The Dragon Who Loved Me
Izzy frowned. “Ready for what?”
Rhona curled her hands into fists.
“Oh! You mean . . . oh, yeah. Yeah. I’m ready.”
Unable to help herself, Rhona felt the inherent need to lecture the girl. “You have to pay attention, Izzy. You can’t be daydreaming or thinking about your next meal. You have to be here. In this moment. Understand?”
The girl nodded. “Aye. I understand. I’m here. I’m ready.”
“Good.” Rhona focused on Brannie. “And you?”
“I’m ready.”
Final y, their group reached the entrance and the table where masters and sponsors offered up the services of their fighters. Here, men would check in those wil ing to fight to the death for money. If the fighter won, glory and riches could be theirs. If they lost, their bodies were dumped in a trash heap and burned at the end of every month. Amazing to Rhona how many of them thought it was worth it, even though they would be fighting against the empire’s greatest pit fighters.
Rhona waited behind Vigholf as he stood at the table. An Iron in human form took one look at him and shook his head. “No dragons today. Only humans.”
“I got humans. Me own private stock.”
Vigholf grabbed Annwyl and Izzy and pul ed them forward. He yanked the hoods of their cloaks off their heads. “Pretty, yeah? And big tits on this one,” he said about Annwyl.
Brannie abruptly looked down at her feet, her shoulders shaking. But Rhona didn’t see what was so damn funny.
The Iron looked up, eyes narrowing in calculation. “Women?” He sniffed a little. “Not worth much if they die quick. Need someone with actual skil s, actual tal—”
Vigholf clicked his tongue against his teeth and Annwyl caught hold of the guard closest to her. She yanked him down and snapped his neck by twisting her hands once. When he fel , his comrade rushed forward. Izzy broke his leg with her shield and, while he was on the ground, Annwyl finished him with a dagger from her boot.
The Iron grinned, feeling absolutely no loss at the human guards. “Yeah. Al right. We’l take ’em.” And with that—the game had begun.
Chapter 31
The tunnels were fil ed with fighters and the ones who control ed or owned them. Annwyl and Iseabail were quickly noticed, the idea of women fighting getting everyone’s instantaneous attention. They were given the standard short sword used by al the soldiers and the short, dark red tunic to wear. On top of that a fancy but rather weak—in Rhona’s estimation—breastplate made of strips of steel and brass fittings that tied in the front, was also added, along with a sword belt, and army sandals. They were also al owed a second smal weapon of their choosing. Izzy chose her dagger and Annwyl a smal useless-looking steel stick. The guards laughed at her over her choice, but stopped when she glared. Not that Rhona blamed them. After al that, the pair were al owed no helmets and they were told to wear their hair down. In other words, the ones running the fights wanted the audience to see that Izzy and Annwyl were women.
By late afternoon, they were up. The guards who managed these fights yanked Annwyl and Izzy away from Vigholf. When he tried to fol ow, he was shoved back, and stared down by an Iron in human form.
Vigholf held his hands up. “Yeah. Al right. But I better get something if the bitches die. They weren’t easy to find.” The Iron sneered at him as only an Iron could and walked away. As soon as the announcement was made that females were to fight, the crowd’s roar escalated tenfold, and Vigholf, using the hand he held behind his back, motioned for Rhona and Brannie to go.
It real y wasn’t hard to slip away; as the king had said, al attention was on the two women entering the arena.
With a last look at Vigholf, his eyes on her as she moved through the crowd of men and dragons trying to see out the steel grates, Rhona took her cousin and did one of the stupidest things she’d done in a long while.
Izzy and Annwyl were seconds from stepping out into the arena when someone grabbed their arms and steel manacles were placed on Izzy’s right wrist and Annwyl’s left. The manacles were locked, a thick, three-foot steel chain stretched between them.
Annwyl snarled, “You son of a—”
“Enjoy, ladies!” The guard laughed and shoved them out into the arena, slamming the gate behind them, trapping them.
They stumbled, their eyes trying to adjust to the bright sunlight they hadn’t seen since they’d entered the tunnels, their ears trying to handle the screams and cheers of the crowd.
“You al right, Iz?” Annwyl asked her.
“Yeah. Don’t worry about me.”
They walked out into the middle of the arena, Annwyl looking up into the crowd.
“There,” Izzy murmured. “Over there.”
Izzy motioned at what had to be the royal seats. They were high above the ground, but without anything blocking the view of the carnage below.
The seats were upholstered in velvet and silk, servants hovered nearby, and everyone had fresh fruit, wine, or both.
“I bet that’s her,” Annwyl said. “I bet that’s Vateria.”
It could be. Izzy real y didn’t know. Although she was certain the female was a She-dragon in human form. She wore a tunic of the finest silk draped around her in the fashion of the Provinces, gold and silver flowers entwined throughout her perfectly sculpted silver-colored hair. But stil . . .
she could be just any royal, couldn’t she?
“Don’t assume, Annwyl. Please.”