Ironhold, Trial One (Ironhold #1)

CHAPTER TEN

“ Swing lower, at the legs,” Rowan says.

A group of us are working out, training with the posts and with different weapons, each of us trying to find one that will suit us. The colosseum of Aetheria has its gladiators learn to fight in different ways that are both strange and spectacular, aiming to put on a show for the watching crowds, where its armies would probably just fight efficiently with sword, shield, and spear.

I am training with a net and trident. They feel strangely familiar in my hands, closer to the tools found in a fishing village than to the weapons of a soldier. I am forcing myself to use them, taking the advice of Rowan and Naia, knowing this I might not get a choice in any of this.

And against the posts, it is not so bad. I swing my net low, wrapping it around the base of the wooden post and yanking, knowing that in a fight the move would be designed to trip an opponent.

“Now thrust with the trident,” Rowan says.

I hold it ready but don't deliver that strike. It's all too easy to imagine a helpless opponent on the ground in front of me, my trident plunging home in their flesh. Even in my imagination, I can't quite bring myself to do it.

“You're still hesitating, Lyra,” Rowan says. “If you do that in a fight, it will give your opponents an opportunity.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” a young woman near Rowan says. She has flame-red hair and a muscular, athletic frame. She is practicing with two curved daggers, each shaped like a half moon and covering most of her fist. Her name is Zara, and I think she comes from the forests of the far west, out on the fringes of the empire. “She’ll do what she needs to do when the time comes.”

She sounds confident about that, but then, there is something ferocious about the way she moves with the daggers, slicing at the post again and again. She also has a series of glass vials looped on a slender belt that crosses her chest.

“What's in the vials?” I ask, grateful for the chance to avoid having to finish the attack that I’d begun.

She shrugs. “Water. That's my talent. I can control water. Which isn't much use if I'm in a dry arena, filled with sand, but the trainers say that if I carry some with me, I'll at least have a chance. And I'm going to take that chance.”

She seems determined, as if challenging the world to try to stop her. A young man darts in, snatching one of the vials before she can react. It's the same young man with spiky hair who was using illusions before in the training bouts.

“Finn, what do you think you're doing?” Zara demands.

He flashes a grin. “You can't use your water if you don't have it.”

“Oh, can't I?” she shoots back. She concentrates for a second, and the vial he's holding bursts, drenching him. It's a wonder that he isn't showered in glass. “Come on, Lyra. We need to work on your wrestling and close fighting. You should move and dodge, but if someone gets close, you need to know how to deal with it.”

I can do that at least, because it's not the same as learning to kill. We move through the basic grips and holds together, Zara showing me basic ways to break free if an opponent grabs me.

“But you need a stronger opponent than me to test this. Rowan?”

“What?” he says.

“Would you mind grabbing Lyra?”

He looks over to me. “Do you want me to?”

I nod. I need the practice. We move close to one another, and he grabs me, wrapping his arms around me, holding me tight to him so that I can feel the muscles of his chest against me. I tried to break his grip the way Zara showed me, but it isn't working. He is simply too strong.

“No, twist more,” she insists. “Like you mean it, Lyra. Unless you like being held in Rowan’s arms?”

In that moment I'm all too aware of Rowan’s proximity, of the scent of him, the solidity of his muscles. He looks briefly uncomfortable, and his grip loosens just a touch. It's all I need to break free.

“And this is where you would draw your dagger and stab him,” Zara says, as if it's nothing.

I have a wooden dagger by my side. I haven't thought about it so far, but now I can think about nothing else. About the fact that, although these people are becoming friends, there may come a point where I am pushed into fighting them. Where I am expected to kill one of them.

It's enough to make me step back, worried by the thought.

Even as I do it, another figure steps out onto the sands. I recognize Alaric, moving with grace and certainty. He takes a wooden sword and moves around one of the posts in a blur, striking it from every possible angle. Illusion follows him so that after a moment or two, it's as if there are three or four of him attacking the post. I can only imagine how confusing that would be for an opponent, not knowing which was real.

Finally, the images come back together and he turns my way with a short bow, clearly knowing that I was watching, and just as clearly enjoying that fact.

“You know Alaric Blackthorn?” Zara says.

“I've met him,” I reply.

He saunters over, every movement languid. “Lyra. I'm glad to see that you're recovered from your punishment. I hope you won't do anything so foolish again.”

“What does it matter to you?” Rowan asks. There's a hard note there in his voice, something protective of me but also something that obviously dislikes Alaric.

“Ah, I believe I’ve seen you before,” Alaric says. “Weren’t you standing at the beck and call of Lady Tyra? And yet now you're here? You must not have satisfied her sufficiently.”

I can feel the tension between the two increasing and so I step between them.

“I'm fine, Alaric,” I say. “Thank you for checking on me.”

“I'm not just checking in,” Alaric says. “Although looking you over is always a delight. I came to give you a warning.”

“What warning?” I ask, doing my best to ignore the rest of it. It seems that Alaric is determined to poke and prod at me, seeing what kind of reaction he can get. Is that his idea of fun?

“I was talking with Vex. He was telling me how he's been picked as the one to fight you next. A bout with live blades, and if you don't fight back this time, he's decided he will kill you. Eventually. He does like to play with his prey.”

“Lyra is no one’s prey,” Rowan snaps back.

Alaric laughs. “In this place? We are all prey unless we learn to be predators. I trust that my warning will allow Lyra to become the latter. Oh, and Vex has a weakness on his left side when he throws his daggers. You may be able to take advantage of it. I hope you will. You're far too interesting to lose too soon.”

He stalks away, leaving me to contemplate everything he said.

“We should get back to practicing,” Rowan says. “If this is true, you need to prepare.”

I wave that away though. “I need to think.”

And when I need to think I go to one place now. I head to the kitchens, snatching a couple of morsels of food, then head for the depths of the fortress and the waiting beast pens. As I enter, I can feel the presence of all the creatures there, so many of them crammed into such a small space. Some of them are trained, some are still almost wild. In the case of a few of the more monstrous ones, they are barely contained.

I head over to where Stefano is waiting near the shadow cat. He looks up as I approach. “I knew you were coming. The cat started to respond as soon as you were close.”

The shadow cat is currently laying on its side, as if it is a tiny kitten rather than some great cat. It lets me reach out to run my fingers through its fur, and I feed it the morsels of food I have acquired. It licks my fingers clean, its tongue rough.

I can feel that it is almost recovered, thanks largely to Stefano's efforts. It pushes its weight against me, as if it might cuddle close to me, but it is big enough that the movement almost knocks me over.

“I don't think I've ever seen someone bond with these creatures so quickly,” Stephano says. “You really do have a talent there, girl. Maybe I can talk to Lord Darius. Maybe I can get him to assign you to the beast pits.”

That's a comforting thought but I know it's not a realistic one.

“I've already been told I have a bout against one of the high-born gladiators here,” I say. “Vex.”

I see Stefano wince at that. “They've decided to make an example of you?”

I nod, because I can't think of any other way to see it. They're throwing me in against Vex to die, because I know he won't stop short of that. If it were another gladiator, maybe it would be enough for me to just fight them, but Vex doesn't like me anyway. Unless he's stopped, he'll kill me.

Is that to be my fate? Is today to be my last day of life? If so, I’m glad I get to spend some of it with the shadow cat. It purrs with me close to it, and I put my head against its chest, feeling the rumble of its breathing.

This is all happening too quickly. I have been snatched from my home, thrown into this place and now, tomorrow, I’m going to die, unless I somehow pick up my weapons and defeat a trained, skilled, noble gladiator.