3. CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER THREE
Nikander
N ik had never been able to resist a pretty girl, and it was usually his downfall.
The tavern maid had been staring at him all night as he played dice with the locals, and he couldn’t help but give her all his attention when she approached with more wine.
“I wouldn’t trust this one.” She gestured to the scrawny man across the table wrapped in a thin travel cloak that needed patching. “He’s known to cheat.”
Nik flashed his most charming smile—one he knew brought out his dimples. The maid responded by leaning even closer, giving him a full view of her cleavage.
“And what makes you think I’m playing fair?” he answered with a wink.
She grinned in return, biting her lower lip, then moved on to the next table.
He scanned the tavern as was his habit, looking out for any sign of trouble. He found only the usual drunk patrons stumbling by the entrance, the stink of their unwashed bodies assaulting his nose.
Working as a sellsword for Rasennan merchants was no easy labour, and he was grateful for a hot meal and a brief respite after countless days on the road. The problem wasn’t dispatching the brigands who attacked his client’s laden wagons—his Gift and sword skills took care of them swiftly—but dealing with the merchants themselves. Thesanthei, his latest client, had treated Nik as little more than a servant while they’d travelled to the provincial city of Bruna, assigning him tasks beyond his guard duties. At least the pay had been more than satisfactory and had allowed Nik to take a few days’ rest in the city before searching for another job.
Since he’d left Achaea and was no longer welcome there, he was content to travel from one province to another and steer clear of the Rasennan legions tasked with maintaining order within the Empire. Neighbouring provinces were a hotbed of rebellion, but the city of Bruna boasted an extended period of peace, its Rasennan nobles thriving on lucrative trade networks spanning across the Empire.
Once Nik had crossed the city gates, he’d gone straight to the bath house. The Rasennans might be a bunch of arrogant fools who thought themselves superior to all others and who sought to dominate the lands of the Great Sea, but they’d also introduced several improvements to the provinces they’d conquered—including hot thermal baths, which Nik was particularly fond of.
He’d spent the day soaking in the steamy pool, keeping low in the water to conceal the tell-tale mark etched on his pectoral, an indicator to all that he possessed a Gift.
Relaxing had proven difficult, however, when the locals’ animated chatter about the latest fights in Bruna’s arena had reverberated throughout the cavernous room. As soon as he’d entered the city, the amphitheatre where games and battles occurred had been hard to miss. The circular building dominated all others, its towering stone walls visible from all angles. The Rasennan games featuring warrior battles and exotic animals were famous throughout the Empire, but Nik had no interest in watching men die. He’d seen enough death as a child in Achaea at the hands of Rasennan soldiers and knew that it was anything but entertainment.
A scuffle drew him from his thoughts. Three men carrying weapons at their belts were shouting at a local who’d spilled his drink on them. The tavern owner and maid were trying to appease the situation, to no avail. Nik watched until one of the men, a brawny bald thug with a pock-marked face, grasped the maid.
“I heard the women here didn’t only serve food and drink.” The bald thug pulled her flush against him with a laugh.
Beneath her honey-coloured curls, the maid’s face paled. Her gaze shifted to the owner, who had his hands full with the other two men.
“Come on, darling. Let’s go to the room upstairs.” He dragged her across the tavern, a lecherous expression on his features.
Nik shot his leg out, halting him. “I think you have the wrong kind of establishment. The brothels are down the street.”
“What’s it to you, Western scum?” the thug spat, his free hand reaching for the pommel of his sword.
With his blond hair, Nik was often mistaken for a Westerner. He didn’t bother correcting the idiot.
“Nothing, except you’re disturbing everyone who’s trying to enjoy their evening.” Nik got to his feet, standing at least a head taller than the thug. The raucous atmosphere of the tavern fell quiet, all eyes on the confrontation unfolding at its centre. “How about you unhand the lady, and you leave with your friends?”
The maid glanced between them, fear flickering across her face.
