Of Silver and Beasts (17 page)

The shower stalls are separate and enclosed. Thank the goddesses for small mercies.

I step onto the cold, rough stone floor of the bathing area, and a glass door slides shut behind me. Our bathing facilities have five shower encasings, and the glass stalls are painted black, so that we’re given privacy. This area is the farthest away from the master cell, which is what Bax calls our mingling quarters. The tunnels and chambers go on for what feels like miles. I haven’t explored them all yet.

Glancing around, I locate a metal locker to store my clothing. I open it and strip down, careful not to bend my back too far, then place my ruined uniform and chest harness inside. My mind flashes to the morning when I eagerly and proudly dressed for the protector ceremony, and my heart aches. That morning feels like a lifetime ago. I wish I would’ve said something more to my mother. Assured her that I never blamed her for all those years of suffering at the hands of my father.

Because she suffered, too.

There’s a plain blue tunic and matching pants in the locker, and I know this will be my new uniform from now on. I slip my fingers down the ribbed, worn cotton, and am thankful it’s at least not polyester. That irritating material always brought out the mercury more than any other.

A loud beep sounds and sprayer nozzles along the sides of the stone walls turn on, blasting lukewarm water in different angles. I brace my hands against the wall and hang my head, allowing the water to pelt the layers of dirt away.

I lost my temper in the Cage. Carnage, like the rest of us, is a prisoner. Forced to fight and kill for the sake of his own life. Maybe he has a family somewhere. Maybe he’s just trying to win like everyone else here so he can obtain this freedom ring and go back to them.

Clamping my eyes shut, I try to push the surfacing image of my father’s angry face from my mind. I can’t allow my temper to best me in this place. Although, I can’t lose and die either. I have to make sure the prince returns to his kingdom; unharmed. And I have a family to return to, also. I wonder if my father is in a new ward, being taken care of by someone. Whether or not my mother is with him, helping to feed him when his mind wanders.

The conflicting emotions become too much and my chest constricts. I slam my fist against the wall. Then again.

The showerheads cut off automatically, and I wrap my arms around myself, searching for a towel. There isn’t one. I grab my new clothes from the locker and fight my drenched limbs into them. Then I ball my protector uniform up and put it under my arm.

Another beep, and the door slides open. One of the contenders walks past, and I follow behind him down the long stretch of dimly lit tunnel. He’s one of the feather-tatted men. He leads me to the master cell where he then tosses back a flap to a chamber and walks inside, pulling the curtain closed behind him.

The cell is empty, and I assume everyone is in one of the chambers. But then I hear noises coming from the side of the master cell that leads to the large room. I bunch my uniform up and slip it under a discarded blanket, then walk over to the opening in the wall.

Thin strips of black lights run along corners and edges of the large, blocked off area. The ceiling reaches as high as one of the rock buildings outside, and there are tables and chairs.

And weapons.

One wall is covered with swords, spears, battles axes, maces, and other weapons I’ve never seen before.

A training ground.

“See something you like,” the prince says near my ear.

I spin around. “No. But you can explain that show in the Cage.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.

“What?” he says, giving me a sheepish grin. “I tried to tell you before. I trained with the greatest grappling master on the Nablis Peninsula. He began mentoring me when I was five. Mainly meditation back then and—”

“Then why did I have to defend you at the palace during the attack?” I rake my eyes over his proud stance.

He groans. “Of course you don’t know who Narik is. You only put females on pedestals.” I open my mouth to retort, but he holds up a hand and quickly continues. “What I mean is, Master Narik is the most renowned grappler in Perinya. But, as your country only awards the achievements of women”—he raises his brows and rushes on when I scowl—“and rightly so, I might add. I’m just not surprised you haven’t heard of him. Narik only trains in the art of the body. Not weaponry.” His features harden, and I sense there’s more to his admission than he’s willing to say.

“So you’re some master in the art of body combat?” I tilt my head, and my lips involuntarily curl into a smile. “But not weapons. And why not? Did you not feel that learning to handle a sword would be beneficial at some point in your life?”

“I’m not discussing this with you, protector, if you’re only going to mock me.” He sidesteps me and heads toward the wall of weapons.

Figuring that I’ve touched on a sore subject, I change my tactic. “Wait,” I say, pulling him to a stop by his sleeve. He faces me, broody mask in place. “I’ll refrain from mocking your customs if you’ll do the same for mine.”

He considers this for a moment, then says, “Agreed.” Raising a finger, he adds, “And on the condition that you’ll train me in weaponry.”

I suppose in order to keep him alive, this is something that must be done. “It would be my honor”—I bow my head regally—“Prince of Pain.” As I straighten, my back flames. I grab it with a groan.

“Maybe you shouldn’t wield a weapon,” he says. “You’re injured.”

As I turn and walk toward the weapons, I say, “Better injured than dead. I’m a fast healer. Let’s go.”

Crew and the woman contender with a high, slicked ponytail stand before the wall, their eyes scanning over the weapons. As I approach, the woman peeks at me through her thick lashes, but keeps her focus on a long obsidian spear. She takes it down from the wall and walks away, testing its balance as she goes.

“Her name is Lena,” Crew says, reaching for a broadsword. “We’re both from Taggar, though we didn’t meet until we were brought here.”

