22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The sound of trumpets rang through the air, and one by one, the battles came to a stop. Samnite warriors and slaves alike cast bewildered glances around.
Katell blinked and inhaled sharply as if waking from a dream. Her chest heaved, and she took in the carnage around her.
Death filled the arena.
Fallen warriors littered the sandy ground, guts and limbs strewn everywhere, exposing the massacre she’d inflicted upon her opponents. Lifeless gazes stared back at her, and she stumbled away, a scream caught in her throat. Her gaze fell to her shaking hands, slick with dark red blood. Her armour, her skin—everything was drenched in blood.
She gasped and dropped her sword.
She was going to be sick. What had she done?
With naked fear in their eyes, the other slaves kept their distance. The trumpets quieted, and the announcer appeared in the stands, his voice booming across the arena.
Rhaetic made no sense to her ears, but judging by the excitement filling the stands, the trial wasn’t over.
Dread knotted her stomach, and her breaths grew uneven. Without warning, chains rattled beneath her feet, and trap doors sprung open in the sandy arena, revealing only darkness below.
A low rumble echoed in the dark, and her skin broke out in a cold sweat. A huge striped feline burst into the arena, and in a powerful leap, it pounced on top of the closest slave. Sharp claws sank into the man’s chest while the beast’s large teeth clamped around his neck. Blood gushed out of the slave’s crushed throat and his body went limp, his mouth falling open in a silent scream.
Katell’s hands trembled at her sides.
A tiger!
The Parthian tribesmen often mentioned them in their hunting tales. What was it doing here?
More screams and shouts erupted around her. More felines appeared through the trap doors: lions with golden coats and shaggy manes, spotted leopards, and three tigers.
Katell backed away from the onslaught of wild animals, her heart racing inside her chest. Upon closer inspection, the felines looked underfed, sharp ribs protruding from their sides. They were nothing more than skin and bones, starved to fit the needs of the trial.
Beside her, one of the few remaining female slaves threw a spear with a grunt, impaling a lion’s flank. The beast gave a pitiful cry and then stumbled to the ground.
The cheers that erupted from the stands sickened her.
“Watch out!” The Gifted boy pushed her out of the way, narrowly evading the swiping paw of a lion.
Katell steadied herself before glancing over her shoulder. Hands outstretched, the boy stepped in front of the beast which roared.
Katell scanned her surroundings. She needed to find a weapon and fast.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” the boy whispered to the beast, his hands inches away from its large canines.
“What are you doing?”
“My patron, the Lord of the Desert, compels you to leave us alone.” His arms shimmered with an orange glow. Sand twirled from the arena floor, lifting into his hands. A strong gust of wind weaved through the grains of sand, creating a protective barrier like a circular shield.
Falling back, Katell gawked at the boy. He raised his hands, and the cloud of sand swirled forward, enveloping the lion’s head. Thoroughly spooked, the beast turned tail, shaking its giant mane as it ran away.
An instant later, the Gifted boy keeled over.
Katell caught his arm before he hit the ground and tugged him closer. “Boy, wake up!”
He blinked a few times, regaining focus. “Sorry. Using magic takes all my energy.”
Somehow, he spoke Koine. Across the Great Sea, the language was most common among the aristocracy. Was the boy from a noble family? If so, what was he doing in an arena?
“Don’t apologise, you saved my life.” She hauled him back towards the outer circle of the Pit, keeping an eye out for more beasts. “Why did you do it?”
His round face broke into a grin. “Isn’t that how it works? You save my life and I save yours? I‘ll watch your back, lady.”
She couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not a lady. Now get up and fight.”
“I can’t.” He averted his gaze, gnawing on his lip. “I don’t know how. But don’t worry about me. My patron god will watch over me.”
A roar caught them off guard, and the next thing Katell knew, a mass of fur landed on her.