“We just got here,” the bald thug snarled at Nik.
“Tough.”
The air between them crackled with tension. The thug didn’t relent, his features twisting into a vicious snarl. “How about you taste the steel of my sword?”
Nik sized up the bald idiot before him, his gaze sweeping him from head to toe. He’d met plenty of ugly thugs like him on the road. Bastards who thrived on preying on the weak. Yet, when faced with a stronger opponent, most turned out to be all bark and no bite.
“Is that a threat?” Nik’s tone darkened, and the thug retreated a step. “Because you’d better be absolutely sure you can back it up before you throw those kinds of threats around. You just never know who might be on the receiving end of one.”
Sweat beaded the thug’s pale face. His nervousness was palpable, eliciting a subtle smirk from Nik.
Noticing the exchange, the bald idiot’s two friends edged closer, flanking him on either side. With any luck, they’d have more sense and rein in their friend.
“Semni, who the fuck is this?” the one on the left asked.
Or perhaps not.
Nik quirked an eyebrow. “My name is Nik.”
The third one, the tallest of the three with a mass of black curls, spat on the floor. “Like we care. You have a problem, asshole? Wanna take it outside?” His show of confidence suggested he was the leader of the group.
The entire tavern seemed to pause, anticipating Nik’s reaction.
Nik’s grin broadened, and he gestured towards the tavern entrance. “Lead the way.”
The unexpected response unsettled the leader. He exchanged fleeting glances with his two companions before answering with a sneer. “Fine. But you asked for it.”
In the next beat, Nik seized the thug’s wrist still holding the maid and squeezed. With a hiss, the bald idiot released her, then backed away, rubbing his sore wrist while glaring at Nik.
Turning to the maid, Nik offered her a reassuring smile. “This will only take a moment.”
She gave a grateful nod, her expression still caught in shock, and he winked at her. He then followed the three men out into the street, the tavern’s lively chatter resuming and then fading behind as they headed down a darker alleyway.
Once they were away from any prying eyes and the city guards, the three men drew out their blades and snickered, convinced they’d already won. Nik squared his shoulders and locked eyes with all three in a silent challenge.
Despite being a sellsword who guarded people’s lives or their goods on the road and often found himself fighting off bandits, Nik found little pleasure in ending lives. There was nothing honourable about wielding his magic to slay others. It was a grim and messy affair that weighed on his already guilty conscience, and he couldn’t ignore how frighteningly easy it could be at times.
But once the three men saw his Gift, word would spread, attracting unnecessary attention to Nik. Attention he’d rather avoid until he was back on the road again. Too many Achaeans lived in Bruna and if they recognised him, it could spell trouble.
Still, Nik decided to give the thugs a choice. “I’ll only say this once.” He unsheathed the dagger from his belt and proceeded to flip it in the air, catching the hilt every time. “Piss off now if you value your lives, otherwise you’ll find yourselves waiting for me in Tartaros.”
Nik’s mention of the Achaean infernal underworld drew a sharp look from the leader. “You’re from Achaea.”
Keeping his emotions in check, Nik deftly flipped the dagger in his hand. “What’s it to you?”
“You’re a long way from home, asshole.” The tall thug brandished his weapon—a double-edged Rasennan legion blade. Nik would bet every last coin in his pocket that all three thugs were army deserters. “But fear not, I heard Bruna has an Achaean necropolis. I’m sure the city guards can bury you there once we’re done with you.”
In the next moment, he charged, his friends shadowing his steps.
Nik sent the dagger flying towards them and then used his Gift. Magic thrummed in the air, and he shot forward, disappearing from the view of any normal person. Nik side-stepped the leader and grabbed his Rasennan sword, thrusting it into the thug’s broad chest before his foot even hit the ground.
With his Gift of speed, the whole world seemed at a standstill. Nik zigzagged past the other two thugs, cutting them down with his own sword in quick succession.
