Bleeding, dying, she fought to her feet, the last of her fires pouring from her mouth, a concentrated beam that stabbed Cronus’s leg like a lance. His foot fell off-balance, missing Raven by a foot. And then Siri was on him, biting, clawing, scratching, her instincts for survival firing. She felt Raven nearby, and the two-legger was snapping her whip, fighting too.
Bright lights burst forth and then there were voices and ropes were surrounding her and Cronus as they were wrenched apart, and the girl—Raven—was kicking her legs and screaming as they dragged her away.
Weeks later, Siri’s wounds had healed. But her soul had not. No, it was cracked open and another soul had burrowed inside.
Raven’s. Always Raven’s.
Now, with a screech and a burst of speed, Siri flew toward where she felt that same soul, pulsing, living, calling out to hers.
Twenty-Six
The Southern Empire, the Dreadnoughts
Goggin
The boat was small, but sufficient, laden with plenty of water and enough raw vegetables to sustain him across Dragon Bay.
Before departing the city of Ontonoman, Goggin had been stopped by the dalla. “Remember what you witnessed here. Spill no blood.”
Goggin had nodded, the bitter taste of his plans thick on his tongue. “And you should remember that the Dreadnoughts are part of the Calypsian Empire. You would be welcomed to the southern continent.”
“Thank you, but that is not our fate.”
Now, Goggin hefted one end of the boat while Joaquin carried the other. It was a short haul, but still, every precaution had been taken, the wooden handles slathered in gum wax to prevent splinters. Both wore thick leathers to protect their skin in case they fell.
As Goggin walked, he stared at the ground, which was soft, occasionally tufted with grass, eventually giving way to the soft cushion of sand. It was strange to think of the chaos that lived beneath the serenity of this island paradise.
But it didn’t change what he knew he had to do.
Goggin didn’t know whether Raven lived, or what the state of the empire was, or who was at its helm. But he could take precautions for the worst-case scenario. His guanero were dead. If the empire had been usurped by Shanolin the dragon rider or another, he would need an army.
And he knew where to get one.
Before they reached the water, they placed the boat carefully on the sand. Joaquin was sweating beneath the hot sun, his gray skin glistening.
Goggin held up his forearm and fist in the Calypsian manner. “Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”
“You are welcome. And thank you for showing me true courage.”
Goggin laughed. “Aye. Kin to true foolishness.”
Joaquin chuckled, handing him an oar and placing the other in the boat.
Goggin chewed his lip for a moment, and then said, “I meant what I said to the dalla. Your people would be welcome in Calyp. You would be welcome. You could start a new life there, one without fear.”
“There is always reason to be afraid, but thank you. My place is here.”
“If you ever change your mind, you will find me in Calypso. I should have plenty of stories about my ninth wife by then.”
Joaquin, looking slightly awkward, raised his own forearm and fist, mimicking Goggin’s earlier gesture. “I shall remember these last few weeks fondly.”
Together, they pushed the boat into the water. Joaquin backed up, and then traipsed across the beach to watch from the grass. Goggin knew this was his chance—his last one.
It was madness.
Sounds about right, he thought, and then he bent down to scoop up a handful of sand from the beach, tossing it into the empty bag he’d prepared ahead of time.
He ignored Joaquin’s protests, adding another handful of monster sand for good measure.
Satisfied, he clambered into the boat, grabbed the oars, and began pulling away from the shore. Finally, once he was certain he was clear, he looked back. Joaquin stood in water up to his waist, the gentle waves lapping at him. His eyes were wide with fear.
What have I done?
Only what they’ve made me do. They made a monster of me, and I will bring my friends to Calyp.
He sealed the bag of sand and placed it carefully in the watertight leather food bag.
Then he began to row in earnest.
Twenty-Seven
The Southern Empire, Zune
Raven Sandes
The grand arena was perhaps ten times the size of the pits she and Whisper normally fought in. As a young girl, Raven remembered wanting to attend the battle royale held every year in this very arena.
Her mother had always refused.
Because of Aunt Viper, she realized now. Raven wondered whether Viper had directly threatened Sun Sandes’s daughters, or if her mother was simply being cautious.
Now, Raven wished she’d never set foot in this horrid place.
It was beautiful, there was no denying that. With its slick marble walls and grand stone façade and open-air quarter-roof displaying a deep black sky full of glittering stars…it was a sight. Racks of shining weapons arced around the sides, enough to outfit an army.
It was the people who made it ugly. What this place stood for. The ending of lives. The entertainment of death. The arena was full to standing room, the crowd whipped into a frenzy. They wanted blood reflected in their eyes before the night was done.
It must be my blood and not Whisper’s.
She’d been separated from her sister and escorted into the arena, where she now stood. Alone amongst thousands of people.
Across the grand arena, another door opened. Whisper was shoved through, her hands and feet unshackled. Her eyes met Raven’s. She could see the determination in her sister’s eyes. Oh gods, she looks like Fire always did. She looks like me.
Another door opened. Gwendolyn Storm, the Orian armor-clad assassin, was pushed through, but she didn’t stumble, her feet as graceful as if she wasn’t still shackled. They want us to win, because we’re Calypsians. This is a political move by Viper.
