbs over his eyes.
“ Padlociatius .”
Lion collapsed on Hopper. The other trainers exclaimed and swore, only just realizing what Lion was about to do. It was lucky Badimar had read his intentions and acted before Lion put enough pressure to pop Hopper’s eyes out.
They were both lucky.
Hopper pushed Lion’s paralysed body off him. He shook his head, blinking and rubbing his eyes as he stumbled to his feet. Comprehension of what Lion was about to do came to him in waves. He swore under his breath, then roared like a wild boar and threw himself at the purebred, kicking and punching Lion’s helpless body.
“Enough!” Joharin grabbed Hopper from behind and yanked him away. “I said enough! Back off!”
Hopper didn’t back off until he received several lashes from Joharin. Breathing heavily, he went back to sit with the other beasts, his snarl promising Lion revenge.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Joharin turned to Lion. The whip cracked at his side threateningly.
“Joharin, cut it out,” Badimar said. His lips twitched. “He fought well. Set up the next fight.”
Two beasts dragged Lion’s limp body to the side. The effects of his First Word didn’t last long, but that was enough time to contemplate what Lion had almost done. If Badimar hadn’t acted in time, Lion could have ended Hopper’s life.
Worse. Death would have been a mercy when compared to the fate of a damaged beast.
How had he lost control like that? He had never carelessly caused a permanent injury to another beast. Not in training, not even at a Duskblood Fight. Injuring a beast like that, condemning them to a fate worse than death… He shivered.
He watched the rest of the fights, feeling Hopper’s vengeful gaze on him. When the sparring session was over, Joharin ordered the other beasts to clean up the yard. Badimar dismissed Lion to go have an early supper, then get Vanalten to patch him up again.
His meal was roasted lamb with rice, potatoes and Seafruit cake. He felt a devastating twinge as he looked at the Seafruit cake. A lump sat in his throat. He hardly swallowed his food before he dragged his feet to Vanalten’s office.
The old physician muttered disapprovingly after reviewing the state of the swollen welts. He ordered Lion to lie on his stomach as he rubbed a cold paste on them, which numbed the throbbing within seconds. Lion’s eyelids fluttered shut, but as soon as he closed his eyes, Saradra’s sleeping face flashed in front of him. So he forced himself to stay awake.
She had been here, in this office, earlier in the day. Lion could smell her unique aroma still lingering in the room.
The lump in his throat grew larger, to the degree it was hard to talk. Vanalten only became more agitated when Lion struggled to speak and answer his questions. The physician mumbled under his breath, swearing at Badimar for not heeding his recommendations about the beasts’ well-being, and that he would end up injuring them and costing Vanalten his position. He snapped his ledger shut as he ordered Lion to return to his room and rest for the next few days.
Lion’s feet felt heavy as he trudged along the corridor leading to his room. He froze with his hand on the doorknob, dreading finding his room empty. His chest hurt. Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead against the cold wooden surface.
And he heard a soft rustle behind the door.
He opened it and his heart did a somersault at the sight of Saradra’s sky-blue eyes. He staggered forward, blindly closing the door behind him.
Saradra stood from the bed, an uncertain smile touching her beautiful face. “Master Vanalten said it’s still too early to tell—”
Lion tackled her into a hug and cut her off with a kiss. Saradra matched his passion. Her arms came around him at first, then fell back on her sides when she remembered the welts on his back. Lion held her tightly, afraid to let go. He broke the kiss to gasp for air, then continued kissing all over her face; her eyes, the side of her mouth, her jaw, her cheeks. He tasted tears.
He held her in his arms for hours. He didn't know what she had done to him, but he knew there was no taking it back anymore. He couldn't go back to what he was before. And he couldn’t let them take her.
Moonlight drifted through the window and gave Saradra’s hair a faint glimmer.
Lion lay still, not moving, his breathing calm and quiet. For once, he was grateful for the small size of the bed. Saradra was lying in his arms, her bare body resting against his chest, their legs tangled. The steady thumps of her heart were in unison with his. She slept so peacefully.
It had been four days since Vanalten sent Lion to his room and ordered him to stay there and rest. The old physician was ready to battle Badimar to let him excuse Lion from any training for a few days. Badimar didn’t take long to convince. It was agreed that Lion would stay in his room and only go out to eat his meals under the trainers’ supervision and to visit Vanalten for regular checks. He wasn’t even expected to show up and watch other beasts spar.
Four days of strict rest.
Four blissful days he spent in bed with Saradra, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in her warmth and softness. They exchanged intimate whispers and kisses, made love lazily, passionately, hungrily. The way her body moulded into his arms so perfectly suggested they were made to be together. Now that his skin was mortally addicted to hers, Lion couldn’t imagine sleeping alone anymore. He couldn’t go back to the way his life was before. He was too far gone by now.
Despite the perfection of this moment, all Lion could feel was fear and dread. Every speck of peace and happiness that attempted to infiltrate inside his heart was shot down by hopelessness. Sooner or later, Saradra was going to be sent back to her Owner. They were going to take her from him.
His muscles tensed at the thought. He hugged her closer. The movement almost woke her up. She fidgeted, rubbed her cheek against his chest, inhaled deeply, and settled again.