Once he stopped running, his surroundings reverted to normal, and he caught his dagger—still in mid-air—before sheathing it again. The three thugs lifeless bodies dropped to the ground, eyes open and unseeing.
Someone gasped, drawing his attention. The tavern maid stood frozen at the entrance of the alleyway, one hand covering her mouth as she took in the scene.
Nik cursed under his breath. He’d hoped not to expose his magic to anyone besides the three thugs, but it was too late now. With a sigh, he wiped his blade on the bald one’s tunic and proceeded towards the maid.
Her wide eyes watched him approach. “The way you moved…” She swallowed, her gaze flicking over his exposed arms as if searching for a tell-tale mark etched into his skin. “Was that your Gift?”
If she’d seen him then there was no need to deny it. “Yes.”
“And you—you killed all three of them?” she asked.
He glanced over his shoulder at the three bodies. “Are you saying I shouldn’t have?”
She shook her head. “No—they deserved it. They’d been a nuisance to our customers for far too long.” She bit her lip, seeming to hesitate. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with them.”
Nik nodded, suddenly feeling justified in ridding the world of three thugs who’d preyed on defenceless women.
“Come.” He grasped her elbow, leading her away from the alley and circling back to the tavern. “We shouldn’t stick around. If the city guards find us, there’ll be trouble.”
Avoiding the crowd of late-night drunks and prostitutes hanging around the main street, Nik headed for a small courtyard adjacent to the maid’s tavern. The warm glow cast by the street torches barely touched the cobbled ground, but the full moon offered enough visibility to navigate the night’s shadows.
The woman halted by the tavern and pressed her back to the wall. Beside her, two candles flickered within a small alcove, revealing a wooden statuette and an array of dried herbs. Nik expected the alcove to be dedicated to Laran, the Rasennan god of war, who’d been everywhere in the city, but scowled when he recognised the Emperor with a laurel wreath atop his head.
Emperor Caius Tarquinius—the man responsible for all the death and destruction Nik had witnessed in Achaea as a child, and then throughout his travels. Nik had seen more statues of the Rasennan ruler in the past year than any of the gods—a blatant display of the Emperor’s excessive pride and vanity.
The maid took his hand in hers, catching his attention again, and drawing him near. The soft candlelight accentuated the contours of her heart-shaped face.
“How can I ever repay you?” Her lips curved into a demure smile, but the knowing glint in her eyes didn’t fool Nik. With a curvy figure and honey-coloured curls, she was certainly pretty. Prettier than any other woman who’d propositioned him since he’d stepped foot in Bruna.
Leaning closer, he braced his arm above her head. “How about you keep me company tomorrow night with a drink or two?”
“How about I keep you company now?” she countered, her fingers gliding down his bare arm.
Nik’s muscles flexed on instinct. He hadn’t felt a woman’s touch since summer, and he was tempted.
When he took too long to answer, she dropped her hand, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. “Unless you don’t want to.” She glanced over her shoulder at the tavern’s back entrance. “In that case, I should return—”
He pressed closer and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I want to. Gods, I want to, but my innkeeper was very clear in his stance regarding courtesans—”
“—I’m not a courtesan—”
“—or any other type of female companionship,” he finished, taking her small hand in his.
Her face lit up. “Well, in that case…”
Making sure no one had spotted them, she slipped under his arm and led him into the darkness, across the courtyard. Nik followed, anticipation curling inside his gut.
They reached a smaller building covered in grime and moss and with a crooked door. Not a sound filtered from within—it was either empty or its residents were asleep.
The woman whirled in his arms with a mischievous smile. “No one else is here.”
Then, her mouth was on his and Nik’s mind went blank as he savoured the kiss. Grabbing her by the hips, he pushed her up against the exterior wall and tangled his fingers into her thick mass of hair. Her hands clung to his tunic, her body melting against his.
When was the last time he’d indulged like this?
