Chapter Three
Reunited
???
Avaldale, Vrethian.
Kyra.
‘I fucking hate her,’ was Rosary’s predictable greeting later that night.
Kyra didn’t even bother telling her that Lilion had forbidden her to come for she knew it would fall on deaf ears.
And though she desperately wanted to, she didn’t touch the wine that Rosary angrily poured as soon as she’d walked through the door of Kyra’s hovel-house.
‘She’s a cunt,’ she continued to seeth in between furious sips. ‘An unbearable, narcissistic, egotistical cunt.’
From the edge of her bed, Kyra watched Rosary as she paced the room, her flushed face slowly paling back to normal, her annoyance ebbing away with each sip of wine.
Potentially adding fuel to the fire, Kyra said, ‘You were right, by the way. Lilion told me about tomorrow’s fight. I’ll be fighting a fae male.’
‘Fuck.’
‘Precisely.’
‘How do you feel?’
Kyra studied the calluses on her palms. ‘I don’t know how to feel. Up until this point, every fight has been a breeze. I’ve never been worried about it, and each time I step into the pits I know what the outcome will be. But for the first time, I’m actually-’
‘Scared?’ Rosary quietly finished for her.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But not of dying. I think… I think I’m scared of being beaten. Of losing. Of having an entire arena, including Lilion and you witness me being beaten. I don’t want to be remembered as weak.’
Slowly setting down her wine on the uneven floorboards, Rosary sat next to her, gazing at her with such an intensity that Kyra could see every shade of amber in her round eyes. ‘You won’t lose, Ky.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Rosary snapped fiercely. ‘Because you’re Kyraena fucking Daeiros. You do not lose. And no one could ever, ever see you as weak.’
Kyra’s eyes stung but she blinked the sensation away. ‘You’ve never used my full name before.’
‘I know you renounced the name… but that is who you were when you became Kyra Dae. Without Kyraena’s choices, Kyra Dae would have never been born.
And thank fuck Kyraena did have the good sense to run away from her pampered princess life, else Goddess knows who my best friend would have been then,’ Rosary said with a smirk, then pointed to the corner of the room. ‘Likely a mouse.’
Kyra groaned. ‘This place is such a shithole.’
‘It is,’ Rosary said. ‘You know… you could get out.’
Kyra flung herself back onto the bed. ‘Not this again.’
‘Let’s get out of Avaldale,’ Rosary begged earnestly. ‘Please. We could get out of the city and start over somewhere. Somewhere by the coast… like Taru! You wouldn’t have to fight, I wouldn’t have to steal-’
‘What the fuck would we do in Taru, Rose? What skills do we have collectively that would allow us to live an honourable life?’
‘We don’t have to have it all figured out right now-’
‘Rose, please,’ Kyra said, rubbing her eyes. ‘I can’t leave. You know I can’t break my contract with Lilion. She’ll chase me across the entire world before she lets me get away with slighting her like that.’
‘There’s something about her, Ky, something that makes my skin crawl-’
Wearily, Kyra said, ‘I know, Rose, I know.’
Time and time again they’d had the same, exhausting conversation, and every single time it ended the same way, followed by a tense silence.
Kyra munched her way through a box of decadent chocolates Rosary had bought with her (stolen, no doubt), and tried not to imagine that desirable life outside of Avaldale.
Once, she’d imagined a life outside of the ridiculous manor house she’d grown up in.
That wondering led her here. Bound to Lilion, killing for a living.
It also led her to Rose.
No more was said on the matter that night.
At some point, Rosary fell asleep with her hand still clasped around her goblet.
Kyra returned it safely to the table, careful not to disturb her slumbering friend, and waited awake for the sun to rise.
An hour later, its rays streaked through the grimy window, and even that early morning light warmed the dank little room.
Content that she’d seen at least one more sunrise before the impending fight, Kyra snuggled down next to a now-snoring Rosary and finally succumbed to sleep.
???
The pits were eerily quiet, the usual excited chatter little more than hissing whispers in Kyra’s ears.
It was as though no one wanted to speak until they saw the rumoured fae male in the flesh with their own eyes.
Kyra’s trusted dagger had been thoroughly cleaned and sharpened, and sat impatiently waiting for blood in its sheath.
Her hand absent-mindedly grazed over the worn leather every now and then, just to make sure it was still there.
The moderator’s voice rose above the crowd, amplified by magic, and the whispers immediately fell to silence.