Claws sliced her skin, and blinding pain shot through her shoulder. The tiger’s jaws lunged at her, and on instinct, she shielded her head. Huge canines sunk into her left arm, crushing bones and tearing a scream from her throat. Her free hand struck the tiger’s head, and the beast let her go with a yowl. Summoning all her strength, she kicked it off with a fierce cry. Its sharp claws raked across her shoulder before it soared across the arena and hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Katell dropped her head onto the bloodstained sand, unable to move except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
Every movement, every breath was agony, and she clamped down on her lip to stifle the screams welling up in her throat. Blood pooled beneath her, and her left arm lay useless. In her other hand, she clenched her sword tight. Lying half-dead in the sand, she was easy prey.
“Are you alive?” The boy crawled to her side, holding a dagger. Blood trickled from his brow, and his ankle was swollen. “You look terrible.”
Katell gave him a weak smile. The screams and roars faded to the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her arm twitched. When she opened her eyes again, the deep puncture wounds stopped leaking blood, and her skin slowly, slowly knitted itself back together.
She glanced up at the young boy. She might be half-dead, but the least she could do was protect him.
He sat very still by her side, his big brown eyes brimming with tears.
She followed his line of sight and saw red.
So much red, it was hard to remember that there had once been a layer of sand covering the ground. A dead lion lay on its side, dark blood dripping from its mane and maw. A broken spear. A muscled arm, torn at the elbow. A body encased in bronze armour, limbs ripped to pieces. A female slave—the short-haired blonde who had sobbed in the armoury—screamed for help as a tiger dragged her away by the ankle.
Katell tried to tell the boy not to look. She wanted to shelter him from all the horrors, but he was gone.
How many warriors were even left at this point?
When would it end?
A shadow fell upon her. A Samnite, one of the last survivors, towered over her, a triumphant smile on his bruised face. He stared at her crumpled form, and she angled her body, hiding the sword behind her back.
“If I kill the freakishly strong bitch, they will praise me for days in the city,” he muttered in Koine, warm drops of blood sliding down his blade onto her neck. “It doesn’t matter how many you kill or how strong you are if you don’t make it ‘til the end. First rule of the Pit—stay alive.”
He shifted, ready to plunge his blade through her chest.
At the last moment, Katell moved. She refused to die. Not when the end was so near. Not when the boy still needed her.
And certainly not at the hands of an arrogant Samnite.
With a raging cry, she rolled over and plunged her blade as hard as she could into his thigh.
The warrior yelled, staggering to the side, and she slammed her palm into his gut. He toppled backwards, falling at the feet of a leopard, who lunged for his throat.
Katell’s arm gave way beneath her, and she slumped onto her back, spent. Beside her, the Samnite thrashed against the beast in vain.
A deep horn rumbled through the arena, and the trap doors opened once more. The leopard hauled the bulky Samnite by the neck towards its hatch. The other felines slinked back to their dark dens, taking their trophies with them.
Through cracked lips, Katell whispered for the dead, “May your ancestors watch over you for all eternity.”
A voice boomed through the stadium, the words incomprehensible. Her breathing turned shallow, and she held onto consciousness by sheer will, searching for the boy.
“Praise Laran!” a voice erupted in Koine across the stadium. “These warriors faced the odds and came out victorious! Citizens of Bruna, I give you the Pit’s new fighting champions!”
The stands erupted in thunderous applause and cheers. Katell closed her eyes, wishing for it all to end.
When she woke up, Sinope’s face hovered above her, her silver eyes glittering like ice crystals. “Here, drink some water.”
It took Katell a few tries before she managed to sit up. Her armour and boots had been removed, but her gold manacles had been fastened back on. She downed the cup of water, soothing her parched throat, and Sinope poured her more from a jug. As she drank, she took note of her surroundings.
They weren’t in the cell but in a dusty chamber with several cots arranged in a row on a hard-packed earthen floor. Unconscious slaves covered in grime like herself filled a handful of beds. The others were empty but stained red. Pots, vials and herbs lined the shelves on the walls, reminding her of Alena’s healing supplies back in Camp Bessi.