Far too long, he thought, as he pressed further against her, his hands sliding up her body and cupping her breasts. She moaned into his mouth, and it took Nik every ounce of self-control not to claim her against the wall.
“Inside,” he said against her mouth then stepped back, his laboured breaths mixing with hers.
Lust darkened her gaze and she turned to the door, pulling them both inside. Nik followed her to the first room behind a shoddy curtain and she hurried to light an oil lamp, followed by some candles. The room wasn’t dissimilar to his own back at the inn—a straw mattress against the wall, a table with a basin, and a few personal items strewn on a frayed rug.
The maid turned to him with a timid smile, and he claimed her mouth once more. Soon, her hands pulled at his clothes. He let her guide him to the mattress, tossing his sword belt out of the way and making quick work of his tunic. Her eyes widened at the Messenger’s shimmering Mark on his chest before she reached for him again. Their movements became more frantic, their bodies colliding in a mixture of moans, quickened breaths, and devouring kisses.
Nik lay back on the lumpy mattress, drawing the woman on top of him. She straddled his hips, her warm core shifting against his hardened length.
He groaned. “I don’t even know your name.”
Her honey-coloured tresses came undone, tumbling over her shoulders. Propped on one elbow, he weaved his fingers through her curls, his lips latching onto the soft skin of her neck.
“Julia.” She ran her nails down the hard ridges of his stomach before moving up to his chest and pushing him back against the mattress.
Nik went to grab her hips, but she circled his wrists, bringing them above his head.
Her boldness caught him by surprise, but he found it rather appealing. Playing along, he gave her a lazy smile. “And what do you plan to do with me now, Julia?”
The woman leaned forward, kissing him with renewed fervour. Her hair spilled from her shoulders like a silky curtain, obscuring Nik’s view. He caressed his tongue against hers and she moaned into his mouth.
In the next moment, something cold and stiff slipped around his wrist and clicked shut.
Nik froze.
Julia’s gaze darted to the burnished gold manacle now adorning his wrist, then she scrambled off the mattress.
“What the fuck?” Nik pulled at the manacle chained to the wall beside the mattress. He’d seen slavers use bronze ones to dampen a Gifted’s magic, but never gold before. When he called upon his Gift, nothing happened.
Without warning, the building’s door burst open and a man with rugged features and knives strapped to his belt strode into the room, followed by two others wearing red tunics.
Unfazed by their intrusion, Julia wrapped a thin, woollen cloak around her shoulders and went to meet the greasy-haired man. He held out a small coin purse for her.
At the doorway, she glanced back over her shoulder at Nik, remorse touching her face. “I’m sorry.” Then, she was gone.
Nik tugged on the gold manacle with no result. “What do you want?” he asked the newcomer standing in the middle of the room.
“My name is Castur, and I work for Lucius Aurelius,” the man replied in a flat, practised voice, as though he’d had the same conversation multiple times before. “You know of him, perhaps?”
Nik gritted his teeth. He’d heard the name in passing since he’d arrived in the city. Lucius Aurelius was Bruna’s arena master. The one who owned all the fighting slaves and organised the arena fights. “I’m not interested.”
“And yet, he’s very much interested in you, Achaean. That’s the Messenger’s Mark, correct?” The man, Castur, pointed to the pair of glimmering black wings circled in gold that adorned Nik’s left pectoral.
Nik paused. How had they known? They couldn’t possibly have found out about his earlier fight against the thugs and come so soon. Unless…
“Thesanthei,” he finally said.
Castur nodded. “Your client owed Aurelius a favour and told us an interesting story about an Achaean sellsword in his employ.”
Nik swung his legs down and sat up on the mattress. “He hired me to safeguard his caravan of goods from Illyria. Me and three others. I’m not a slave.”
Castur cocked his head, strands of greasy hair slithered across his forehead. He sneered, his mouth exposing a set of yellowed teeth. “Unfortunately, that’s your word against an upstanding citizen of Bruna.”
