Fallen Page 25

  “You have my word that no matter the outcome, no one will be punished for your actions, which I sanctioned,” the captain said, making eye contact with first Seraphime, then Falco and Tricas.

  Falco clenched his teeth, but both of them nodded in acknowledgment of the order.

  Was it enough? Seraphime wasn’t sure, but the captain had always seemed honorable and she wanted to believe him. Her eyes flicked to Persephone, who offered a subtle nod.

  Seraphime tipped her head respectfully to the captain. “Gratitude.”

  He nodded in reply and indicated with a hand for her to continue.

  Exhilarated from her first win, Seraphime bounced on the balls of her feet. While still dancing back and forth on her toes, Seraphime looked to the other soldier, Tricas. “Next.”

  * * * *

  Cato had watched Seraphime with respect. He’d expected she would do well, but he had not expected the match to be so entirely one-sided; she hadn’t even broken a sweat in her matchup against Falco. Not that he’d given her much to work with. The man had been foolish, completely underestimating her and relying on brute strength rather than skill, a fact Cato had been sure to note to Tricas before allowing him to step toward the slight woman in front of them.

  Tricas was more cautious having just watched his comrade leveled, and the two had just started circling each other when Cato caught a glimpse of Augustine thundering across the courtyard in their direction. Too focused on the match, no one else had spotted him yet and Cato immediately moved to head him off. If Augustine’s face was any indication, he was ready to kill, and Cato was the most likely target.

  “It is Seraphime.” Cato held his hands placatingly in front of him. “Not Persephone. Look at the color she wears.”

  “She is half his size.” Augustine’s ire seemed to have only waned minimally.

  “And managing herself just fine.”

  “What business have you organizing this?”

  “Watch. Tell me what you see.”

  Augustine glared at him without sparing a glance toward the two fighters in front of him. “I see a woman paired against a soldier twice as large as she.”

  “Watch,” Cato reiterated. “As though you were observing any of our sparring matches.”

  Augustine glared at him a moment longer before turning back to the match. He was silent as they watched the two. Tricas hadn’t repeated Falco’s mistake of fighting emotionally, but neither was he finding any weakness in Seraphime’s technique. She easily kept him chasing her as she danced just out of reach until she was ready to strike.

  Arms crossed, Augustine was watching, but wasn’t seeing what unfolded in front of him. “She has a much shorter reach than Tricas. A fraction of his size and strength.”

  “Look closer,” Cato prompted. “Why might her smaller size be an advantage?”

  An exasperated sigh was followed by a slight relaxing of Augustine’s posture, and Cato knew that he saw it. “She is faster. She knows that she cannot out-muscle him, so she stays out of his reach, and makes him come to her so that she can choose the timing and location of her attack.”

  “Yes! What else?”

  Seraphime had just grabbed and squeezed Tricas’s still-healing hand, bringing the larger man to his knees before driving her own knee into his face.

  “Match!” Cato shouted as Tricas landed on his back.

  “She exploited his weaknesses.” Persephone was busy congratulating Seraphime. Neither had looked this direction. “What she lacks in size and strength, she compensates for with speed and precision.”

  “Exactly!” Cato agreed. “Just think of Persephone’s near-escape. Every soldier was killed with a single blow. No wasted energy. Target only what is vulnerable and end things quickly when possible. When a quick victory cannot be achieved, better stamina creates weakness by wearing an opponent down. Just as we watched Seraphime do.”

  Now Augustine was looking fixedly. “Persephone did not fight?”

  “No. She was too suspicious. Having Seraphime fight in her stead was Persephone’s idea.”

  “Was it?” Augustine smiled, but Cato couldn’t read the mood behind it.

  “It was a clever ploy. Persephone got what she wanted without breaking your decree.”

  “But you remember what Seraphime said.”

  “No one fights like Persephone.”

  “No one fights like Persephone,” Augustine parroted, a dark gleam in his eye.

