Caged Warrior

Why she’d put old Tigony biases above her survival was beyond her. Aside from Mal, they’d treated her like dirt. Worse than dirt. Dirt could nurture crops. She was more like the barren rock aisles jutting up from the Aegean. Pretty. Useless.

Not anymore. That wasn’t her world anymore, trying to fit in where no one wanted her. This was a new day.

Or it would be soon.

Aside from her pounding skull, she felt good. Refreshed, even. She sat up and ran a hand over all of her aching places. Her recollection of their last training session was fuzzy. Her powers were still so big and strange that she closed her eyes when she set them free. Gaps in her memory made sense. They must’ve gone a full twelve rounds with how much pain pulsed down her back and thighs. Yet the flesh beneath her fingertips was whole.

A Dragon King’s gift was a mysterious, powerful thing.

Ny

He would provide comfort to his sister.

She would . . .

There in the dark of her cell, where the only sound was trickling water from the crevice in the corner, Ny

The lights above her winked on. She blinked away her confusion and stood. Stretched. Shook out the last of her foggy fatigue. That strangeness must be the remnants of an unpleasant dream. She knew who she was and she knew her place: in the Cage.

Excitement merged with a case of nerves. She’d only ever practiced. The idea of stepping into a real Cage, with clay beneath her boots and a crowd roaring its approval, was too much to imagine. Her first time would give detail to her vague, eager visions.

“Armor on,” Leto called as he strode up the corridor. “Today’s the day.”

“Today . . . ?” Even as she tried to sort her memories, she was already obeying his command by gathering her things. “I thought we had more time to prepare.”

“You must’ve lost track of time. You’ve worked hard these last few days.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest wall, as was his habit. He looked . . . magnificent. Whatever armor he’d worn in the past must’ve been for the sake of training. This set was immaculate. Polished bronze accented black metal as dark and lustrous as onyx. Protective layers over his right shoulder accentuated the breadth of his upper body, while his bare left shoulder revealed striated, defined muscle. The leather wrapped around his forearms seemed to be a part of him. Stronger. More supple. Not on its own, but because of the toned flesh it protected. More leather tucked around his waist and laced around his thighs, clinging and accentuating his strength.

He was freshly shaved. Defiant jaw. Lean cheeks. Raised chin. Even his hair was shorter. Dark. So dark. She ran a hand over her own cropped hair and felt a rush of camaraderie.

“You’re going to need to dress faster than that,” he said, “if you want to meet the Old Man before we begin the match.”

“Of course.”

One eyebrow lifted only a fraction. She read more of his cocky, amused mood from the way he widened his stance. He pushed his shoulder blades flush against the wall. Chest out. Taller now. More intimidating. Only, she wasn’t intimidated anymore. She couldn’t remember why she had been.

More likely, she’d probably thought him beneath her. Clan Garnis. The Lost. What did they know about tradition and long mille

She wasn’t laughing now; she was staring.

Rather than rush through her preparations, Ny

“Do you believe that I deserve to stand in a Cage with you?”

“Yes.” He said it with such confidence.

She needed to close her eyes. His approval. It meant more to her than she could explain. All she knew was that the rush of sensation upon hearing that one word was liquid and warming.

“May I?” She lifted her gaze to the head of his snake tattoo. His fresh buzz cut left it clearly visible. “I want to see it. All of it.”

“That would mean turning my back to you.”

“I’m not your enemy, remember?” She gri

“Nothing.” But then he swallowed.

Ny

He watched her with unmistakable curiosity. Unmistakable even for him. Normally reading his expressions was like casting rune stones, a trick only the wild Pendray in the Highlands knew how to do. Right then, however, he lifted his coal-dark brows even higher. A muscle twitched along his scarred lip. Nearly a smile? A dare?

No, accepting a dare.

He turned slowly. Ny

Still he turned. So slowly. She flicked her gaze between the tattoo and the portion of his back left bare by his crisscrossed armor straps. Muscles flexed and pulled, even with that achingly patient pace. The overhead bulbs cast extreme shadows. Every ridge sharper. Every curve more graceful. New patterns of light and dark and flesh were revealed no matter how insignificant his movement.

That sounded poetic, even to Ny

Olympus. Thebes. Varanasi. Cahokia. Skara Brae.

No matter the city, no matter the tribe, men such as Leto had walked among human beings and reigned as gods. Awed subjects had looked upon such perfect bodies and found generous muses. Now she was touching him. Scraping his skin with one ragged fingernail.

He turned to face her, so that she finished with the serpent’s tail—slim, slimmer, gone—just at his other temple.

Their eyes met. Gold sparked between them. They both blinked and Ny

“Why the tattoo?”

“Initiation ceremony. If you do well tonight, you might be offered the same honor.”

She smiled, which always seemed to catch him off guard. “I don’t intend to do well.”

“That’s not the attitude of a—”

“Of a champion?” Her smile widened. “I know it’s not. Are you listening to your neophyte, Leto of Clan Garnis?”

His brows pinched toward the bridge of his nose. Confusion didn’t suit him but she enjoyed taking him by surprise. “Yes, I’m listening.”

“I intend to be astonishing. Be ready to keep up.”

♦   ♦   ♦

Leto didn’t need to watch her dress for the Cage. He’d seen her prepare often enough. Details stayed with him, whether he wanted them or not. Three weeks had emblazoned her across his senses.