Rise of a Fallen Man (A Look in the Mirror #2)

Chapter 6

Ari

T he Royal Gladiators’ Arena was filled to the brim with spectators, like always. What was happening in it, however, was not typical.

Instead of its usual elaborate settings filled with obstacles and traps for gladiators to overcome, hurdles had been placed at even intervals for horses to jump over. A long rail marked the jousting area. And instead of the beefy gladiators in their fantastic outfits, three fashionably dressed princes trotted gracefully on horseback.

“Ari, dearest, just look at them.” Mother waved with her silk fan at the three riders circling the arena. The three princes paraded for the audience, their long decorative spears raised in the air. “So much class and elegance in their postures. Don’t you think?”

“Absolutely, Mother. All three have class and elegance in spades.”

The weather was cloudy today, finally providing some relief from the summer heat of late. However, Mother’s dark satin gown still seemed too hot for the occasion, prompting her to work her fan relentlessly.

“Do you feel any preference for any of the three?” Mother asked. “I’m not trying to push you into deciding on the spot, of course. You do have time. But I haven’t noticed you leaning toward any of the princes yet. Do you feel any pull at all, however slight it may be?”

It’d been three weeks since the princes’ arrival to Rorrim. In that time, Mother had held plenty of balls and parades in their honor. Every day had been packed with events and festivities. The usual council sessions had been put on hold, replaced by quick briefings with the queen for the most necessary discussions and decisions.

The influx of people to Egami had been disrupting the routine of the city dwellers. But there was also excitement in the air, both in the city and in the arena right now. The crowd shouted and clapped as the princes made their horses jump over the various hurdles erected for that reason.

So far, there hadn’t been any “pull” on my part, however. Not at the slightest.

“Do you not have any preference at all?” Mother insisted.

“I already told you my preference, Your Majesty.”

She sighed. “Yes, I know. You decided on Prince Leafar. But that was before you even met any of them. You made that decision based solely on the dowry agreements. I’ve been hoping that after you’ve spent some time with the princes and gotten to know them, you will form a connection with one of them.”

So far, there had been no connections formed. I’d met all three princes together and individually. I’d danced at the balls with them and had a few conversations with each. They all acted appropriately and said all the right things, with nothing particularly standing out for me to like or dislike.

“I see no reason to change my decision, Mother. Prince Leafar will make a fine king consort for Rorrim.”

“And for you?” She tilted her head to get a better look at my face. “Don’t forget, you’re not doing it only for Rorrim. The man you’ll choose will also be your husband and eventually the father of your children.”

I inhaled deeply, curling my fingers around the carved armrests of my brocade upholstered chair on the royal platform.

Accepting my upcoming marriage as my duty was one thing, but sharing my bed with one of the princes, touching him, kissing him, having sex with him, and ultimately starting a family with him... That was a whole other undertaking that felt like an unwelcome chore at best.

I intended to postpone the intimacy between us for as long as possible. Hopefully, I could drag out the period of getting to know each other until I’d grown used to having a husband and he’d also grown a little older too. Maybe after having been married for a while, we’d grow closer, find many things in common, and the intimacy between us would come naturally at some point. At least, that was my hope.

The crowd clapped enthusiastically as Prince Leafar’s horse cleared a piece of a fence painted green to look like a hedge. I clapped too, keeping the mandatory smile on my face.

This was the second tournament where the princes had gotten a chance to display their horse-riding prowess. Prince Elbon had very narrowly won the last one. And this time, Prince Leafar seemed to have a lead, though I couldn’t say for sure since I hadn’t been paying attention or keeping the score.

The gloomy weather and, frankly, not that much action on the arena invited sleepiness, forcing me to fight to keep my eyes open. The princes pranced on their horses politely, neatly jumping over the pretty obstacles in the exact same way they had done it the last time.

Thankfully, the crowd cheered, having a great time, its enthusiasm likely fueled by the free meat pies and fruit wine served to the spectators at the crown’s expense.

Finally, the tournament ended, with Prince Leafar being declared the winner this time. He received a white sash over his shoulder and a diamond-studded ribbon. As a part of his prize, he also got to sit on my right for today’s gladiator games.