  * * * *

  Both Persephone and Seraphime looked up at the sound of Augustine’s slow clap. Seraphime immediately resumed her submissive posture, averting her eyes to the ground. Persephone met his gaze defiantly. As he got closer he could see the nervous pulse in her neck.

  “Congratulations, Seraphime.”

  “Gratitude.” She didn’t look up.

  “And you,” he addressed Persephone as she discreetly positioned herself between him and Seraphime, “I am very impressed with you also.”

  “Gratitude. Though I am not sure what for.”

  “You stayed true to your word even though you must have been sorely tempted. How very loyal of you.” She stood mute, though her mouth puckered slightly, as if she had bitten into a lemon. “And what shall I give you for said loyalty?”

  “My sword,” she offered readily. Her tone had a mocking lilt, but she meant it, even if she knew it would never happen.

  Augustine chuckled. “I think not. But we can find common ground. You should have opportunity to spar as well, I think.”

  “You will allow me to fight your captain?” The look in her eye as she glanced at Cato indicated that she was more than a little interested in the possibility.

  Given that she wanted to fight him, not fuck him, Augustine recognized the jealousy that flared as both ill-placed and inappropriate. He reminded himself it was at Cato’s hand that she had been captured. She harbored a special resentment for him.

  “I will do one better.”

  “Oh?” She looked at him with genuine curiosity.

  “I will let you fight me.”

  Pure malice sparkled in her eyes before it was quickly replaced with distrust. “You made yourself very clear, General. If I were to attack you or your men for any reason…” She didn’t need to finish the thought.

  Not having donned armor today, he easily pulled his tunic over his head, leaving him in nothing but a pair of leather briefs. “I will make an exception this one time. What were the rules applied to the other matches?”

  “The usual,” Cato answered. “Hand-to-hand, no maiming or killing blows, the match ends when I call it.”

  Augustine nodded. It was what they typically used for training purposes and Augustine trusted Cato to call things fairly and without necessary or excessive risk to either contestant.

  “I am agreed if you are,” Augustine told Persephone.

  Longing warred with caution; he saw both plainly on her face. He had no desire to actually hurt her, but it was clear she held none of the same qualms toward him.

  “As you obviously do not trust me enough to accept my word at face value, why not make things interesting?” Augustine was nothing if not an opportunist. He wanted to see for himself what she could do, and he knew exactly what he wanted if he won. When he won, he mentally corrected himself. Anything short of a clear win was unacceptable. Much more than the terms of a bet rested on this; if he lost, he risked losing the respect of his men.

  “A wager?” she asked. He nodded and she smirked. “I always knew you were a gambling man.”

  “Calculated risk.” Extremely calculated, even if it had been impromptu. He believed he would beat her, but he was not a fool. Were he to provide her any advantage at all, she could win.

  “What are the terms?”

  “If I win, you have to answer a question of my choosing at a time of my choosing.”

  The look she gave him was slightly incredulous. “That is all? That is what you want?”

  “You have to answer the question in f
ull. No lies. No half-truths. You tell all, start to finish.”

  Undoubtedly, she knew what question he would ask. It was the one he asked more than any other, and the one she most vehemently refused to acknowledge. What had prompted her adamance to learn to fight? Misgiving was evident in her crossed arms and guarded expression, and he wondered if she was really so eager to hide herself that she would decline the opportunity he presented her. He had been sure she would jump on it.

  “And if I win?”

  “What would you like?”

  “If I win, you have to tell me all the details of the marriage pact you intend me to enter into. Including your plans for its impact on Galilae and the rest of my family. No lies. No half-truths. You tell all, start to finish.”

  Her request threw him, which had probably been her intention. He’d had no idea she even suspected. “Clever girl. How long have you known?”

  “Since about day three.”

  He found himself irritated both that she knew and that she had kept quiet about it for so long. “Holding on to your knowledge for the best opportunity to thwart me, then?”

