“What is with this slave?” Scorpius asks absently as though he’s hoping the answer will form in the air all around us, subsequently freeing us from her strange allure.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to answer, but I hold back. I don’t think that he’s ready to hear the truth yet. Scorpius has always been too analytical. His best laid plans have best laid plans. He analyzes things from every possible angle, andthenhe attacks. He’s not there yet. Skull wants to fuck her, but I can tell he thinks once he scratches that itch, he’ll be all set to move right along. He doesn’t see it yet either, even though he’s usually more intuitive than that.
This girl, this Slave, is one of us. She’s not like the stock we usually see Tilleo churn out of his ludere. He hasn’t broken her. He hasn’t turned her into a mindless killer for hire. She kills. She probably even enjoys it when the circumstances are right, like with the guard in the cellar, but there’s more there. There’s a drive to right wrongs, to punish the deserving. She has a need to restore balance.
Scorpius said we’re not bringing home any pets, but I don’t think it will take long for him to discover what I already have. She’s ours. She’s just waiting to be claimed, and I can’t wait to put our mark all over her.
“Where are you going?” Scorpius asks as I move back toward the tent’s entrance.
“I’m going to deal with the body she left behind. I don’t want anyone tracing her to it or the fact that she used your blade to end him,” I call over my shoulder before I push the flap of the tent aside and step back out into the surprisingly crisp desert air.
Scorpions always have each other’s back. Skull and Scorpius may not know it yet, but our watch begins now.
ChapterEleven
AUSET
“Sit still, you little shit.”
Wilik slaps the side of my face as she jerks my head around by the strands of hair gripped in her hands. I grit my teeth but say nothing as I continue to sit as still as a stone, just like always. Wilik always takes her frustrations out on us, but this morning it’s extra hard not to turn around and slap her back. It’s not my fault that Tilleo ordered a complicated set of braids for all of the female blade slaves today. It’s the beginning of our tests, and he has expectations for how we’re to look and be presented.
My head is yanked to the side again, and I start to debate how mad Figg will get if I get blood on my cream tunic so soon. The garnet-colored leather pants I’m wearing would hide the stains, but the gauzy, sleeveless top isn’t going to fare so well. Deciding it’s best not to piss off the two slaves I’m still dependent on for a few more days, I only grunt irritably when Wilik threatens to rip out my hair as she puts the final painful finishing touches on the single braid left to do on my head.
I quickly stand before she can kick the stool out from under me, and hurry out of the room before my newly broken sense of self-preservation comes out to play and gets me in even more trouble than I already am. I wish I could say I barely slept last night for fear that I’d wake to a blade being held at my throat while a skeleton loomed menacingly over me. Or because an alarm had sounded at the discovery of Crit’s body in the wine cellar. Oddly, I slept hard, like I hadn’t a care in the world. Surprisingly, neither dagger to the throat or a call to arms occurred last night.
This morning though, all I can seem to feel is concern over my total lack of concern when it comes to everything that’s happening. It dawned on me last night that there’s a possibility that Tilleo is fucking with me. I’ve sifted through his vague instructions over and over again, and as sure as I was that he’d just set me up for failure, there’s now a part of me, a small part but a part nonetheless, that wonders if this is all some trick, some kind of conniving game? I don’t think it is, but I’ve been wrong about his motivations before.
“Blade slaves to the pit in ten minutes,” a guard calls out, his booming instructions echoing off the walls all around me.
I run my hands over the thin material of my top, smoothing it down for reasons that elude me. It will probably be wrinkled, torn, and stained crimson by the day’s end. A sad fact, because it’s the second softest thing I’ve ever worn. I fall in behind Kin and Paryn, who are stoically making their way down to the pits of sand located directly in the center of the ludere. Other blade slaves join our shuffle, all of us ambling toward the place where we’ve spent most of our time at the ludere training.
As I step into the open space of the largest pit, I notice red fabric draped and rippling over the railings of the walkways on the floor stacked above us. Someone has gone through the effort to make this inner circle of sand and brutality feel more elegant and brighter. It makes me want to rip the decorations down and burn them for the lie that they are.
It’s early morning, but the sand is already radiating heat, and I can tell it’s going to be a scorching, miserable day. Bright beams of sun slice through the opening above us, and there’s not a cloud in the brilliant sky. I want to groan at the endless blue, ask it why it has to be such a shit and chase the fluffy white protectors away all the time, but what’s the use? The sky above us hates us as much as the sand below, and both can get in line behind the masters and the other blade slaves.