Lion expected tomorrow he would be called back to resume training with the other beasts. Vanalten’s mixtures, which he kept complaining about how rare and expensive those herbs were and how Badimar shouldn’t have gone this far just to teach a lesson, had worked wonders. The swelling had reduced and although his back still appeared like a patchwork of purple bruises and scabbed over welts, the pain had dulled to a persistent soreness that he could mostly ignore, with occasional sharp twinges if he moved wrong. He doubted if he could get another day of rest from Badimar.
Once he returned to training, Lion had to be very careful to avoid making another mistake. Badimar was going to watch him closely. Lion would continue to spend his nights with Saradra for another week or two. After that, it was a matter of time before they confirmed she was with child and sent her away.
Lion brushed his fingers over the faint bruise he had left on Saradra’s shoulder many nights ago. A strange blend of guilt and pride crossed his face. She had left a similar one on his neck. It marked him as hers, just as the one on her shoulder marked her as his. She was his, and he had to find a way to keep her here. He caressed that bruise, circling it lightly with the tip of his finger. Every course of action he could think of ended with him being dead — after a severe punishment — or him being sent to White Tower — also after a severe punishment.
He could not go to White Tower.
He could not live without her, either.
That only left him one other option.
Somehow, the decision lifted the tightness off his chest. He felt lighter. Almost peaceful. His eyes closed.
He was in that sweet place, just on the verge of drifting into sleep, when he heard the hushed voices from the yard just outside his window. He lifted his head off the pillow, straining to hear. Was there someone outside? He listened for nearly a minute, but didn't hear anything else.
When he rested his head back on the pillow, he found Saradra watching him. Her smile was glowing. “Can’t you sleep?” she whispered, stifling a big yawn.
Lion shook his head.
She shifted up, propping her head with a hand. Concern creased her face. “Is it your back?”
Lion shook his head again.
Saradra lowered herself back on the pillow they shared. Her long eyelashes fluttered. Their lips were so close. A temptation.
“Tell me something about yourself,” she whispered.
“No.” Lion’s lips brushed against hers. His refusal raised an eyebrow. “You do,” Lion requested.
A playful glimmer flashed in Saradra’s eyes. “Are you asking me to tell you about myself?”
When Lion nodded, she couldn’t contain her smirk. “I was wondering when you would just stop talking about yourself all the time.” Lion’s heart melted at the sight of her smile. “Let’s see…” Saradra continued, tapping her finger on her lips, thinking. “I’m from Bellmouth. It’s a town by the coast, near—”
“Ascain.”
“How do you know that? Have you been to Ascain before?”
Lion shook his head. “Map.”
“Ah, that’s right. You’re fascinated with maps,” she whispered. “I still don’t know why?”
Lion offered her a shrug. He didn’t know it either. He watched her expectantly until she remembered it was her turn to speak tonight. She giggled softly. “Right. Something about myself… Well, this is hard!”
After seeing the look on Lion’s face, she broke into a silent laughter. Lion covered her mouth with his palm, muffling her voice. A fluttering warmth filled his chest and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. He pulled her in tighter. When she was calm enough, he moved his hand and he brushed her hair back from her face.
“You’re smiling!” she gasped. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile! What a special occasion!” Saradra leaned closer, her fingertips lightly grazing his lips, feeling their warmth and softness. He caught her hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to her fingertips.
“You look so different when you smile,” Saradra whispered, her fingers now threading through his hair. When Lion scowled, she added. “It’s a good thing. You look like…” She bit her lips and went quiet.
Lion squirmed with a sudden curiosity. He needed to know her thoughts. “Like what?”
Her gaze flicked to his neck. Although it was too dark to see it clearly, he knew she was looking at the dark spot on his neck. His tattoo. “You look free.”
Lion didn’t like that word. It gave him a shiver, which he disguised by shifting like he was trying to get more comfortable. He didn’t let his smile falter. It seemed to make her happy. His hand found its way to her cheek, cupping it gently. “Your favourites,” he prompted her.
Saradra chuckled. “That’s right. I can’t get out of this, can I?” When Lion shook his head, she sighed with resignation. “Well, my favourite food is grilled salmon. Marinated in butter and garlic. Served with roasted sweet potatoes. Mmm.”
Lion’s thumb traced the soft lines of her jaw. In the dim light, her eyes appeared almost black. He hardly noticed the discomfort in his stomach as he gazed at them, wishing he had more light to appreciate their distinctive blue hue.
“My favourite colour is grey,” she continued after kissing the base of Lion’s palm. “It reminds me of the sea after a storm. I love watching a storm roll in.”
Lion leaned in closer, his breath mingling with hers. Her cheeks flushed with desire as she continued: “My favourite time of the day is night. Especially on clear nights when you can see all the stars.”
A look of hunger flashed across Lion’s face, filled with longing. Saradra’s breath hitched when she read his intentions, which Lion made no effort to disguise. She shuffled closer, her lips brushing his as she spoke: “My favourite—”
Lion pressed his mouth against hers, muffling her words. She responded by parting her lips, inviting him in. Lion snaked his arm around her waist and pressed himself against her, enjoying the thrill that surged through her body. He pulled himself over her. She tilted her head back when he kissed his way down her jaw, neck, and below. Her hand found the back of his head, urging him to take her.
That’s when the alarm bells at the Castle Brinescar began to sound.