For some reason, the realization made Raven angry. Their lives were being played with like a mouse under the paw of a cat. Was I ever like that? Did I play such games when I was empress?
The truth hit her in the center of her chest. Yes. She had. And she’d ignored the atrocities committed in the fighting pits as well, a fact that now haunted her.
I was distracted by war on all sides.
An excuse, nothing more. I have failed the empire. I have failed myself.
I will not fail Whisper.
The thought snapped her back to reality, where an announcement was being made by one of the pit masters, something about the final opportunity to place wagers. Something about how only one of the fighters could emerge victorious; the only alternative was death.
A pause, the crowd’s cheering filling the void to overflowing.
From across the way, Gwendolyn called out. “I will spare Whisper if you go without a fight.”
It was a lie. None would be able to leave the arena until two were dead, and this Orian would not end her own life. And Whisper would not kill Raven. Which left only one other option.
“Agreed,” Raven said, more quickly than she intended, the words spilling out like water from a shattered jug.
Whisper strode forward to the racks of weapons and chose a long, curving blade. She said nothing, only turned toward the Orian. That expression… Raven thought. It was like looking in a mirror.
Gwendolyn’s expression didn’t change.
Then everything happened quickly. The crowd quieted for a moment as the announcer closed the betting and shouted, “Begin!”
Gwendolyn, despite the shackles linking her wrists and ankles, moved like lightning, reaching the weapons in an instant, selecting a silver longsword that matched the color of her hair, accentuating her eyes. There was a strange light about her face, an orange glow on one cheek. Raven’s heart skipped a beat. Her tattooya. I was
right.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, but—
Raven raced to the wall and selected a long, barbed whip and another weapon, one that was quite foreign to her. A wooden hammer. It was the sort of weapon Goggin would’ve found amusing, but useless in true battle, unless the enemy were nails that needed to be pounded into wood.
Whisper was moving in on the Orian, holding her blade high, readying to strike. Gwendolyn glanced back at Raven, and said, “I can’t make you any promises if she attacks me.”
You can’t make me any promises anyway. Still, Raven rushed forward, giving the Orian a wide berth and moving to her sister’s side.
“I won’t let you die for me,” Whisper said.
“I know,” Raven replied, turning to face the Orian. “We fight together.”
She’d never lied to her sister before, not intentionally, though Whisper had hidden many things from her. But this lie was impossible to avoid.
Whisper nodded and inched forward, her attention naturally focused on the enemy rather than her ally.
Raven took a deep breath and swung the hammer, pulling the blow just before it connected, taking some of the force from it.
Whisper’s eyes rolled back in her head as her feet crumpled beneath her.
Gwendolyn Storm
As Whisper fell, Gwen almost laughed. “Clever move,” she said. “Unless your sister doesn’t wake up.”
Raven said, “She will. It wasn’t as hard a hit as it looked. She will have a headache, nothing more.”
“And you will be dead.”
“Or you.”
Gwen liked the fire in the woman’s voice. It made things…easier.
She took a step forward.
“Why don’t you cut your shackles?” Raven asked.
“I like a challenge.”
“I like winning.”
“As do I.” But she wasn’t here to parse words with the woman whose family had taken so much from her—were still taking so much.
She strode forward now, wary of the hang of the whip, of the slight tensing of the muscles in Raven’s left arm, which was hefting not the whip but the hammer.
Raven threw it. Spinning end over end, the hammer might’ve been the slow graceful flight of a butterfly to Gwen’s heromarked eyes. She watched the projectile approach, timing its spin until—
Her hand shot up and she snatched it by the handle from midair, tossing it aside in one motion.
Though Raven Sandes tried to hide it, her eyes gave away her surprise, widening ever so slightly.
“I will give you one more chance, and then you—”
The whip lashed out before her sentence had finished, and this time she was unprepared, expecting Raven to act with fear, not the opposite. Once more, she reached up to catch the weapon, but was a hair too slow, even with the power of her heromark sending speed to her reflexes, strength to her muscles. The barbs sunk into her skin as the whip wrapped around her throat. With a deft, practiced jerk, Raven yanked it back, rocking Gwen forward, pain shooting through her neck as the barbs tore her skin.
She landed on her face, the roar of the crowd deafening.
She’d managed a strong hold on her sword, and now she twisted it around to hack at the whip, which snapped in two. With two quick slashes, she severed the chains on her ankles and wrists as well. The hell with a challenge. She was going to murder this woman.
Her barbed collar remained as she stood, glaring at her opponent. Blood dripped down onto her armor.
Raven glared back, holding the portion of her whip that was still intact. “You said you wanted a fight.”
Gwen couldn’t argue with that, and it had been many years before a foe had surprised her. This woman was a warrior, something she couldn’t help but to respect. But not enough to spare her. She armored her heart, gritted her teeth, and sprang forward.
Raven tried to sidestep but Gwen anticipated the maneuver before she made it, changing her own trajectory. She feinted with her sword, forcing Raven to bring her arms and whip up to protect herself, but then kicked her hard in the chest, sending her flying back.