My chest bristles with needling pricks as I make the connection of his homeland. The war with Taggar was the last major war my country fought before the Otherworlders’ invasion.

Prince Caben sidles up beside me, and says, “I’m Payne. From Perinya.” He extends his hand. “And the one with the foul temper”—he cocks his head toward me—“is Kaliope.”

Ignoring his remark, I stare down at his outstretched hand, wondering if Crew will slice it off with his sword. To my disbelief, he cups the prince’s hand, wrapping it with his giant one and shakes.

Crew then offers me his massive paw. “I know our countries had their differences,” he says. “But here, that is of no matter.” So he recognized my protector uniform when I first came here. Why did he attack the prince and not me? “I’ve never met a woman who can fight like you other than Lena,” he continues. “She was one of the most feared assassins in my country. I assumed, like many, that she was a man until now.”

Quickly glancing at the assassin in the corner of the training room, I catch her throwing the spear into a target’s center. Then I meet Crew’s gray eyes and accept his hand. “Thank you. I’m a protector to my empress. I’ve trained for years, but you truly gave me a great fight.”

He chuckles. “
Were
,” he says, stressing the word. “You were a protector. Now your Bax’s property and his top contender.” He swipes his hand over his shorn hair and sighs. “I picked a fight with Payne to test you. I wanted to know what I might be up against during the last match.”

Prince Caben grimaces. But I ignore his bruised ego, and ask Crew, “We’re on the same league, correct?” He nods confirmation. “Then how do I threaten your freedom ring?”

Jerking his head toward the end of the wall, he starts to walk, and the prince and I trail behind him. He stops next to a section filled with more swords, and runs the tip of his thick finger across one of the blades.

“We fight until there are two,” he says. “Then bets are taken no matter what league the contenders are from.”

“But how can there ever be just two?” I ask. “If they continually bring in new contenders, then there is always someone new to fight.”

Crew shakes his head. “You and Payne are the last. The season for new signups has ended. Now it’s fight to the death.”

Prince Caben scoffs. “New signups.” He shakes his head. “Sounds like we’re here willingly.”

“New signups for the ring leaders,” I say, and Crew nods.

“Exactly.” Crew swaps out his broadsword for a larger warrior’s sword. “Twenty-one contenders in all, and only one freedom ring.” Before he walks away, he adds, “Just pray you’re name doesn’t get drawn for the windfall.”

The prince glances at me curiously, and I look back to Crew. “Why?”

Over his shoulder, he shouts, “Because then the Otherworlders bet against you defeating the Grimmal.” He frowns, his lips tight. “And no one has ever beaten the Grimmal.”

The monster is a scientific mutation designed by the Otherworlders for their cage sport. Because there are often sore losers when contenders die, they needed an assured win where the gamblers can earn some of their profit back and continue to bet on the fights.

The Grimmal is a gene-splice between two underground creatures—half monster tarantula, half thread snake; or better known in Cavan as the blind snake. And it’s twice the size of the great white bears that roam Cavan’s winter plain. I wonder how the goddesses can allow such an abomination to exist.

As I direct Prince Caben to properly hold his sword, he rolls his shoulders, annoyed. “This sword is too light,” he says. “I should have something bigger.”

“You mean more ‘manly.’” I smirk.

He levels his deep blue eyes on me. “Exactly.”

“Well, Prin—Payne,” I correct quickly. “You first need to learn technique before you wield a sword. Then we can work on using larger weapons. But if you can first outmatch someone by using your strengths in grappling, do so. Always rely on your natural instincts.”

“Caben,” he says.

I squint. “What?”

“Those I consider friends just call me Caben,” he clarifies. “It should simplify your confusion on how to address me.” He grins.

Stepping in front of him, I raise my sword. “Yes, well, with all your titles and names, it
would
simplify things.” I press my lips together. “But I don’t like the idea of calling you by your given name should someone make the connection.”

He waves his hand. “In Perinya, many have named their sons and even daughters after me. It’s an honor to do so where I’m from.” He smiles, his white teeth beaming in the black light. “It’s a very common name now. Even the Otherworlders should know this.”

I huff. “No wonder,” I mutter.

“What?”

I’d like to tell him that I’m starting to understand why his ego matches the size of his country, but I think that’s a battle best saved for later. “Are you ready, Caben?”

The bright smile on his face stretches. “I just knew that even you would have trouble making such a dignified name sound venomous.” He nods once. “I’m pleased.” Before I can rebuttal, he says, “Don’t you have a nickname? Something that’s easier to address you by other than ‘Protector Kaliope, Leader of the Nactue to Empress Iana?’”

Despite my mounting aggravation, a small laugh escapes my mouth. “Yes, I do.”

His eyes widen. “And? That would be?”

My heart pinches. Only my mother, Lilly, and Willa use my nickname. And I miss them terribly. “Kal,” I say low.

Caben’s head tilts, a small smile hiking up one side of his mouth. If not for his constant conceit, it would be endearing. “Kal,” he says, trying it out. “It suits you.” Then he clears his throat and widens his stance, bringing his sword up. “I do know the basics.”

“I noticed as much.” I extend my sword until the tip rests against his shoulder. “But, I assume because you’re training has not included weaponry, you don’t account for a foe’s size and build while dueling. As important as it is in body combat, it’s just as important with weapons.” I motion for him to place his sword on my shoulder, so we’re mirrored images of each other.