All the male blade slaves stand shoulder to shoulder on the right and females to the left. I quickly find my place. My line of sight of the pit clears as we all fall into formation, which is when I get my first peek at the tall thick posts that have been driven into the sand in front of us. My stomach drops and I immediately know what is about to happen. I’ve seen it before and experienced it once, but usually it’s reserved for punishment and the posts are dug in outside the ludere.
Risers have been set up on one side of the pit. Velvet cushions are placed atop the wooden benches, and I’m instantly vexed over the show we’re going to be expected to put on for the Order members. I knew we were going to be tested, but I thought they’d put us through forms, demand to see our skill with various weapons, and then watch us fight hand-to-hand.Thisis a different level of jumping through hoops.
A whip cracks and all thoughts of masters that deserve to suffer and evil cloudless skies fall from my mind like boulders down a steep ravine. I stare straight ahead, body stiff and mind ready and waiting to be commanded. Master Chen stands in front of us on the other side of the field of poles, his body and eyes mirroring ours.
Excited chatter slowly reaches the pit, and we’re forced to wait for Tilleo and the accompanying Order members to appear. In no rush, they languidly find seats on the risers where large umbrellas are hastily opened above them by servants, offering cool shade and solace from the sun. Slaves step from the recesses surrounding the pit with largeroneleaves gripped in their palms. They begin to pump the dark green foliage up and down, fanning the collective as they find the velvet cushion of their choice and set their pampered asses upon them.
I spot the skeletons as they settle in the very back row, right in the middle, and my heart starts to pick up when I find that each of their soot black stares is trained on me. I force my vision to blur and block out the details of their intense skeletal faces. Today is going to be hard enough, no use adding to the mix things like annoying thoughts and worries about what the skeletons might do to me for my insolence. I need to stay calm and escape to a place in my mind where pain can’t reach; it’s my only hope of withstanding what’s about to come.
The pit goes silent with anticipation as the Order members’ eyes rake over our static positions. With a nod from Tilleo, Master Chen cracks his whip once and then coils it like a belt around his waist.
“You have exactly five minutes to locate a pole, pluck the sword from the sand next to it, climb atop the pole, and stand on it until I say you’re done. Go!” he bellows suddenly, and like chirp ants, we all scramble for a perch.
Harsh and a handful of other blade slaves who are always vying for number one all rush to the front line of posts. I choose the option right in the middle, surrounded by the pack where I should be partially hidden from prying eyes. As others begin to climb, a couple of us are already planning ahead, knowing what’s in store for the rest of the day. I begin to strip out of my pants, pulling the thin leather from my limbs and setting it on the handle of the sword still sticking out of the ground.
I hate the feeling of being exposed in just my undergarments, but I’ll hate the strength these pants will strip from me as I sweat in them and dehydrate quicker much more. When I was first dropped in these sands, standing in the unforgiving sun like this would have resulted in a burn that would have required healers to recover from. After all these years, the sun has beaten my skin into submission, and a strong warm-bronze tone has replaced the pale delicate shell I used to be. I pull off my gauzy shirt and quickly tie it around my head. It will stop the sweat from dripping into my eyes for a while at least.
I pluck my pants and sword from the ground just as Master Chen screams, “You have two minutes left!” I hurry to climb the pole that’s three lengths taller than me, inwardly groaning as I reach the top and confirm it’s only two finger spaces wider than one of my feet. I get my foot in place, and with strength and balance whetted over years in this place, I rise and swiftly wrap the entire sword in my leather pants. It will make it slightly heavier, but it will keep the metal from burning my hands as the punishing desert sun beats down on it until it gives in and tries to melt to avoid the onslaught.
I look around to see far too many blade slaves dressed in exactly what they’ve been given to wear today. Only a handful of others have stripped down, and only one other blade slave had the same idea I did with our pants. I want to catch Kin’s eye, get some sort of confirmation that we did this right, but I’m not sure. Tilleo could have us whipped for ruining the perfect image he seemed to want to create with our clothes and hair, or he could reward us for our ingenuity. I never truly know which way things will go when it comes to him.
Another crack of the whip echoes off the walls surrounding the pit, and I try to relax into my one-footed stance on the top of the thin post.