  “Something like that.” Her tone was icy.

  “Alright.” He held out his hand to shake, which she watched distrustfully rather than grabbing. “You have yourself a deal.”

  Persephone eyed his hand for a moment longer before returning her gaze to his own and reaching out. As soon as his hand enclosed hers, he pulled her sharply toward him. She had been braced for it and she resisted briefly before closing the distance between them and driving her knee into his side. The impact combined with her sudden change of direction knocked him slightly off balance. It seemed both her feet had barely reconnected with the ground before she spun and threw her elbow into the side of his head. Stumbling sideways as pain exploded, he managed to maintain his footing and his firm grip on her hand, but only just.

  He wanted to subdue her without hurting her if he could. The best way to do so was to overpower her. If he could get her in a tight hold, momentum and her precisely placed hits would do her no good against his greater strength. With one arm still wrapped around her in a quasi-embrace, her back to his front, he attempted to gain control of her free arm. The sharp elbow of which was thrown into every vulnerable point it could find.

  When he snagged both her arms, he thought he had her. She threw her head back and he managed to turn his own in time to avoid having his nose smashed. His cheek was not so lucky and pain radiated across his cheekbone and through his tongue as he bit down at the impact. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. While he had been focused on avoiding the back of her head, she had hooked one foot behind his ankle. She drove the heel of her other foot hard into the opposite shin while she pulled his supporting leg out from underneath him. Taking her with him, he crumpled at the blow to unguarded bone.

  Persephone wasted no time. As soon as they collided with the ground, she had used her feet to propel her backwards. It was impossible to keep his hands banded around her waist as she somersaulted over and away from him. He did manage to snag a wrist, preventing her from retreating, and she responded by slamming an elbow into the middle of his stomach. Swallowing the urge to vomit he curled in on himself as she rolled sideways to evade him.

  Through the haze of pain and nausea engulfing him, Augustine had the fleeting thought that she would attack weakness. He pushed up onto his hands and knees, not needing to fake the dry heaves wracking him as his stomach still attempted to revolt. Persephone made her move and rushed him. At the last possible moment, he grabbed her hip and leg before she could drive her knee into his face and, turning sideways, slammed her to the ground. Knowing he wouldn’t have much time, he pulled his body up hers, wrapping her legs with his own as she writhed and squirmed to escape. She managed to turn away from him, but with her legs trapped and his weight on top of her, she couldn’t get away.

  As though sensing his intent, she kept her chin tucked hard into her chest as he used a hand on her forehead to force her head back while he wrapped his other arm across her throat. He had to exercise extreme caution. She fought hard and it would be far too easy to accidentally break her neck. She continued to rain blows on him with her fist and elbow not pinned underneath them. Praying she would tap, yet knowing she wouldn’t, he held tight. Each of her hits grew a little weaker until he heard the familiar gurgle in her throat.

  He whispered an apology she surely didn’t hear, and then she went slack in his arms.

  Part III

  From The Rise and Fall of the Great Kingdoms, written by Thucydides of House Archidamia, record keeper of Galilae:

  Before the Reckoning, the oldest and most powerful of the Free Kingdoms were Perdomo, ruled by House Perdome; Xenaxia, ruled by House Xenakis; Fortunata, ruled by House Fortunatus; and Galilae, ruled by House Galanis. Each kingdom boasted prosperity, a powerful military force, and rulers both strong and wise. The success of these kingdoms was largely credited to the ruling houses, each kingdom having been ruled by a single family for more than a thousand years. None of the other Free Kingdoms could boast such continuity, offering proof that each of the Great Houses had been blessed by the gods.

