My fingers dig into the scar that runs from the bottom of my ear to the top of my shoulder. I wish I could tear it out of my flesh. How many falsehoods did she etch into my skin? How many lies parade as truths? Did my mother lie about the Zhyrrak? Or was she just as lost as I am? I cannot know. I will never know. She is gone, and I will never get the answers I need.
I feel the cold weight of the blade she placed in my hand that day as if it were still there. The sun-warmed sand beneath my feet, diffusing the scent of sweat into the air. Leaves rustling in the cool breeze overhead. My mother’s steady footfalls as she stalked a circle around me, daring me to strike. I was young, barely the height of her shoulder, but I was already scarred. Already fearless. Already a warrior.
Xelora’s eyes found me that day. She watched from the shadows with a look of confusion as my mother began to speak.
“You are a prince of Vhorath,” my mother said, swinging her blade lazily at her side. “Dreaming of impossible things is for fools, not kings.”
Her blade nicked my forearm. I did not flinch. I focused. Even as blood streaked my arm and settled into my palm. Even as the grip of my blade grew slick. I was a warrior, and Xelora was watching.
Never stop. Never slow.
“The Zhyrrak is dead, but you are not,” my mother continued. “You are meant to be king of a vast empire, and you will not allow yourheartto dictate your rule.” She spat the word ‘heart’ like it was a curse. “Discipline and control, Vexar.”
I dodged her next strike, but not her next words.
“You will not give in to petty emotions or love. Emotion serves no purpose, and you will not let it control you. You will learn these lessons and obey them. You will become the king weneed. Strong. Imperious. Honorable. You will lead our people and you will be feared.”
Xelora reached out towards me, a pleading look in her eyes. But she could not save me then any more than she can save me now.
I did not want to be feared. I wanted to tell my mother, “No”, but my focus slipped, her words became permanent, and Xelora disappeared as my blood pooled in the sand. And yet, even now, Xelora’s eyes burn into my back as she waits for me to choose.
My mother lied. While I cannot know if she lied about the Zhyrrak, it is clear she lied about many things, and the realization chips away a little more of my resolve. She lied about the slave trade and the Tusku ships. About her relationship with Gaius. About the Obligation and the brutality of it. About her health. About my father.
A sickening feeling washes over me. Is Amara right? Am I not the king they wanted me to be? My mother always wanted me to be feared, and yet, I am not. I refused to do the things she asked of me. I refused to play her games and paint myself as a monster.
The ache in my side grows. Is it possible that my mother …? I swallow the lump in my throat. No. She would not. But Gaius would. Gaiusdid.
A new terror surfaces. Is there more I have missed? More I have ignored? I cannot afford any more errors. The gods have entrusted me with something precious, and I cannot allow it to be destroyed. I must protect her.
My eyes catch on Amara’s pale feet, dangling so close to the floor that has already harmed her once, and my focus shifts. I drop to my knees and slide forward until my legs are beneath her feet, guarding them from the stone below. I do not meet her gaze or touch her. I just allow myself to be a barrier. She may not need my protection, but I give it anyway, and in return, her surprise turns to gratitude. She is glad I am here. Glad I have not turned from her.
“I am sorry,” I whisper.
Her fingers ghost over my jaw, and I tremble as our connection broadens. There is no condemnation or fear in her heart. Only openness. An embrace of my entire being. The light. The dark. The kind and the cruel. The mistakes and the victories.
She cradles the back of my neck as my hands find her hips, and my cheek settles on her thighs.
Time slows. Sand whispers over the dunes outside. Stone crumbles beneath my knees. The thread between us tightens. And a new, darker reality consumes the old. A reality where I have far fewer allies than I thought.
I am not sure how much time passes, but I am not alone. Amara is here—the only person who exists outside the structures of everything I have ever known; outside my mother’s lies. And yet, my first reaction was to distrust Amara’s words. To distrust the one person who cannot lie to me.
“I am sorry,” I whisper again as I run my thumbs over her soft skin.
Her emotions slip through me, unguarded and unfiltered. I feel every thought, every fear, every desire as it moves through her mind. With her, I do not have to guess; the truth is clear.
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” she says as her fingers slide through my hair and over my scalp.
“I do.” I take a breath. “I yelled at you. I failed you. And I do not want you to fear me.”
“You think I’m scared of you?”
The image of her terror as I demanded she ‘let me in’ flashes through my mind and sends a stabbing pain through my heart. “I saw the fear in your eyes.”
“I wasn’t scared ofyou. I was scared of the way you were looking at me. It was like you didn’t see me at all. Like you were looking at an enemy.”
Needing to see her face, I lean back and lift my head from her lap.
The dark eyes of Xelora burn into me. Watchful. Expectant. Then Amara speaks. “I don’t want to be your enemy, but I will be if that’s what it takes to finish Gaius and free everyone in bondage here.” Her expression is hard and domineering. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t stop with the Coliseum. But it’s not up to me.” She tilts her head to the side. “It’s up to you.”