As he climbed up the stairs to the royal platform, his cheeks rosy and his blue eyes shining with excitement, my smile turned genuine. It proved impossible not to share his joy.

Mother folded her fan, put it on her lap, and clapped her hands. “Congratulations, Prince Leafar. Well done.”

He gave her a deep bow, then took a knee in front of my chair.

“Congratulations,” I said sincerely.

He looked elated and so proud of himself, it was hard not to feel his excitement.

“Your Highness,” he said, placing his winner’s ribbon at my feet. “From now on, all my victories belong to you. Everything I achieve, I do for you and in your name only.”

“I’m flattered and eternally grateful, my prince.” I accepted the ribbon because doing otherwise would be rude and even cruel. “Please, sit with me.” I gestured at the armchair on my right.

He took the seat, beaming with pride.

“You are an excellent rider,” I said.

The blush deepened on his clean-shaven cheeks.

“Thank you. I’ve been riding since I was two.”

“Two? That young?”

“I started with a pony, of course. It’s a mount of an appropriate size for that age.”

“Still, it’s impressive.”

Prince Leafar was undoubtedly lovable. It should be entirely possible to fall in love with him. Maybe I just hadn’t tried hard enough?

I smiled at him again, making an effort for the smile to look warm and gentle.

The crowd exploded with a sudden burst of excitement, bringing my attention back to the arena. It had been cleared from the hurdles. And now, a procession of gladiators entered it.

All my best intentions in regard to Prince Leafar momentarily evaporated. Instead, I found myself searching the arena for the man I’d promised to stay away from.

Among the guards carrying the queen’s standard, the marching band of musicians, and even among the colorful group of the tall and well-muscled gladiators, Salas would be easy to spot. He usually towered over both men and beasts.

During the past two games, I’d caught glimpses of him here and there. He’d been a part of several group battles. Though, he’d seemed to hold back and stay out of the spotlight to keep the crowd’s attention on the well-known stars of the games.

Today, he was nowhere to be seen at all, not even in the opening parade that all gladiators usually took part in.

A tendril of worry slipped into my chest. Why was he left out of the games this week? Had he been hurt? Or did he displease the games master in some way? As the conductor of the queendom’s most popular and beloved games, the games master held a power that rivaled that of an army general. If crossed, she could make a formidable enemy with plenty of means at her disposal to ruin a man’s life.

I racked my brain about how to find out what happened to Salas. I had no direct contact with the gladiators’ quarters. Gem had not been forthcoming with any information about him. Understandably so, she was still upset with me about the way I’d forced her to become his official benefactor.

I watched the first battle restlessly, as if sitting on pins and needles. Falo, one of the newer gladiators, took the spotlight on the arena. From the day he joined the games a couple of months ago, he’d quickly become the crowd’s favorite.

Dressed in a spectacular outfit of golden armor and white feathers, he channeled the God Yarnus, the only son of the Great Goddess Nus. His performance was based on one of the legends about the goddess’s children freeing our land from bloodthirsty beasts and monsters for the people of Rorrim to live in peace and prosperity ever since.

The music intensified as Falo reached the center of the arena. The drum beat grew faster. The crowd stilled in anticipation.

Wide golden pillars rose from the ground. Falo jumped onto one of them just in time as scorching hot lava spread through the arena. It melted the sand. White smoke rose into the air with a sinister hiss.

I gripped the armrests of my chair, my attention now fully focused on what was happening in the arena. Rumor had it that the games master employed dark warlocks to create the magical effects for the games. She had never denied or confirmed that, vigorously guarding all her secrets.

The skill and magic of healing witches was honored and celebrated. The wizardry of warlocks, however, was feared and forbidden, forcing them to practice their dark craft in secret. Collaborating with warlocks had consequences. Only someone as powerful as the games master could get away with it. All for the entertainment of the masses.

The golden pillars kept moving, sliding in and out from the floor of the arena and constantly changing their height. The one that Falo stood on slid down. The glowing red lava licked over its top, nearly scorching the gladiator’s boots. He leaped up into the air, then landed on another pillar. The moment his feet connected with it, however, this one started moving down too.