  Though the Kingdoms did not always live amicably, there existed between them a balance of power. Until the Reckoning. The hearts of gods are just as subject to greed and jealousy as the hearts of men, and each coveted what the other had built. Claiming communion with Vrontios himself, Nero of House Perdome, King of Perdomo, elevated his army and began his reign of terror across the Free Kingdoms. Smaller kingdoms fell and were absorbed quickly into what Nero called the Finctus. Xenaxia, being the nearest of the Great Kingdoms, fought valiantly, but could not withstand the force of the Finctus. The ruling family managed to escape slaughter and later established Xenakai among the Free Kingdoms of the East.

  House Xenakis may only have delayed the inevitable. As the Finctus continues to press East, who among the Free Kingdoms can stop the spread of tyranny across the land? Still a growing metropolis, Xenakai will not be able to withstand the Finctus unassisted. House Fortunatus – which has always been spurred by greed and self-indulgence – cares nothing for the plight of others and will do nothing unless Fortunata, herself, is threatened. Galilae remains the oldest and most formidable of the remaining Free Kingdoms, and, as such, all look to Galilae to lead the rebellion or fall to destruction.

  Chapter 1:

  Siren’s Song

  People see what they wish to see. If you know their desires, it is not difficult to craft an illusion they will choose to believe.

  – Seraphime, Body Slave to Persephone of House Galanis, Princess of Galilae

  Awareness of a sharp pain within her chest filtered through the darkness shrouding her. At least pain let her know she yet lived. She’d been mistaken, though; the pain she’d originally thought was internal was superficial. Knuckles raked harshly across her breastbone, a treatment she had frequently given and received in her early sparring days. She longed to flinch away from the discomfort, but with limbs weighted to the ground, all she managed was to wince.

  “There you are.” Augustine’s voice.

  Finally cooperating, Persephone’s eyes fluttered open to meet his hazel gaze. She felt the earth below her, saw the sky above him. He hovered closely enough that she could see the flecks of blue interspersed among the gold and green.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I lost.” Every iota of the shock and dismay she felt rasped painfully into those two words. He had the audacity to smile. “I never lose.”

  “Your opponents underestimate you.”

  “And you did not?” Certain she looked and sounded like a petulant child, she couldn’t find it in herself to care or modify her behavior.

  “Not even for a moment.” His words sounded sincere. “And you did not disappoint.” He tapped her on the nose.

  Digging deep, she found the strength to swat his hand away.

  “You fought nothing like your men.” The accusation rolled
off her tongue as she continued her struggle to make sense of what had just happened. She’d not lost a match in at least five years. This couldn’t be happening. Especially not now when she’d wagered something she was loath to lose.

  “My men were not successful. I learned from their mistakes.”

  Evidently he had, though she still refused to accept her current reality. “You did not take a single swing at me.”

  He caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I like you pretty.”

  Eyes narrowed, she batted his hand away a second time. “I hate you. Did you know that?”

  “As you are entitled.” He was completely unperturbed. “Come, my sore loser.”

  He grabbed her arm. At first she thought his intent was to help her to her feet, but in one fluid motion he slung her over his shoulder and stood. She may as well have weighed nothing.

  “Put. Me. Down.” Each word was punctuated with a fist to his back. She aimed for his kidney, squirming the entire time as he turned to make his way inside.

  “Hold still.”

  Her responding yelp as his hand cracked against her ass was as much reflective of her surprise as the stinging tingle left in its wake.

  With Persephone momentarily stunned into immobility, he took advantage and readjusted her. “I do not wish to drop you.”

  She caught one final glimpse of Seraphime before she was carted inside. Persephone did not refrain from making a rude gesture with her hand at her sister’s curiously amused expression. That Seraphime found anything amusing in this situation baffled Persephone. She, herself, was livid.

  Despite her protests that she could walk, Augustine carried her the entire way to the king’s chambers. After closing and locking the door behind them, he finally put her down, sliding her slowly down his body and cupping her ass to hold her firmly against him once her feet hit the ground. Anger still simmered hotly, both at herself and at him over her loss, but she couldn’t deny another type of heat building between them. At present, anger was preferable.