Caged Warrior

Leto couldn’t go through with what they suggested. He still had his sister to care for. This was the final match before earning his reward for Pell. Her well-being had been his aim for nearly four months, since first meeting his new neophyte.

Let it go, a deep, greedy voice said. You can’t afford to care.

He could take care of Pell. He could . . .

“And what of Ny

Silence selected her preferred shield, the one with the serrated edges. Hark shrugged, then hefted the nearest nighnor. “Her brain is a mud puddle. Tell us a way to guarantee her restored mental health and we’re all over that. Ready to skip right to the endgame.”

Ny

During the waking hours, however, he watched her. Had she given him any sign, he would’ve been able to select the right course. A softening of her expression? She might have forgiven him and he would work to get Ny

He’d seen nothing except the balls of energy she hurled around the practice Cage. All he knew, all he felt, was her fury. It blotted out everything else.

“No.” Leto grabbed a mace and a shield, strapping the latter in place. “I won’t go through with it. If you try, I’ll take you both down.”

“You’d rather let her sleepwalk through the next ten years?” Hark was smiling again, but the expression was cruel, completely void of mirth. “Or until some Kawashima or Townsend bastard takes off her head at the next Grievance? She’d die and she wouldn’t even know the reason. Her little boy . . .”

“How did you know that?” Leto growled.

“Silence and patience. I have my partner, Leto of Garnis. Yours seems to have gone missing. Tell me these last few weeks haven’t been like fire under your skin.”

“Shut up, you Thief bastard.”

“And you’re a remnant of the Lost.” Hark stepped back, hands spread wide. One still held the nighnor. “How appropriate. So lost.”

Silence looked between them, until her bizarre tickling voice became real sound. “I don’t want to be numb. She said that to you.”

She’d actually spoken, and the words cut Leto to his heart.

The two departed, with Hark calling over his shoulder, “Good hunting, my friend.”

Leto stood, chest out and spine straight. He no longer wanted to be numb either. He’d been selfish for too long. After this match, with Pell safe, he would do what Ny

He looked down at his hands. Scarred. Calloused. Too many years of abuse for his body to repair itself. If using force would make this better, he would’ve done it already.

♦   ♦   ♦

Ny

She wanted to scratch the tattoo on her shoulder. Scratch. Peel. Rip it off. This was her third match. Leto fought for a promise for his sister. Ny

First she needed to win.

Thousands of people bellowed their eagerness to get the evening’s final match under way. Ny

The bell sounded.

The collars winked out.

The fight was on.

Ny

Leto was in fine form. Fast. So fast. By the time his eyes set on a target, his body was already there. The mace swirled in his wake like a contrail.

She shook her head. Pressed fingers to her temples. Sometimes words came to her that didn’t make sense. She saw the image of a plane, with a defined trail of white lancing the blue sky in its wake.

She lived in the complex. She was losing . . . missing . . . something.

“Move!”

Ny

“Are you sure you don’t like being numb?”

Mouth open, Ny

The break was brief, as the collars deactivated again. Her gift, coming and going on a whim, was like drowning—catching a breath—drowning again. Whoever was in charge had shortened the bursts, perhaps to compensate for her ability. She couldn’t get the rhythm of it. Every time she gathered enough concentration to hurl a ball of energy, she lost it again.

No.

It wasn’t the collars this time.

The Sath had teamed up to take the power from her. Beyond a blue blaze of light and her own red fury, she saw Hark laughing. Silence was nearly . . . sympathetic.

Leto’s shout was drowned in a sea of pure energy. The force slammed into her like taking a wrecking ball to the chest. The back of her head co

Then the image was gone, because she was screaming. Fire lanced across her body. She practically felt the metal of her armor dissolving into hot glue. Or, Dragon-damn, maybe that was her skin. Her nerves swam and collided. No relief. No air. No telling up from down from death. Her lungs felt crushed in on themselves. Even if she had a thousand bones, they would all be shattered. Pain beckoned her toward unconsciousness. She tried to keep her eyes open but failed.

With her body made vulnerable, and her brain left defenseless, a concussive force of another kind slammed through her skull.

Crowds? A Cage?

Leto was shouting at the Sath. “What the fuck was that?”

“A test,” Hark replied. “We can’t rely on a weak link.”

At the man’s mock salute, Leto took up his mace as if to resume the fight. The crowd thundered its approval.

“Leto!”

Her scream jerked his head. He ignored both Hark and that thumping call to violence by kneeling beside Ny