Chapter Sixteen
The door opened without a knock.
A guard filled the frame, golden armor catching the light, expression empty. “It’s time.”
Nira walked the short distance to stand before me. Her smile was small and somber as she placed her hands on my shoulders.
“Be brave,” she said softly. Then she leaned close, her voice dropping to barely a breath against my ear. “Don’t go for the neck. The hide is too thick. Go for the underbelly.”
She stepped back before the guard could notice, folding her hands in front of her, her expression returning to the careful blankness.
I held her gaze for one second, offering a quick smile. Thank you for being kind to me, I wanted to say but knew better. Her eyes glistening with tears told me she understood. I wondered if she saw her daughter in me, leaving this very room to never return.
I followed the guard out and didn’t look back at Nira. If I did, I wouldn’t keep walking. The corridors stretched long, the same white stone as everything else in this castle, the same gold trim, the same silence pressed against the walls.
We entered a garden, and I slowed my pace, passing a statue of the queen, three times my height, carved from pale stone. Her hands spread wide, chin lifted, her long hair falling in frozen waves around her shoulders. Roses of every color had been laid at its base all around her feet.
Did people pray to her statue? Unbelievable.
We went down a set of stairs, then another. The air became cooler, then became darker, the smell of damp earth replacing the floral scent of the garden above. A tunnel stretched ahead, lit by torches set into the walls at long intervals, their light trembling against the low ceiling.
The farther we walked, the clearer the sound, voices pressing against the wall. We passed through a floor-to-ceiling gate. Up ahead, another gate stood closed, sealing off the narrow space between them. There was nowhere to run but to the arena.
“Pick your weapon and wait,” the guard said, stepping back and closing the gate to lock me in.
A rack stood against the wall. A bow with a quiver of arrows. A spear, taller than me. Two swords, different lengths. And daggers, several of them, handles worn smooth from use. I had Minha’s dagger already hidden beneath the suit.
My eyes moved to the swords. The shorter one would do. I closed my fingers around the hilt and lifted it. Lighter than expected, and manageable.
The gate ahead groaned and began to rise, the chains cranking loud in the narrow space. I edged closer and the light poured in, blinding after the tunnel’s dark.
The sun hit hard, the ground radiating heat through the thin soles of my shoes. While the soldiers wore thick boots, I had on cheap rubber ones.
The arena was enormous, every seat filled. Larger than anything I could have imagined. The walls climbed so high they leaned toward the sky, and the length of it stretched on and on, easily as long as the castle.
The sound, a low murmur that ran through the crowd like the waves of the sea, quieted when I emerged only for a heartbeat.
Thousands of faces looked down at me.
I kept walking, my chin level.
Mothers in the lower rows held their children against their chests, their expressions tight. Not the look of people who had come to be entertained. The look of people who had been forced to attend.
I didn’t let my expression crack. I refused to let them see my fear.
High above, set apart from the crowd behind a sectioned-off barrier lined with guards, the queen sat at the center of the topmost row.
The princes flanked her, Lucian on her left, Pierre on her right.
Even from this distance, her jewels caught the sunlight, small flashes of color scattering across the stone around her like broken rainbows.
She rose.
The crowd went silent instantly, every murmur swallowed, every rustling stilled.
“Today,” the queen’s voice carried down into the arena, “my son, Crown Prince Lucian, has gifted us a magnificent creature.”
Applauses rippled through the crowd.
“A boarox and another Seaborn.”
The crowd’s cheering boomed.
A lie. Theron had captured the creature. Theron’s men had bled for it. And now Lucian sat with his hands folded and accepted the credit without a flicker of discomfort.
But… another Seaborn? Who else was here beside Jina and me? Certainly not anyone from Jeju. Unless she meant to introduce me.
I kept walking, taking my time until I heard a familiar voice.
“Sis!” Jina’s voice cut through the crowd, broken and desperate. “Do not die!”
Easier said than done.
I searched for her until my eyes set on Fraya.
Fraya had her arms crossed, jaw set, eyes on me, the wind catching loose strands of her red hair. When our gazes met, she gave one short nod, saying, You will prevail.
Her faith surprised me. But I regretted not asking her to train me during our time on board.
Beside her, Ranis had his arm around Jina’s shoulders.
Jina had one hand pressed over her mouth, her eyes red, her whole body tight with the effort of not falling apart.
Her lips moved beneath her fingers, counting, the same way she always did when she couldn’t bear to watch.
Ranis spoke low near her ear, but her eyes didn’t leave me.
And Theron.
He sat apart from the others, arms at his sides, watching me with an expression that gave nothing away. Just those steady ocean eyes, unreadable as they had always been.
The crowd’s applause died back down as the queen settled into her seat.
Somewhere on the opposite side of the arena, chains rattled. A figure appeared through the gate. I couldn’t make out who it was, but she was dressed like me—same suit, same braided hair, a sword in her hand.
She walked out the same way I had, taking in the crowd, the walls, the sky. Then her eyes found mine and went wide. Minha? She couldn’t be. Could she? Leaner, but unmistakably my friend.
“Sis?”
“Minha!” I ran toward her.
A chain rattled somewhere, echoing. We both halted, the reunion dying mid-step. We would talk later. If there was a later.
A guttural growl filled the arena. Then the gate on the far wall exploded open, and the boarox charged. The ground trembled, dust rising in its wake.
Nothing could have prepared me for this creature.
It was massive, the body of a pig, easily the height of three men stacked and three times as wide, its hide so thick it looked less like skin and more like armor, the surface rough as cracked stone.
The other half of it was ox with two horns that curved outward from its head, each one as long as my leg and sharp enough to split bone.