Taking the coil of golden rope from his belt, Falo tossed it toward the next pillar. The rope uncoiled in the air. Its end caught the top of the pillar in a noose. Falo jumped, nearly losing his footing as the pillar he’d stood on completely submerged into the liquid fire. Swinging on his golden rope, he reached the next pillar, then climbed on its top.

I released a breath, allowing myself to be deceived into believing he was safe now when I should’ve known better.

Battle cries ripped through the air, coming from all around the arena. Dressed as savage cannibals, men rushed to Falo from all sides. They jumped from pillar to pillar, closing in.

He evaded the first attacker by leaping away. The second man rushed Falo. The gladiator punched him in the chest, almost losing his balance, before jumping to the next pillar.

Hopping from pillar to pillar, Falo tried to escape. But there were just too many of his attackers closing in on him from all sides.

I watched with bated breath, fearful of what might happen next. I’d never spoken to Falo, never even came close enough to shake his hand, but I rooted for him fiercely at that moment.

He drew his sword and stabbed through the chest of the man who’d blocked his escape. The man howled in pain, losing his footing as Falo shoved him off the pillar and into the fiery hell below.

He killed three more of his attackers before the cannibals finally retreated. Flames flared in long, sparking licks as the river of lava swallowed the fallen men. The crowd gasped. Smoke rose from the lava like a thick black cloud, shrouding the arena.

The music blasted anew. As the smoke slowly settled down, Falo emerged. Standing on the tallest pillar in the center of the arena, he raised his sword high and released a triumphant cry of victory.

The lava receded with a defeated hiss, leaving the scorched black ground in its wake. The golden pillars slipped back into the floor and out of sight, save for the one that our hero stood on. Chains rattled, pulling long wagons filled with sand across the entire arena. The back walls of the wagons opened, spreading fresh white sand to cover the devastation caused by the lava.

The crowd erupted into applause and cheers so loud, it sounded like a wave of explosion rolling through the arena. Women tossed bouquets of flowers with jewels and other gifts tied to their stems. They landed on the freshly spread sand to be picked up by the arena helpers and laid at Falo’s feet.

I unclenched my fingers from around the armrests and leaned back in my chair.

“That was intense,” I exhaled.

“Rather barbaric.” Mother flinched, vigorously working her fan again.

I wished to believe with all my heart that the men whom Falo had sent into the river of fire were alive and well. It was all a show after all. The danger looked so real, but that was what made the games so exciting.

“Why do it then?” I asked the queen. “Why have the games at all? The crown is the owner and the biggest supporter of them.”

“Well, look at the crowd, my dear.” Mother waved her fan at the rows that were filled to the brim, with not a single vacant seat left among them. “People are drawn to violence. Sadly, it is a part of our nature. Isn’t it best to satisfy their craving here, in the environment we can control, than let it spill into the streets where innocents may suffer?”

The real question was why were people drawn to violence in the first place? What excited us about watching men put their lives in danger? Why did we so easily accept that they might get hurt or even die for our entertainment? The crowd in the arena didn’t just accept it, they demanded that thrill.

I had no answer to that. No explanation.

“I suppose it is, Mother,” was all I said.

If Prince Leafar overheard our conversation, he didn’t show it. The prince remained silent, as a well-raised man would when women talked in his presence.

Once all the flowers had been picked up and Falo finally left, followed by screams from the adoring crowd, the games master entered the arena.

She walked toward its center, her hips swaying in her wide skirt of multi-colored ruffles. The hem of the skirt reached the top of her short beige boots with kitten heels and floral embroidery on the side. A wide frill of her blouse draped around her bare shoulders, and a bright scarf was tied around her head with its long, fringed ends hanging down her back. A black coiled whip was clipped to her belt, and she carried a hollowed, varnished rhino horn in her hand.

Two gladiators followed the games master. Neither of them was Salas, I noted with a pinch of disappointment. When she stopped, the gladiators crouched down on each side of her. Hugging her legs, they lifted her to sit on their shoulders.

The games master raised the rhino horn to her mouth.

“And that was our very own Yarnus, son of the Great Goddess Nus! Against all odds, he lives on!” Amplified by the horn, her voice reached far and wide.

