AERIS
Chapter 14
Aeris woke to pain.
Her face throbbed, swollen where Scar's hand had struck. Only his palm, but her face was fine-boned, delicate. It had been enough.
She had thought him a fool. Not clever, easy to outwit. He had underestimated her. But then Zerek spoke a word and Scar changed.
He rose like a storm. Tall. Quick. Stronger than she knew. Before thought could reach her legs, before fear could raise her arm, he was on her. Gripping. Striking. The world had gone black.
Now she lay in a bed not her own. The sheets were soft, but wet with blood. Hers. From beyond the walls came the sound of the arena. The crowd's roar. Battle.
She drew slow, aching breath, and sat up. Pain lanced through her ribs. Her limbs shook. Still, she stood.
She reached the door. It creaked open. A guard stood there. He saw her face, saw what was left of it, and flinched. Her arm hung strange and limp, bone still knitting beneath bruised skin. Her legs bore her, just barely. "Take me to the arena," she said.
The guard wavered. "Princess," he said gently, measuring his words. "Prince Thorne said you are not to leave."
Aeris burned with fury, her gaze hot as flame. She knew well who battled beyond these walls, and no chains nor words of caution would keep her cowering like her brothers wished. "Take me there, or I will drag myself there on broken limbs. Would Thorne see me suffer like that?"
The guard did not answer, caught as a man between axe and anvil, trapped between duty and fear.
Aeris exhaled, "Let me make this simple for you. I do not seek to fight, only to watch. Now, move."
The guard hesitated only a moment more before shifting his sword aside and guiding her forward, his grip firm upon her shoulder. They reached the arena far quicker than she had thought, proof enough that this was the resting hall reserved for honored guests during the Duskari's great contests.
As the archway loomed ahead, leading to the heart of the arena's stage, Aeris sighed. She could climb the steps, rejoin her family, sit among them as they fretted over her wounds. But that would bring whispers, pity, questions she did not wish to answer.
She had lost. Perhaps she had never stood a chance at all. Shame curled cold within her. Her boldness had been hollow, a fool's arrogance. She had thought Thorne and Eiran exaggerated the threat, raising mountains from mere hills. But they had not. Scar had shown her why the Skaldur were feared.
The sun glared down like a watchful god as she reached the archway. The guard steadied her against the stone, and she peered, bleary-eyed, at the stage. Her breath caught in her throat. What she had thought was a battle was no battle at all. If it had been, it had ended too swiftly.
Aeris swallowed hard, her lips parting, words lost before they could form.
Zerek gripped Soren by the skull, fingers clamped like a vice at his throat, hammering his head against the arena's walls, over and over.
How could this be? No matter how strong Zerek was, how could he have bested Soren so utterly?
Yet Soren hardly struggled, his body slack, his strength spent. Zerek wore no wounds, bore no strain. He struck as if his opponent were naught but wood and bone, a broken doll, splintering, spilling blood. His grin stretched wide, manic and cruel.
From the Skaldur seats came their roars, the pounding of fists upon stone, cries of triumph and hunger for more. Their prince stood a beast before them, and they reveled in his savagery.
Soren was not yet finished. His hand lifted, weak but reaching, pressing against Zerek's chest. It did nothing. No magic, no strength, only feeble defiance. Zerek arched a brow, amused, then flung him like discarded prey back upon the stone stage.
"Impressive," Zerek mused, his voice edged with mockery. "For a Duskari warrior to last so long. But if you do not yield, you will die."
Aeris' breath caught, her pulse hammering as Soren stirred. His bloodied hand pressed weakly against the stone, fingers curling for purchase. Slowly, he lifted his head, black strands of hair slick with blood. A hush fell upon the arena.
Soren rose. Staggering, trembling, but he rose.
His blue eyes, clouded and vacant, barely held their focus. Blood streaked half his face, his body bore no blade, no shield, no voice. Yet he stood. A battered shadow of defiance against a foe too great.
"Yet again you stand, is it bravery, is it duty. Is it courage? Duty?" Zerek's tone curled with amusement. "How much do you owe your princess to crawl so eagerly toward death?"
Soren did not answer.
"If you stand again, I will kill you," Zerek warned, then lunged.
"No!" Aeris gasped, the cry torn from her throat. If Zerek struck him once more, Soren would not rise again.
Zerek's arm slammed against Soren's throat, driving him back, his broken body sent hurtling into the arena's walls. The stone cracked from the impact.
Soren collapsed like torn parchment. Zerek watched, unmoving, looming over his fallen opponent. He did not grin, did not revel in cheers. He waited.
He knew.
Soren was not yet finished.
Slowly, inch by inch, he clawed his way upright, bracing against the fractured wall. Breath shuddered from his lungs, his form barely holding, but he stood.
And then, he walked. Step by step. Shaking, staggering, blind to all but the path before him, Soren moved. One slow, determined step at a time until he stood before Zerek.
Zerek let out a low, guttural growl.
Aeris felt the burn of tears gathering in her eyes, her lips trembling. She wanted to speak, wanted to scream his name, but her voice was lost, buried beneath the weight of despair.
Soren's hand rose, his fingers weakly pressing against Zerek's chest, a gesture more of defiance than attack. It did nothing. Zerek did not move. He merely stared, his snarl deepening. He looked up, toward the royal stands, and said, voice cold and loud, "I will kill him if he keeps coming."
A warning. Not to Soren, but to her father. To the Duskari.
It should have surprised Aeris, but she had no space in her mind to ponder it. She could only watch. Watch as Soren swayed on his feet, blood painting his body in ruined strokes, every breath a battle against collapse.
This was her fault.
All of it.
Soren would never surrender. Not while it was about her. She should have known. Should have seen it before she ever accepted the duel. She had dragged him Into this, and he would die before he let her fall alone.
Her father's voice rang clear across the arena. "If you kill him," he said, cold and final, "then you have broken the treaty. And Duskari owes you nothing."