Gwen pressed the advantage, landing two punches to her face and then a high kick that connected solidly with Raven’s jaw. One swipe of my sword and her head will fall from her shoulders…
She swung. At the last moment, Gwen’s heromark flared and she flinched, instead jamming the butt-end of the blade’s hilt into Raven’s nose, blood spurting. She staggered back, desperately trying to snap her whip, but Gwen was ready this time, catching the leathery tendril and yanking it from her opponent’s hand.
Weaponless and bloodied, Raven didn’t back away, raising her fists.
She tried to stop the attack on Ferria…
She saved Gareth…
The look on Roan’s face…like I was a stranger…
Her family murdered my father, Alastair…
Women, children, soldiers, Orians and humans and ore cats and ore hawks and—
So much violence. So much death. When does it stop?
Gwen dropped her weapon, defeated by her own thoughts.
Raven Sandes
Raven’s head was ringing, the warmth of fresh blood coating her lips, dripping from her chin.
The kick to the chest alone had almost felled her, and her legs felt wobbly beneath her.
This woman’s mark of power…it is too much for me.
Wait…
Wait…
The Orian dropped her weapon. Raven stood, stunned, wondering what she’d done to grant such a reprieve. Nothing, she realized, as Gwendolyn Storm stepped forward, a gritty look of determination flashing across her face. She wants to make me hurt the way she’s been hurt. She wants to drag it out.
The next blow came from the side, a rounded kick that seemed to move like a striking cobra. She tried to protect herself and the impact was to her forearm. She felt the bone shatter, her arm smashing into her skull and raining stars across her vision. Pain crashed over her like a tsunami, rolling through her. She felt sick, turning to the side to vomit, her elbows on her knees.
Something thudded in her skull. My own heart, she thought. Somewhere distant there was an unceasing animal roar. No. Not animal. Human. Her own people, the crowd whipped into a frenzy. Why did I fight for them when they won’t fight for me? Why did I care about their suffering when they enjoy my own?
Her legs wobbled again and she wanted to give in to gravity, to fall to the ground. To curl up and go to another place, a place without dragon massacres and loved ones dying and slavery and betrayal. A place where she could, finally, be at peace.
Through her blue-black tendrils of hair, she could see Gwendolyn watching her. Waiting for something. For me to fall.
She remembered her mother. Her sister, Fire. And now, Whisper. She remembered Siri’s scream. None of them gave in without a fight.
And neither would she.
She stood up straight, feeling ill again but swallowing it down, raising her fists.
The Orian’s golden eyes widened, surprise flitting across her face before her expression returned to stony hate. “Thank you,” was all she said. And then she attacked.
Gwendolyn Storm
With each strike, Gwen expected to feel something more. More than anger, more than hate, more than repulsed.
Relief. That’s what she craved. The feeling that she’d balanced some imaginary scale, or even tipped it in her direction. The direction of my people.
Instead, her loathing only grew. Not for this woman—this Sandes woman—but for herself.
For a few frozen moments, she seemed to leave her own body, hovering above the arena, watching like a spectator as she rained down blow after blow—to Raven’s legs, abdomen, shoulders, and head.
She deserves this. For Alastair. For my father. For the children. For me.
Former Empress Raven Sandes refused to go down, absorbing each punch and kick into herself. Wobbling, yes, but not falling. One of her arms hung limply, and blood poured fro
m her nose and one eye, which was already swollen shut, but she continued to stand, to raise one arm to protect herself as best she could.
Finally, Gwen saw what Roan had seen. The woman she’d become, a person she barely recognized, so filled with white hot hatred and the lust for vengeance that she’d become a mere shadow of the great warrior she’d once been.
The woman Alastair loved. The woman Roan might still love. The woman my father would’ve been proud of.
Dimly, she was aware that her heromark had stopped pulsing. It was no longer helping her win this fight. My power has abandoned me. It is ashamed of its host.
The world seemed to shatter around her and then she was back in her own body. She stopped. She dropped to her knees, her vision blurring as tears bloomed. Her hands shook as she painted them across her face, trying to feel the features that were once hers, now gnarled and hardened by her desire for revenge. All she felt was the blood of her opponent, slick on her knuckles.
The crowd went silent, their frenzy quieted by the unexpected break in the violence.
Raven stood before her, her chest heaving, her arm still held up to protect her ruined mess of a face. To protect her sister, who slept quietly nearby.
“I…” Gwen’s voice was hoarse, her throat dry and tight. “I…” What? What was there left to say?
She only had one option left: to flee, to escape from this horrible place and never look back, to forget about what she’d done and these two women.
It was a lie. A tempting lie, but a lie nonetheless. And Gwendolyn Storm could no longer abide an untruth.
She would either escape with these two women, or she would die trying.
Warmth blossomed on her cheek as her heromark flickered once more.
Raven Sandes
With one eye, she watched as the Orian stood again, having finally come to some decision.
This is it, Raven thought. Her energy was long depleted; she was only on her feet because of adrenaline and her own stubborn refusal to fall. But even those were on their last legs.