Nik clenched his fists. “I have paperwork to prove it.”
“Your papers are no good here, Achaean.” Castur’s smile widened and then he turned to the others. “Grab him.”
Though Nik tried to resist, without his magic or a weapon, the two bulky men in red tunics quickly overpowered him. They brought him to his knees and bound his arms and chest with rope.
A string of curses shot out of Nik’s mouth until a rough fabric was pulled over his face.
His ears caught Castur’s gruff laughter. “Save your energy for the arena. You’ll need it.”
It was the last words Nik heard before a sharp pain struck the back of his head.
When Nik woke up, his back ached from lying on a hard wooden surface. He found himself in a dark space. The walls looming close were slick with humidity and the pungent smell of blood and sweat assailed his senses.
He raised himself with a groan, his head pulsing with pain. The gold manacle still wrapped around his wrist glinted back at him and, ahead, the room was closed off with iron bars.
Not a room. A cell.
A cage .
“Finally awake,” a feminine voice spoke in the dark. Through a square opening in the wall, a cell neighbouring was exposed, showing signs of movement. Two glimmering silver eyes peered at him in the dim lighting.
He blinked twice. “Twelve be damned…” He’d never seen one of the legendary female warriors before, but he’d certainly heard a great deal about them back in Achaea. “You’re a… you’re an Amazon.”
The woman nodded, then took a step closer.
She looked different from the women he’d envisioned inhabiting the eastern shores of the Great Sea, with her fair complexion and radiant golden hair. Then again, there were whispers of women from all over the known world coming together in Ephesos, the Amazon city, to train and worship their patron goddess, the Huntress.
The one feature they all had in common, however, was their shimmering silver eyes—a Gift from their goddess. The Sight, they called it. Eyes that shimmered with magic, granting them superior vision over their adversaries and heightened anticipation in battle.
A Gift that Rasennan nobles coveted for themselves and stole right from their corpses.
“You’re Achaean?” she asked.
“Yes.” He was wary of answering any personal questions, but she didn’t pry further. “What is this place?”
“Bruna’s arena. Castur and his guards brought you in the night. It’ll be morning soon.”
“The Giver’s tits…” He pushed himself to his feet, but the room spun around him, forcing him to lean against the wall for support.
When his vision focused once more, he headed straight for his cell door. The iron bars were firmly locked.
“Fuck!” he repeated, banging on the bars, not quite believing where he’d ended up.
He’d been a fool! A damn fool for letting his guard down around a woman. Although if what the slaver had said was true, his client had betrayed him long before then.
He never should have stayed in Bruna. He’d heard rumours of the arena master seeking out Gifted warriors, yet he hadn’t anticipated the extent of Aurelius’ influence, which allowed the Rasennan to snatch a free man without repercussions.
Nik held the bars of his cell in a firm grip and let his sore head dangle as he tried to come to terms with his new situation.
“Castur will return tomorrow for The First Trial,” the Amazon spoke again.
“The First Trial?”
“The arena master, Aurelius, will gather all the new warriors in the arena for a fight. Only the strong survive.” She waited for Nik to ask a question or protest but when he remained silent, she added, “Whichever of the Achaean Twelve Gifted you, I would start praying to them for protection and help.”
A dry laugh passed Nik’s lips. “If the gods answered my prayers, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. Face it, Bright Eyes, they’ve abandoned us.”
The Amazon bristled in response, her gaze narrowing. In the next beat, she retreated into the shadows of her cell.
Nik cursed himself. He’d already managed to alienate the only company he had.
Perhaps it was better this way. The Amazon still held hope in the gods, whereas Nik knew better. The Twelve wouldn’t help him, and his patron deity even less.
They were punishing him for his past mistakes, he was sure of it. After years of being left to his own devices, they’d made him a slave and trapped him in the worst place a Gifted warrior like him could be.
And now it was only a matter of time before death came for him.