20. CHAPTER TWENTY
Asmile rolled across Nik’s lips. “So, you are another Western girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“Katell? It’s not a common name, but I’ve definitely met one or two while travelling through the Western territories.” He dragged his gaze over her from head to toe, and her pulse skittered. “Although with your dark hair and bronze skin, you don’t look like a Westerner.”
“And you don’t look Achaean,” she snapped, trying to seem unaffected by his attention.
He let out a low chuckle as if he could see right through her, then sank back against the wall.
His revelation about the Western origin of her name confirmed Alena’s suspicion. Their mother had most probably hailed from the Western tribes, as the gold necklace had suggested.
The wounded blonde woman lying on the bench let out a sudden whimper. Katell knelt by her side, assessing the cuts across her chest.
“She needs help,” she called over her shoulder to Nik. “I can’t do anything for her. I’m not a healer.”
The Achaean’s expression grew solemn. “There’s nothing to be done. It’s too late for her. She lost her fight, and her patron abandoned her. No patron, no help.”
“Fight? Is that what we’re here to do?”
“Why else do you think we’re all locked up down here? Political debate?” He scoffed. “The Pit is a fighting arena, sweetheart. Everyone is made to fight for the Rasennans’ entertainment and our masters’ pockets. You win, you get fed and clothed. The crowd loves you, your patron makes some money, and everyone is happy. You lose… Well, as you can see, no one is about to come heal that poor girl. Aurelius must have decided she wasn’t worth his time or money anymore.”
Katell peered down at the young woman bleeding out on the bench, and an ache bloomed in her chest. She didn’t seem much older than Alena.
“If they don’t take care of her soon, she’ll die.”
“Oh, they’re counting on it. Once she’s dead, the lions will have her.” His solemn voice carried an air of resignation, as though he’d come to terms with sharing the same fate one day. “Don’t you worry about it, they’ll come to collect her body soon. The Amazon will want her gone when she returns.”
The Amazon? He’d already mentioned the name twice. Did he mean the female warriors from her father’s stories who dwelled on the eastern shores of the Great Sea? How could one end up in such a place?
Katell put a hand on the young woman’s forehead—it was slick with sweat. Thick, dark blood leaked from a deep cut in her gut and pooled below the bench. The blonde Westerner emitted a pained groan, then muttered something under her breath. She seemed delirious, whispering the same word over and over again.
“I don’t know what she’s saying.” Katell clasped the woman’s hand, unable to do much else. “I don’t understand.”
“She’s praying to her god, no doubt—foolish girl.” Nik’s voice was quiet, and a strange expression marred his face as he observed them both. “But the gods can’t hear us down here. They can’t hear us anywhere. And even if they did, all of this is their own fruition. Giving us magic and then watching us fight each other like animals.”
More words slipped from the woman’s lips, and Katell bent lower.
“I think she said, ‘Andrasta’. Who’s Andrasta?”
Nik’s blue eyes shone like two beacons in the darkness. “The Rebel Queen. She was also from the Western tribes.”
The answer was so unexpected that Katell fell speechless and glanced back at the dying Westerner. The young woman had come from the same lands as the legendary Rebel Queen and was calling out to her in her final moments. As if to emphasise this, her pale face twisted in a grimace, and her ragged breathing quickened. She had little time left.
“Hush,” Katell whispered, stroking her hair. “You’ll be with your own soon. You’ll be with your family again, and Andrasta will be there to welcome you.”
The Westerner’s features softened, and her wheezing breaths quieted until they stopped altogether. Katell swallowed the wave of emotion clogging her throat and crossed the woman’s thin arms over her chest as Damocles had done with those he couldn’t save. The Westerner’s fair skin and wheat-blonde braids almost seemed too delicate to be trapped in the dark underbelly of the arena. None of them belonged in this nightmare, and Katell thanked the Moon that Alena had been spared such a fate.
“May your ancestors watch over you for all eternity,” she murmured in her Freefolk tongue.
When she pulled back, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor, and her cell door swung open. A tall woman with pale blonde hair strode in. Despite the manacles binding her hands together, she held her head high. Her bright gaze surveyed the scene before her.
“The Westerner is dead,” the woman said to the two female slaves waiting at the threshold. “Take her away and give her proper burial rites.”
The women approached without a word, and Katell moved out of the way. They wrapped the dead girl in a dirty woven straw mat and then cleaned the pool of blood with spare rags.
A guard in a dark red tunic with a sword at his hip came in next and picked the small body up in his arms. “A healer will be here soon to tend to your injuries, Amazon.”
The blonde’s response was curt. “It can wait until dinnertime. Just clean this mess up.”
Scowling, the guard left, followed by the slaves, and the heavy cell door locked behind them. The woman, or Amazon, released a sigh and took a seat on a bench in the shadows. She wore a tunic, like Nik, although hers was green with a silver border, and pinned over one shoulder, leaving the other bare.
