Did they share a lover?
She cringes at the thought of what type of person sexually involves herself with both a personal guard of Rendel and Sigvid Thordsson.
Avina watches the dusty oval field from her reserved low box seat. Sigvid made quite a mess of Face, forcing a trio of cleaners to rush in and mop up his body.
Several weeks had elapsed since the council and her father forced him to fight for his life. Avina has not physically seen the warrior since she visited him in the Scarwood dungeon. She has shamefully touched herself to his memory more times than she can count.
And she loathes herself for these releases. The Salt Prince would perish in the Arena, and she would wed another version of Rendel.
Deep in the darkest corner of her soul, Avina relished their war. During that time, they each became an all-consuming obsession for one another.
A hateful obsession.
The unforgettable night in the Sapphire Palace simmers in the outskirts of her thoughts at all times. With time came reflection, and she had once written off her stranger as a womanizer seeking her as a conquest.
Now, she isn’t so sure.
“I find you the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’”Sigvid’s momentary devotion remains the only proof that someone could desire Avina.
She returns to her lodgings at the inn attached to the Arena. Even before she reaches her locked door, she hears Nellie's frantic scratchings.
“Nellie Bee!” She announces to a responding chorus of chirps.
Technically, animals are not allowed in the inn, but Nellie is hardly an invasive creature and a perfect travel companion. And no one has chastised Avina yet.
She decides that a nap with Nellie is more important than witnessing another match.
Avina curls on her bed in time for the black cat to leap up and settle under her chin. Purrs reverberate against her chest, and she relishes the creature—the most cherished being in her world and the only creature that loves her in return.
Two Months Ago
Year 100, 9th Era
Scarwood, Timber Province
“He is violating the law.” Avina shakes with a fury she didn’t know she possessed.
“Then there’s no reason your Council will not be on your side. It’s just the Hound Master, after all.” Bertie shrugs from her desk, where he sits with one leg over the other, clutching a glass of wine. He appears to be the paradigm of sophistication. “I truly want to know how the Timber folk drink this ghastly swill they call wine.”
“I happen to like sweet wine.” She pouts, stealing the glass from his hand.
“Hey!” Bertie protests. “I am still going to drink it.”
Her shaky hand brings the glass to her mouth, but her quivering sloshes the red liquid onto her baby-blue bodice. “Shit.”
“I got you, Shadow.” Bertie leaps to his feet, walking from her study into her bedchamber.
She sets the now empty glass beside her map of Treland. Tiny red flags scatter the Timber and Salt provinces, indicating battles fought with Lord Commander Thordsson.
At this moment, he and his Drengr are marching closer to Scarwood. Many in the city are panicking, but not Avina.
She has a plan to trap him, a thought that leaves her on a high cloud while also reminding her that the slightest misstep will cause her world to crumble.
Her obsession with the Salt Prince has reached new levels. A reality she has not confessed to anyone.
“Shadow?” Bertie shrieks from her bedroom in a tone suggesting he just discovered something gruesome. She hears him rustling in her armoire for a new gown, yet his actions pause.
“Yes?” She taps the tiny nautilus shell on the map representing Sigvid.
