Lucien rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Queen Meryn. As I said, it’s just entertainment. No one needs to die here tonight.” I can’t help but read the subtext there. “She had a choice between this or imprisonment, and she chose to fight. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like the show to begin.”
The two women square off as servants enter carrying platters of food.
The dishes are elaborate and colorfully presented, different from any food I’ve ever seen, even as a Rawbond in the castle.
The aroma is enticing and unfamiliar. The heady sting of spice fills the air—on grains, meats, and fish—coupled with the gentle sweetness of foreign fruits, which have been sliced and arranged to look like flowers. There are deep purples and mouthwatering reds. Pale yellows and rich greens.
But my eyes keep drifting back to the human we doomed to this humiliation.
Servants set the food down in front of us as the mock-battle begins.
They are clearly used to such dinner entertainment; their hands are steady while serving cold soups and pouring a thick golden liquid that smells bracingly alcoholic. They entirely ignore the grunts of the fighters and the loud clangs as swords clash.
The human woman comes out surprisingly strong, slashing rapidly and putting her opponent on the defensive.
It’s hard to watch: I’ve seen fighters like her before, people down on their luck and in over their heads. Her speed smacks of desperation.
She lunges, taking advantage of an opening, and nearly nicks the Siphon woman, but the Siphon dances back just in time. Her sword catches a corner of the Siphon’s sleeve and cuts effortlessly through the fabric. The breezy slice of material drifts slowly to the floor.
I watch as the Siphon presses forward, at first meeting blow for blow and then suddenly speeding up faster and faster.
“Siphon contestants are required to give humans a two-minute head start before using any powers, to even the odds,” Lucien says conversationally. “Sintar is one of my favorite fighters.”
Sintar no longer holds back. I watch her advance with impossible speed, her movements a blur in my vision. She’s forcing the human back toward our table. A few of the Siphons at the end of the table scoot chairs back as the pair draw close to the chalked boundaries, just feet away from the diners.
My stomach yawns with dread as I see how mismatched the fighters truly are.
Is this meant to be entertaining? There’s no contest here.
This poor woman. Her son’s face floats forward in my mind, scared and worried in the doorway of their home. Who’s looking after him while his mother is here serving as the king’s amusement?
Violence for sport. It’s all too familiar.
The human slips to a knee after a maneuver from the Siphon too swift to follow. I wince as Sintar draws blood, two slashes in rapid succession. A cut across the human’s right cheek and then the left.
How far are they planning to take this? I reach for my dagger, ready to draw.
But just as I move to rise, the fight comes to a halt as Sintar draws third blood, a thin slash across the back of one of the human’s hands that makes her drop her sword.
The human holds her palms up in a clear sign of submission.
The Siphon courtiers applaud again, a few of them calling out compliments to the victor. Lucien looks pleased.
My stomach twists in nausea.
“A good fight,” he says. “That human lasted longer than most against my champion.”
As he speaks, another procession comes from the servants’ doors, but this time their hands are empty.
Half a dozen beautiful men and women, all dressed in scantily flowing garments that leave little to the imagination, enter in twin lines on either side of the table.
One of the women, a curvy brunette with heavy-lidded eyes, approaches Lucien and settles gracefully onto his lap. His ringed hand moves over her thigh and up to her hip. I watch the display with bewilderment, wondering if this is some weird Astreonan sex thing.
Maybe it’s normal here for people to have an orgy or two before dinner starts, just to work up an appetite?
I turn to see that the victorious fighter, Sintar, has been offered a chair at our table.
Strangely, her defeated opponent is settled on Sintar’s lap, their heavy breastplates removed and cast to one side. Sintar is laughing and chatting with the Siphon to her right, idly twisting her fingers in the blonde hair of the human woman in her lap. The woman’s eyes are vacant.