In a crisp tone, she asked, “Who are you?”
“Inhospitable as usual, Sinope.” Nik’s voice resonated from his cell, brimming with jest. “Play nice. The new girl here took care of the Westerner in her last moments.”
“Don’t presume to give out my name to strangers, Achaean.” Sinope wiped the blood and sweat from her brow, her manacles rattling together as she struggled to untie her arm guards. Unlike the dead Western girl, her armour was higher quality leather and studded with metal. “Welcome to the Pit—or Tartaros, as some of us prefer to call it. I assume you speak Koine.” The woman glanced up, and a slender beam of light unveiled her features with greater clarity.
A gasp caught in Katell’s throat, and she took an involuntary step back.
Sinope’s eyes were bright silver and shone with a faint surreal glow—two diamonds glittering in the penumbral light of the cell. At first, Katell had dismissed their unusual brilliance, but the ethereal light emanating from them was undoubtedly magical.
“Is it your first time meeting an Amazon?” Nik leaned against the bars of their communal window with his arms crossed, a spark of intrigue flickering across his face.
Katell pinched her lips, weighing the consequences of revealing her ignorance. Nothing should have surprised her after the slaver’s two-headed hound, but Sinope’s glittering gaze was both unsettling and breathtaking.
The alluring display of magic was also a poignant reminder of Katell’s limited understanding of the world she now found herself in.
After a moment’s hesitation, she opted for honesty. “I’d only ever heard of Amazons in my father’s stories. I always thought they were a myth. Your eyes—are they a Gift?”
“Yes, from the Huntress.” Sinope’s features softened as she spoke of her goddess. “Every Amazon is blessed with the same Gift called the Sight, but few of us remain.”
“Why?” The Amazons were the strongest warriors among the Great Sea, or so Katell had been told. What had happened to them?
Sinope pinched her lips and turned towards the sunlight streaming through the tiny slit in the wall. “The Sight is the pride of my people and our greatest weapon in battle. We see our enemies’ movements more clearly and can anticipate their attacks. It’s an incredible Gift, but many seek to take our eyes for themselves. We used to roam freely along the eastern shores of the Great Sea until the Achaeans sold us out to the Empire.”
Her brow furrowed, and she turned to Nik. “After the Rebel Queen’s defeat at the Battle of Kendrisia, the Amazons went into hiding, but the Achaeans told Emperor Tarquinius where to find us.”
Nik raised his hands in defence. “And as I’ve told you many times, that had nothing to do with me, Bright Eyes. The Messenians sold the Amazons out, but other Achaeans remained your allies. King Pandion even offered his help.”
Katell could practically hear the Amazon grind her teeth. “The Rebel Queen was our true ally,” Sinope hissed. “And our saviour. She travelled all the way to Ephesos to warn us about a potential attack from the southern Rasennan provinces during the war, and we formed an alliance.”
“Yes, of course,” Nik answered dryly. “Blessed be the Rebel Queen.” He placed his hand over his heart for emphasis, then scoffed and slipped back into the shadows.
“Do not listen to that son of a Harpy.” A hint of scorn flitted across Sinope’s features before she shook her head. “He does not know what he speaks of. Andrasta did what no one else dared. She defied the Empire, and every Amazon was honoured to fight alongside her at Kendrisia. After the final battle, the Emperor sent his best trackers to hunt us Amazons down, and we scattered to survive. But the Huntress watches over all of us, and one day, we will gather again.”
Katell didn’t say a word. She’d never heard of the final battle or the Amazons fighting with the Rebel Queen. The events must have taken place after Damocles had joined Camp Bessi.
But now a real Amazon stood before her, tall and powerful, and with a reverence to the Rebel Queen—Andrasta—that reminded Katell of her younger self when she, too, had admired the Gifted warrior queen.
“Who is your patron deity?” Sinope asked, smoothing down the folds of her soft green tunic as if it weren’t covered in dirt and blood.
After failing to come up with a reasonable lie, Katell said, “No one. My family never prayed to the gods.”
“What, none of them?” The Amazon’s thin eyebrows drew together. “Who do you pray to then for good fortune, a healthy baby, or safe travels? Surely, you must thank one of the gods after the harvest.”
Katell shook her head. “Where I grew up, there are no gods. Our Elders refused to worship them and sent away any believers or Marked ones.”
Sinope gawked at her. “Marked ones?”
“She means Gifted,” Nik cut in.
“I know what she means,” the Amazon snapped over her shoulder, then fixed Katell again. “But then, who blessed you with magic? You are Gifted, aren’t you? Aurelius would never have brought you here unless you were.”
“I gained magic at the start of summer.” Releasing a breath, Katell lifted her braid and revealed the nape of her neck. “This Mark appeared one day, and I don’t know from which deity it came. I was travelling with my sister to Megara in hopes of finding some answers.”