The crowd caught her words and sent them high into the sky. The whole of Egami must have heard the thunder of support for Falo. The games master smiled triumphantly, soaking up their delight.

“But that’s not all, people of Egami. We have a mind-blowing surprise for you today!” she continued.

At that promise, the crowd’s enthusiasm leaped into a near hysterical. They clapped their hands and stomped their feet, bursting with frantic anticipation.

As the games master spoke, the two gladiators rotated slowly, making sure her words spread around the arena.

“My boys trapped a different kind of beast for you,” the games master announced.

A trap door opened in the floor of the arena, and a cage with bars as thick as my arms slowly rose to the surface.

“He comes from the high mountains where he wrestled bears before breakfast and hunted cliff goats for dinner. He drinks nothing but freezing glacial water and wears the fur of the animals he devoured. Ladies and gentlemen!” The games master threw her free arm up in the air dramatically. “I present to you the Mountain Bear!”

The cage was fully up now. It rotated on its platform, displaying the creature inside that truly looked like a beast.

It took a moment for the recognition to slam into me.

Salas!

A long, thick cape of ragged bear skins concealed his back. His helmet had been fitted with a row of chipped and broken animal tasks. Instead of pants, several layers of torn fabric were wound around his hips. On the left, the rags reached below his knee. On the right, they were shorter, leaving the scar from the burn on his thigh exposed.

The scar was a mark of the tragic night he told me about in private. Now, it had become a part of his costume, displayed for all to see.

“Behold the feral beast!” the games master shouted.

The gladiators set her down again. Then all three of them ran off the arena as more trap doors opened and more props rose to the surface.

Piles of rocks, tall trees, and sharp cliffs appeared from under the arena, quickly making the space look like a wild mountainside. There was even a real waterfall of “glacial water” that Salas supposedly drank.

From around the arena, cages clanked open, releasing brown mountain bears and white snow lions. They prowled the arena, sniffing the ground and climbing the trees.

Gripping the bars of his cage, Salas tossed his head back and roared. His deep voice needed no amplifier. It rolled out into the audience, met with their delighted shouts and applause.

Worry pulsed inside me. Was it all an act? Or did the games master do something to Salas? How did she turn the gentle, caring man I’d gotten to know into the wild beast I could hardly recognize now? Or was that wild, unhinged part in him all along? Had he just never let me see it before?

The bars of his roofless cage slid down into the floor, leaving him exposed to the predators prowling in the arena. Men, dressed like hunters, appeared from the fringes of the arena. They held weapons and carried nets and metal traps, closing in on the area where the cage used to stand.

Salas dropped into a crouch, carefully scanning his surroundings.

I gripped my armrests so tightly, my fingers cramped.

“He looks old for a new gladiator,” Prince Leafar suddenly remarked.

“It may be the beard and all that rugged look they’re going for that ages him,” Mother replied casually. “The games master loves the details. Look at that gnarly scar they painted on him. Though you’re right, he must be well past his teens to amass all that bulk.”

I forced the air in and out of my lungs in even, measured breaths. Yes, Salas was well past his teens. His age was not a disguise or a part of his costume. His scar was also real.

How did he feel about being dressed like that and put on display? A man who’d been hiding from attention for years was suddenly thrust into the spotlight in front of thousands. And he had no one to blame for that change in his life but me.

Salas snarled and ran in a crouch toward the closest pile of rocks.

Two hunters leaped at him from behind the cliff. Spreading the net between them, they tossed it over Salas and trapped him.

He roared and clawed at the net, but its ropes held, digging into the bearskin on his shoulders. The hunters pulled on the ends, wrapping him tighter into the trap.

The crowd booed and cheered at once, either delighted for the hunters or disappointed by how easily they had trapped “the beast.”

With a gargantuan effort, Salas rose to his feet. The muscles in his neck and arms bulged. Gripping the net, he spun around. The net twirled, knocking the hunters off their feet. They wouldn’t let go of the net, however. As Salas turned faster and faster, the hunters spun around, holding on to the net and screaming for their lives.

The audience burst with laughter, thrilled by the spectacle. The hunters finally let go of the net. Blown away by the force of Salas’s spinning, they rolled along the ground, stopping only by the rocks and the shrubs.

