“We’re not your friends,” he told me blatantly.
“Your hand is on my leg,” I shot back, not even missing a beat.
They were so my friends.
On my other side, Siret snorted on a laugh.
Rome didn’t look at his hand—which apparently had a mind of its own—but I could feel his fingers tightening. They could reach all the way around my leg, his fingers brushing on the other side. If he squeezed, everything from the knee down would probably pop right off.
“Enemies don’t put their hands on their enemies’ legs,” I pushed, holding his stare.
His jaw shifted, like he was grinding his teeth. I tried to edge my leg out from beneath his death-grip, but it only tightened further, pulling until I was dragged across the seat and pressed right up against his body.
“I never said that we were enemies,” he finally answered. “We’re just not friends.”
Okay, so he was annoyed about the fact that my sneaky little soul had kind of chained itself to his. I could understand that. I mean, friends were supposed to have boundaries. That definitely crossed a line.
“Kay.” I nodded, leaning my head against his arm—which was about as comfortable as a rock. If he was going to force me to sit on the edge of my seat, he might as well give me something to lean against.
He grumbled as I turned back to watch the other contestant finally emerge from the room below the arena. He was a big guy, dragging an even bigger sword behind him. When he drew near Yael, he looked pissed. Probably because they were forcing him to fight Yael. I’d be pissed too. He raised his sword as the gong sounded, and then tried to strike before Yael could speak, but it was no use. In half a click, he was laying the sword back down and stripping off his clothes. He ran toward the barrier, climbed over, and started running naked through the rows of laughing sols. Eventually, he ran right into a wooden post, and then fell down, unconscious. Apparently, Yael had grown tired of humiliating him.
The gathered sols cheered and laughed, louder than they had for any other fight, and Yael smirked, delivering them a bow before walking back to us.
“I’ll be next,” Siret predicted, as Yael pulled himself over the barrier and flopped carelessly down into Rome’s old seat.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“They always pick us like this. Aros first, to test the waters. If Aros doesn’t use his gift, they pick Yael. If Yael takes too long to end his fight, they pick me. If my fight isn’t arealfight, they pick Coen. If Coen doesn’t kill his opponent, they pick Rome. If Rome doesn’t draw blood, they do it all over again. One of us after another until they get what they want.”
I blinked, looking from one of their faces to the other. They all looked kind of angry, but tired at the same time. Resigned to the fact. They couldn’t disobey the gods on everything, it seemed. Otherwise they wouldn’t have even walked into the arena that morning.
Thirteen
Siret was right. The gods were apparently the predictable sort of assholes in that they liked the same torture over and over again. Siret didn’t bother with trickery in his fight. He smashed his fist through the face of a lean, dark-haired sol, rendering him unconscious with one blow. There was not an iota of expression on his face as he stared up at the glassed box of gods, and I wondered if he knew who was there this moon-cycle. Which god had bothered to come and view the arena battles. Which god was requesting him, and scowling when he didn’t deliver what was expected.
I supposed it didn’t really matter. Unless it was Rau. I would have liked to get my hands on him, except that he would probably hit me with another curse and I’d turn into a rodent, and then my little rodent soul would explode and attach onto a bunch more people. It would be better if Rome got his hands on Rau. He had huge hands, hopefully he’d be able to just crush the god into dust.
“Heavy thoughts there, Rocks.” I’d missed Siret making his way across the arena and back into the seat beside me.
“How do you kill a god?” I blurted out, and in a flash Siret’s hand was across my mouth. He leaned in very close until his lips were almost touching the hand wrapped around my face.
“Don’t provoke them, don’t think about killing them. They’ll destroy you without thought. You leave Rau to us; we’ll deal with his chaos.”
My reply was mumbled against his skin, my tongue flicking out to wet my lips before I remembered that was impossible. I kind of licked his hand instead. Siret’s eyes went this stormy green colour as he slowly slid the hand from my mouth and let it curve around the back of my neck.
“How the hell have you stayed alive this long?” he asked.
I shrugged, trying to catch my breath. “No idea, it’s been a rough road.”
I heard his muttered, “I’ll bet,” before he turned back to watch the next round of battles. Coen’s name flashed up in the fire sign. No surprise there. The real surprise was in the next name to flash up.
Willa Knight – dweller.
I always did want to see my name in lights, but not exactly like this. I think it took me a few clicks to register that my name had appeared on the arena board. The Gamemaster, along with most of the crowd, were all staring at the fiery sign, completely dumbfounded.
“Well, looks like the gods decided to play a different game this moon-cycle,” Siret noted. He looked like he didn’t know whether to be angry, or amused. He settled on cringing.
Coen was sitting as still as anything in his chair. My frantic eyes searched him out, hoping he would have some answers about making this work. Finally, he turned to face me, and I wasn’t sure what to make of his blank gaze. He got to his feet and in one leap was over the barrier, landing in the arena below.
