Chained to the Devil’s Daughter (Mating the Elements #1)

30

Ash’ren

A fter a long day, we were back in the grub tent for an evening meal when Razgard yanked me to my feet. He cupped his mouth with both hands and bellowed, “Speech!”

To a thumping echo of speech, speech, speech , I addressed the crowd of trainees in their new shoes. The selfish pride welled up again, making it hard to speak.

“The past two months have been. . .” I ran a hand through my hair and started over. “Each of you deserves the freedom we’re fighting for, more than anything.”

“More than you,” someone snarled. A demon woman. Not one of my trainees, but I’d seen her lurking around training sessions.

“Mother, hush!” Seated at the table Razgard, Kien, Jadan, and I always shared, a trainee named Maisa hissed. “Don’t fuck with Boss.”

“No,” I tapped Maisa’s shoulder. It was time I faced this. “Who was it?”

Maisa’s mother was red as a sun sprite and spitting mad. “My son, you fucking monster.”

I looked down at Maisa. Her wide, glistening brown eyes were lined with barely-there horn stumps instead of eyebrows, so similar to her brother’s. “Tyrion. He was kind to me. Shared his bread even after. . .” My gaze flicked to Kien’s stony expression. I cleared my throat and tapped my finger against my leg. “Play dead, I told him. He might’ve been tossed into the corpse pit and had a chance to crawl out into Fyre.”

“They woulda shot him the moment they saw his fingers on the ladder,” Maisa said, voice trembling. “Tyr used to sneak into Ring Nine to see me. What idiot would go deeper into Hell?” She gave a strangled laugh and wiped her cheek. “He told me of the fights.”

“I didn’t want this.”

“I know.” Maisa gave a soft, sad smile, before tentatively reaching for my shoulder. She squeezed it and spoke louder, the slight tremor lingering in her voice as it rose. “The fights have been around for centuries. It was only when Devil’s devotees found a shiny new gladiator that they became ravenous for blood.”

“He’s the ravenous one!” The mother shouted.

“You disgrace Tyr by holding this grudge, Mother.” Maisa countered. “Boss was only doing what all of us would have. Fighting to stay alive, for the hope that I would see my loved ones again.”

Murmurs of agreement flittered through the crowd. I looked around, my jaw clenched tight only so it wouldn’t fall open at the sight before me.

A rolling dune of trainees held fists over their hearts, showing respect to a worthless street urchin. I absentmindedly counted to a number I lost track of until my eyes met Kien’s, whose fists were curled under crossed arms. Emerald globes held my gaze with unflinching power as he nodded once, untangled his arms, and thumped his right fist against his chest.

I stumbled, my legs buckling at the hocks.

“I—I don’t—” I ran a hand through my hair, tracing my horn to the stump. I took a deep breath to stop my rambling stutter.

“For what it’s worth,” Maisa said, her voice pitched lower. “When you’re crowned, I will proudly bow to you.”

Shock ripped through me so hard I recoiled.

Pure terror followed when someone in the crowd cried, “Your Majesty!”

The whole group knelt in waves. All the heat fled my body, and it took a long moment to realize they were looking past me. I turned, jaw at the fucking ground, to see Searra approaching with a stray cart, a lilac mew in her arms. Even from a distance, I saw the emotion on her face and knew she’d heard every bit.

“No, no, please, stand up.” The crowd rose in ripples. “How is your father, Maisa?”

“Healing, so long as he stays put.” The trainee smiled. “Thanks to you, Your Majesty.”

Searra shook away the woman’s gratitude, her guilty conscience written all over her features, still crediting herself with her father’s failures instead of her success. “Help me with the weapons, would you please?”

Once each trainee was equipped with what they could handle—either a shield, a hilten, or their fists, depending on their strength levels and what training they’d undergone so far—they stood in rows outside the tent. I ran through a quick set of practicable drills.

“Your people are looking much improved,” Firefly mused.

“They’re your people,” I reminded her. “I only trained them.”

Her nose pinched ever so slightly. The weight of her role befuddled her to how well it suited her.

I bumped her shoulder. With one long, silent look, we grounded each other, until my feet fell back on solid ground and her soft smile no longer appeared forced.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

A young human man tripped on his feet, barreling toward us from the direction of the bridge.

“There—hawk—you—y-your majesty—grave danger!”

“Tartius, please catch your breath,” Searra said patiently, but the boy’s head whipped back and forth.

“No time! Devil! Devil!”