His words turned to mulch in Kyra’s ears.
Glaring through the barred gates to the arena, she waited. Chin dipped, feet planted and shoulders pulled back, she breathed, focusing on the air that filled her body. Five deep and slow breaths into her belly; a technique Rosary had taught her years ago. It had never failed her.
Today would not be the day that it did.
The gates clanged open, and despite her breathwork, Kyra’s heart leapt into her throat. The moderator must have introduced her because the arena was suddenly filled with howls and repetitive chants of ‘Dae!’
She stepped into the light, the smile on her face not entirely forced as she glared up at the front of the stalls where Lilion always sat. A queen overlooking her empire.
Lilion’s polite smile quickly faded to a displeased sneer as she beheld the long line of red paint from the top of Kyra’s head, all the way to the centre of her breasts. Her ancestors had once worn such decorations on their bodies in war.
Rich, smudged kohl lined her eyes, red stained her lips the colour of blood, and her dark, wild hair was twisted and pinned like woven snakes.
She’d pulled that tight, lifeless braid from her hair as soon as Lilion’s servant had left her chamber.
Now, the arch of her ears were clearly visible.
Something that Lilion had always tried to hide, as if she could painstakingly make her patrons forget that her beloved champion was fae.
She would receive a scolding, or worse, from Lilion for such a public display of defiance.
If she were to survive this fight.
Kyra looked to her left, to where she knew Rosary always sat at the back of the auditorium with a goblet of wine in hand, to find her beaming from ear to ear.
And with that smile, Kyra was ready.
She unsheathed her dagger, flipped it into the air just for show, then waited.
The moderator lifted his hands from above the opposing gate where her challenger awaited, and the crowd fell quiet once more. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this will be the fight of the century… for the first time in the Arc’s history, our lone wolf fights one of her own!’
No one cheered. No one clapped. It was as though the whole arena had stopped breathing.
‘Some of you might recognise him…’ The moderator paused for effect, then added with a grin, ‘Though clothed, it might be more difficult.’
A few gasps scattered across the stagnant air, and some even giggled. Kyra gripped her blade tighter.
‘His name has been forgotten, but we at the Arc refer to him as The Bull.’
Bull. Why did that name sound familiar? Kyra wracked her brain for where she’d heard it before… then it hit her.
It was the name of a whore in the Arc’s brothel. A favourite pick of the attendees, so she’d come to understand. Kyra could only imagine how he got the name.
So Lilion had a male in slavery in her disgusting brothel, and was now using him in the pits? Nausea rose as dread coursed through her body.
‘Lords and Ladies, men and women… I give you The Wolf versus The Bull!’ The moderator shouted, practically gleefully.
Chains pulled by invisible hands lifted the iron gate, and The Bull stepped out, gripping a heavy two-handed sword.
But he didn’t acknowledge the cheering crowd.
Nor did he step more than a few paces before he stopped, tears rolling down his sunken cheeks as he stared at Kyra with familiar soft brown eyes that she had never forgotten.
Kyra fell to her knees.
Eleven years had passed since she had last seen her brother, and it appeared those years had been anything but kind to Oslan Daeiros.
If it wasn’t for those eyes, he would have been unrecognisable in the tall and muscular frame he’d matured into.
His once golden-brown skin like her own, was now grey-tinged and dull, as though sunlight had not touched him for an eternity.
Whispers slithered through her ears again. Taken by a sudden rage, Kyra flung her dagger with the intention of it embedding deep in Lilion’s skull.
She knew it would not meet its mark.
The blade bounced off the invisible ward that stood protecting the audience from wayward attacks and landed with a thud in the dust.
Lilion did not even flinch.
Then Kyra ran, ignoring the continued whispers and gasps, damning them all to the Void and not stopping until she was in front of her brother, her hands grasping his arms, his face, his neck, as if to be absolutely sure he was real.
Oslan’s sword clattered to the ground. ‘Kyra,’ he choked. ‘I told her I wouldn’t do it… I told her I wouldn’t fight you. But she’ll make me, she’ll make me…’
Kyra was barely listening. Her eyes were taking in the mess that was Oslan’s skin. Marred wrists, arms covered in burn marks, and a red raw cross scarred above his heart. The mark of slavery.
‘What has she done to you?’ Fury shook her, and suddenly she wished she had all the magic in the world so that she could rip down the protective ward and slash Lilion Perdy to pieces.