Her heart lurched, and she averted her gaze. She couldn’t let thoughts of her sister consume her right now.
Her hands trembled in her lap. Her body ached all over, and strips of cloth soaked in a soothing ointment covered her arm and shoulder.
“Your arm will need time to heal.” The Amazon spoke with unexpected tenderness. “Your shoulder was shredded. Bruna’s governor, Quintus Fabius, demanded to be your patron. He’ll take care of all your needs. You’re very lucky he chose you. But that shoulder won’t ever look the same, I’m afraid.”
Lucky. The word cut deep.
Sinope and the healers remained unaware of her healing abilities, but it was just a matter of time before the gold dampeners were removed, allowing her to fully recover.
“Let me help you up.” The Amazon took the cup away and gripped her elbow. “First, you need to bathe and then you can eat to your heart’s content.”
Katell gave her a blank look. She’d witnessed dozens of slaves being torn to pieces in the arena, and Sinope wanted her to bathe and eat?
Still, she let the Amazon lead her down a corridor and then through an archway towards the sound of trickling water. The air grew humid, and a rich floral scent greeted them.
Damocles had often spoken of the heated pools the Old Lands enjoyed, but she’d never once imagined a bath large enough to fit a dozen women. Much less in a fighting arena.
“The bathhouse is for Gifted warriors only,” Sinope said as if answering her thoughts. “As long as you have a patron supporting you, you may access it. Servants will attend to you, and you will have food and water at your disposal, and time outside our cell for training.”
Steam rose from the water, filling Katell’s lungs and warming her skin. Naked women sat on a wooden bench along the brightly painted walls, falling silent as the newcomers entered. Sinope stripped her clothes and then helped Katell out of the scraps of tunic that still clung to her.
Purple and white flowers floated on the surface of the water, masking the stench of blood and sweat. Dozens of tiny, coloured squares depicting aquatic life peppered the sides and bottom of the pool. At the far end, a female warrior bathed, her arms resting along the edge while two Non-Humans slaves poured oils into her hair.
Sinope started down the steps into the water. “This end is shallow. We can bathe here, but keep your bandages out of the water.”
Katell did as she was told, and using a small jug, the Amazon gently poured warm, scented water along her shoulders and back. The clear waters darkened around them, trails of blood and dirt swirling in the pool and then fading away. She was grateful that Sinope didn’t try to engage her in conversation.
Instead, her blonde cellmate recounted the Trial in hushed tones as she washed her. “—everyone was shocked, I think. You said you were strong, but that magic of yours is something else. At least it caught the governor’s attention. He will want to meet with you soon and—”
“Sinope.” Katell’s own voice seemed muffled and distant. “The boy. The Gifted one who could move air with his hands. Did he make it?”
The jug stilled in the Amazon’s hands, followed by thick silence.
“No, he didn’t.”
Something caved in Katell’s chest, and her vision blurred. She’d lost Alena already. Surely, she hadn’t lost the boy, too?
“He was right next to me, and then he was gone,” she insisted. “Was it a Samnite?”
The Amazon shook her head. “No, one of the lions got to him before the horn was blown.”
“Stars be damned…” Her voice cracked, and her knees threatened to buckle underneath her. Shudders ran through every part of her body, creating ripples in the water. “He was just a boy! He wasn’t a warrior. He didn’t ask for any of this. Why—Why did they let him die?”
“Nik heard he was the son of a noble from a southern province who opposed the Emperor. He was always meant to die.”
Katell’s fists clenched, and her nails dug into her skin. When she glanced up, Sinope stared back at her with grim understanding. The final restraint on her emotions evaporated like steam from the bath, leaving a throbbing ache inside her chest.
“But he was—he was just a boy.” Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, and she curled a hand over her mouth as a sob escaped her.
The Amazon held her shaking shoulders, and Katell bowed her head, her cries echoing through the cavernous room.
“Let them out, Katell. Let all your tears fall,” Sinope whispered in a fierce voice. “Then carve that pain into your heart and never forget it. For one day, it will become your strength.”