“The Megarians worship the Sea God, but this doesn’t seem to be his symbol.” Sinope stood and moved nearer to get a better view. “Each Gifted mortal has a unique Mark, but every deity favours certain distinctive patterns and colours. Amazons are faithful to the Huntress, so my knowledge of the other Achaean Twelve is limited. Nikander may recognise it.”
Nik’s shackles rattled, and the Achaean appeared at their shared window once more. With a wicked smile, he crooked his finger, beckoning Katell closer. She straightened and crossed the small space before sitting on the opposite bench. Ignoring the dimples dotting his cheeks, she turned her back to him and held up her hair.
His fingertips traced her Mark with unexpected softness, and her skin prickled with goosebumps.
“Never seen anything like it.” His warm breath ghosted across the back of her neck, and she tried to quell the unexpected leap of her pulse. “Although the dark red, almost black colour is typical of Laran.”
At his words, her heart sank. She’d hoped the Rasennan god of bloodlust and warfare hadn’t been the one to Gift her after witnessing the slavers’ almost feverish worship of him. From what little she’d gathered, Laran was the Empire’s most beloved god, protector of Emperor Caius Tarquinius and his legions.
Sinope examined the Mark again. “I thought so, too. However, a mortal does not simply wake up one day Gifted by a god without having made the right sacrifice for the pact. This must be a patron Gift from one of your parents.”
“Damocles, the man who raised my sister and me, wasn’t our real father,” Katell said, letting her hair fall back in place. “I know almost nothing about my real parents, although I suspect my mother was from the Western tribes.”
Sinope paced the cell, deep in thought. “There are many gods in the Western Lands, each older and wiser than ours. Pacts cannot be made with most of them as their names are long forgotten. A patron Gift is the most powerful of the two as it creates a stronger bond between mortals and deities. Their affinities and allies become ours, and the deity will follow and protect us our whole lives. It is not something to take lightly. Most men would kill for these Gifts—and most do. It’s how pacts came to be. Mortals tried to replicate what we have by sacrificing all they cherished while invoking the deity’s true name, but those bonds are weak. The gods did not choose them.”
Nik’s lip curled into a sneer. “The gods couldn’t care less about you, Bright Eyes. They abandoned us long ago, or we wouldn’t all be in this shithole. Quit yapping about them and their so-called protection and give the girl some warning. They’ll be here soon.”
Katell froze. “What does he mean?”
Sinope shot Nik a frown, then sat on the opposite bench. “You’ll be taken away soon for a trial fight.”
Katell swallowed down the tendrils of panic that threatened to overwhelm her. “Soon?”
“Today,” Nik’s deep voice answered.
Sinope clasped the edge of the bench with her hands and averted her gaze, yet Katell still glimpsed the fleeting trace of pity in the Amazon’s gaze. Her insides turned cold.
“Each month,” Sinope said, at last, “the First Trial is organised for the new fighting slaves Aurelius acquires. He comes up with a trial to weed out the weak and entertain Bruna’s wealthiest. The nobles gather to see Aurelius’ new goods and choose which slaves they want to support. The best fighters survive, and the others die.”
Katell’s pulse quickened, and she shot to her feet, fists clenched. She hadn’t spent years honing her sword skills to entertain some Rasennan nobles. “What kind of trial?”
“The one that will get you killed if you don’t have decent enough fighting skills.” Nik’s no-nonsense expression appeared through the iron bars. “If Aurelius bought you, then you must have shown some promise. What kind of magic do you possess?”
Katell held his gaze and smiled. “I’m strong.” She’d revealed enough of her secrets for now.
Sinope and Nik exchanged a look, and the Amazon’s brow creased. “All fighters here are strong. Gifted warriors have a natural advantage, but fighting skills can also make a huge difference. How are your sword skills?”
A loud groan echoed in the distance, and Nik glanced through the iron bars of his door down the corridor.
“It’s Castur,” he said. “He’ll be here soon.”
His words sparked a jolt of tension through the cell. Sinope’s eyes widened, and she sprung to her feet, grasping Katell’s arm. “There’s no time, so listen to me carefully. Grab the strongest armour and sword you can find in the armoury. Forget the bronze breastplates and go for steel. Noric steel, if you can. And not those front pieces either, but a full cuirass that covers both your front and back. Trust no man or woman for help. It’s everyone for themselves out there, understood? And avoid the Samnites.”
“What’s a Samnite?” Katell asked.
Sandaled footsteps stopped outside their door.
“Trained fighters who come to the Pit of their own free will,” Nik growled in a low voice. “They’re here for money and glory. They’re ruthless bastards, so beware.”
She nodded, silently conveying her gratitude for the warnings they had both given her.
The hefty door swung open, and her greasy-haired captor, Castur, appeared with two brawny guards. There was no mistaking the disdain in her cellmates’ piercing stares, fixed on the guards.
“Time to go,” Castur said in his gruff voice.
Steeling her nerves, Katell stepped out of her cell.