Oslan’s hands wrapped around her upper arms as those desperate brown eyes bore into hers. ‘You have to win, Ky. I can’t do it anymore. Please.’
With a jolt that made her insides coil with disgust, she realised what he was asking her to do.
‘LILION!’ she screamed, turning toward the perpetrator.
A ringing began in her ears, and all she could see was Lilion.
All she could hear was her own breath, high and uneven.
Kyra watched Lilion’s mouth move, but the words she spoke were for her ears alone.
As though she were standing right next to her, spewing shit into her ears.
‘Come now, little wolf. Don’t make a scene. ’
‘You knew he was my brother.’
‘I did.’
Betrayal cut deep into Kyra’s soul. ‘How long have you known?’ she whispered, knowing her voice would carry with whatever magic Lilion was using.
‘Does it matter?’
Kyra raised her voice for all to hear. ‘I will not fight him!’
‘I think you will,’ Lilion said with a contrived sort of sadness. ‘You see, if there is no blood spilt in this arena tonight, I can assure you that blood will be spilt elsewhere. What was your friend’s name, again? Rosary, was it?’
Kyra dared not look at her friend.
‘The man behind her has strict orders to follow her home tonight. To kill her eventually, but who knows what other things he has in mind. She has no family. Nor any friends but you. No one would miss her. No one would even know she was gone.’
Tears stung Kyra’s eyes, and she couldn’t help but steal a glance. Rosary was standing, neck craned as if she might be able to hear what was being said. True to Lilion’s word, a hooded man was sitting directly behind her. Kyra couldn’t breathe.
‘I can call him off in a heartbeat,’ she continued calmly, though her voice dripped with threat. ‘But only if my patrons get the blood they have gambled for.’
Feeling the stare of every single person on her, Kyra slowly walked on shaking legs to where her dagger lay discarded in the dirt, picked it up, and held it tight in her hand as she faced her brother.
She knew what she had to do.
Lilion wanted blood. She would get blood.
Kyra approached her long lost brother. ‘Oslan,’ she breathed softly.
Dread crumpled Oslan’s features, as though he could read the resignation in her eyes. ‘No. I won’t do it, Kyra, I won’t… please, kill me now, do it now before she makes me-’
The frantic words caught in his mouth, as though he was choking on them. His eyes rolled back in his skull, showing nothing but white, and when the pupils came back into view, all essence of Oslan Daeiros was gone.
Before she could even contemplate what had happened, her brother’s fist was flying toward her face at such a rapid speed, she had no time to block it.
She crashed to the ground, vision blurring through streaming eyes, pain searing her face like someone had carved through her cheekbone with a scalpel.
Kyra spat out a mouthful of blood, heaving herself to her feet. It didn’t matter that she had already succumbed to death… she would still go down like the Warrior-Queen she was. She threw her dagger to one side.
‘I forgive you,’ she told Oslan as he stomped toward her with murderous intent. Before death took her, he had to know… ‘For leaving us… I forgive you.’
But her words did not register on Oslan’s face. No response came. Instead, his foot swung toward her waist.
She couldn’t help the cry that escaped her then, mingled with the audible crack of several ribs.
No human had ever been able to hit her that hard.
She subconsciously wondered what her body would look like once Oslan was done with her.
He hadn’t even picked up his sword, as though he knew his brute strength would be more than enough to finish her.
There were next to no cheers from the crowd this time; a quiet and stunned response from her usual supporters. Like they actually gave a fuck what happened to her.
Panting on all fours, she heard one fearful voice break the silence. ‘KYRA!’
She wished she could have told Rosary that it was her choice, that she wanted this. The only real choice she’d ever made in the last eight years, the only one that mattered.
Oslan’s steel foot met with her stomach, sending her rolling onto her back. She sucked in air through rasping, broken breaths.
Through a rapidly swelling eye, she saw Oslan leer over her. ‘It’s okay,’ she repeated again, a singular tear leaking down her cheek. ‘It’s okay.’
This was it. One more blow and Roheia would take her across the veil. I am yours. She told the Mother, Goddess of Earth. I am ready.
‘Enough,’ someone snarled, the familiar voice amplifying around the arena. And though Kyra waited for the blow, waited to feel Roheia’s phantom hand to take her soul to the next life, it never came.
What did come was a wave of exhaustion as her body worked tirelessly to fix the broken parts. And it was Oslan’s face, a stranger’s face, blank and unseeing that sketched itself into her brain before darkness ensnared her to unconsciousness.