Its dark beady eyes, nearly buried beneath the folds of that hide, swept the arena. When it found me, the creature charged. Air pushed out in great heaving huffs, each one closer than the last. Above me, the crowd surged to their feet, roaring. In front, Jina covered her eyes.
Oh gods. What do I do?
My muscles trembled, my feet planted on the ground wouldn’t move… until Minha screamed a war cry from across the arena, charging toward me with her sword raised.
I tightened my grip on the hilt and rolled my shoulder. Don’t go for the neck. The hide is too thick. Go for the underbelly. Wise words from a kind woman.
Minha fighting beside me gave me strength and courage. Whatever would happen in the arena, I wouldn’t be facing it alone. We would either kill the boarox or die trying. Together.
Just as the boarox reached me I rolled to the side, swinging my sword low for the ankles and missed. The creature was faster than anything that size had a right to be, its bulk carrying past me in thundering hooves.
When Minha finally reached me, we grabbed each other tight, one fierce second, no words needed. Then we let go. We had never battled before, never held a sword, but we stood back to back as if we had rehearsed it many times.
“Go for the belly,” I said, my feet shifting, ready to pounce.
“How do you know?” she shouted.
I didn’t have time to explain. It charged after Minha. Instinct guided me and I ran, legs pumping. I leapt, letting gravity take me, and landed on the boarox’s back. The crowd erupted. Even the mothers leaned forward. Ranis pumped his fist. Theron went still.
I almost fell off but drove my sword into its hide near the neck. Too thick. The blade didn’t go through, but a thin line of blue welled up where the weapon had bitten in.
I tumbled off, landing with a thump, dust clouding around me.
“My turn.” Minha dropped to one knee, swinging for its belly and missed.
With one hind leg it kicked us both in the chest. We tumbled apart, pain searing through my bones. I got a quick glance at the royal family. Pierre laughed, leaning forward in his seat. Lucian said nothing but his eyes were sharp and hungry. The queen looked bored.
Get up. Get up.
I groaned and spun to find the boarox. It raised its head and released a horrendous guttural growl. The crowd went crazy with excitement.
Minha was already back on her feet, sword raised, circling wide to draw its attention.
Neither of us had ever trained. Not one lesson, not one sparring match, not a single person in that cavern had taught us how to hold a weapon or read an opponent’s next move. We had never been given the chance.
If I had known what we were, what Seaborn were capable of, I would have led a rebellion in Jeju long before Mac ever tossed us off the cliff.
No one left behind.
Every woman would have walked out of that cavern on her own two feet.
But we hadn’t known.
And the king had counted on our ignorance and submission.
Seaborn have an innate ability to fight, Nira had said. She was right. Every dodge, every roll, every instinct that had kept me alive, none of it was luck. It was in our blood.
I shifted my weight and charged.
The boarox swung its head from side to side, using its horns as weapons, each arc wide enough to split a man in two. Minha darted in, angling for the underbelly and missed. I was standing too close to Minha. She slammed into me and we went down together.
I struggled to rise. In that precious second the creature lowered its head and charged.
“Watch out!” Minha shoved me to the side, but too late.
The horn caught me across the arm. The white-hot pain hit like a thousand bites all at once, radiating up through my shoulder and into my chest. The sleeve of the suit had split clean, the edges blue and wet. I gasped and grabbed my arm.
No worries. The cut would heal. Right?
But the pain didn’t fade. Blue blood dripped between my fingers and hit the arena floor.
Minha didn’t flinch at the color. She planted herself between me and the boarox, weapon raised.
The creature didn’t charge. It stilled.
In the front row, Theron leaned forward.
The boarox lowered its massive head and sniffed the ground where my blood had fallen. Then it lifted those black marble eyes to us and let out a low and somber sound, the same cry I’d heard when it was locked inside the crate. It turned away and lumbered back toward the far tunnel.
“What’s it doing?” I said, my mind scrambling to make sense of what just happened.
Minha moved to my side, her eyes still on the retreating creature. “Maybe it did its job?” She shrugged. “Who knows?”
She could be right. But my gut said otherwise. The way it had dropped its head to the blood, sniffing, like it recognized me, or knew I was Seaborn.
I pressed my hand harder against the wound as the crowd stirred. A sound of confusion rippled through the seats, then died into silence when the queen rose.
“What is it doing?” Pierre’s voice cut from above, sharp with frustration. “Guards—do something!”
Soldiers poured into the arena with spears leveled, advancing toward the boarox.
The creature swung its massive head at the approaching guards and released a guttural growl that rolled across the arena like thunder.
The soldiers halted.
The boarox moved fast. One sweep of its horn caught the nearest guard and launched him sideways across the dirt. He hit the wall and didn’t get up.
The remaining soldiers looked at each other and ran.
The boarox’s eyes found mine, holding my gaze one long moment. My heart squeezed and sorrow filled my chest. Then the creature lumbered into the dark tunnel, the gate dropped behind it with a heavy clang.
Pierre’s jaw tightened. “Take them to the dungeon.”
The guards closed around us, steering us back toward the tunnel. I pressed my hand against the wound, still bleeding, still burning with that relentless gnawing pain that showed no sign of easing.
I glanced back over my shoulder as they marched us out. The queen sat perfectly still, her expression unreadable. Beside her, both princes had their jaws clenched, something cracked in their composure they hadn’t bothered to hide.
In the front row, Theron’s eyes followed me, features strained. Was he upset I didn’t die? Or relieved? I couldn’t tell. With Theron, I never could.
Fraya beside him, had her chin raised, fierce, and pride in her eyes. Jina had buried her face against Ranis’s chest, his arms encircling her as he whispered in her ear.
Minha draped an arm around my shoulders, careful with my wound. Neither of us spoke. Talking would come later. Sister love never dies.