Salas tossed the net aside, then grabbed a giant boulder. He raised it over his head, stomping toward the closest hunter.

I held my breath. Would he attack the man? Would he kill him? The boulder was big enough to crush a skull.

As he passed a rocky cliff, a snow-white lion leaped onto his shoulders from above. Salas dropped to the ground under the weight of the beast, the boulder rolling away from him.

Judging by the shock on the hunters’ faces, I feared that the animal attack was unscripted. Worry speared through me. I glanced around the arena, searching for someone to help. But no help was coming to Salas from anywhere. The hunters climbed to their feet, but they wouldn’t come any closer.

The lion tore at the bearskin cape, lumps of fur flying in every direction. Its massive paws dug for the flesh beneath.

“Where is the games master? Can anyone help?” I whispered, afraid to breathe and unable to tear my gaze away from the man and the lion.

Salas struggled to get up with the beast on his shoulders. He swung the bearskin cape off, tossing it aside. The lion rolled in the sand, trapping itself in the hide. Salas staggered behind the rocks where another predator lurked.

A giant mountain bear rose on its hind legs, sniffing the air. At the sight of Salas, it roared and lurched forward.

Salas sprang backwards to where the lion had freed itself from the hide. The bear dropped to all four and charged the man. In two long leaps, it caught up with Salas and landed on his chest, crushing the man under its massive bulk.

My heart leaped to my throat.

This was no longer a game.

“Stop this!” I yelled.

But my voice was lost as the crowd screamed and roared, going wild like beasts themselves.

The bear and the man rolled on the ground in a giant ball of fur and limbs. The hunters finally ran closer but could do nothing but watch. The bodies of the beast and the man had intertwined so tightly, it was hard to tell them apart.

A bright streak of blood painted the white sand of the arena, and my insides froze. All sounds suddenly seemed suspended in the air as my heart leaped high with terror.

Was Salas hurt?

I jumped to my feet.

“Your Highness?” Prince Leafar blinked at me from his chair before remembering the etiquette and getting up too.

Mother placed a soothing hand on my wrist. “Ari, darling, I’m sure the games master has it all under control.”

Shaking with panic, I was ready to run down to the arena.

And do what?

Fight that bear off Salas?

The most incredible thing was that I would. I would fight the bear to save that man’s life.

“The princess rarely comes to the games,” Mother tried to explain to Prince Leafar my frazzled state. “She’s unused to such a graphic display of brutality.”

“Understandable,” Prince Leafar replied uncertainly.

Salas slid to the back of the bear and circled the predator with his arms while pinning it down with his legs. His arm muscles bulged out. He growled, baring his teeth, his whole body shaking. The bear roared, but the sound trailed off to growl before dying out completely. The bear’s body slackened. Salas dropped his arms away from the animal, then rolled aside and heavily climbed to his feet.

Alive!

He was alive.

Air rushed out of me. My bones seemed to turn to mash with relief, sending me back into my chair.

With a triumphant roar, Salas raised his arms high, and the crowd went wild. They jumped off their seats, clapped their hands, and stomped their feet, cheering and yelling so loud no other sound could penetrate that noise.

Salas’s left arm was painted red with blood. It dripped into the sand in thick steady drops, but no one seemed to notice it, not even Salas himself.

The bear’s paws jerked as the arena helpers loaded the unconscious animal onto a wheelbarrow and rolled it away promptly.

The courtiers in the rows below the royal platform clapped excitedly. Gem lowered her head toward another woman. Both nodded and gestured at Salas.

I knew the court ladies usually went to the gladiators’ quarters after the games. Gem still refused to talk to me outside of the requirements of her job, but I could send someone to enquire about the health of the new gladiator. No one would question my concern after I’d witnessed him getting hurt. But it wouldn’t be enough. I had to see him.

As the crowd finally calmed a little, the games continued. Only I barely watched any of it, waiting for it to be over.

When the show finally ended, and it was our turn to leave, I approached Gem on my way out.

“I’m coming with you,” I said to her quietly but firmly, not leaving her a single chance to protest. “I’ll wait in your carriage.”