Lynn

I lost my freedom when they clipped my ears.

My razor clatters into the wooden bowl before catching in the drain. I lean down to rinse my scalp, a practice I've done more than I can count. When I find my reflection again, I grip the wooden bowl and stare. Wide brown eyes stare back. Even without hair, my features are decidedly feminine. So is my body. Even when I bind my breasts, they still show, just like my hips.

My fingers twitch, rising halfway to my clipped ears before I force them down. Twenty years, and I still reach for what's no longer there.

An impatient fist pounds against the door. "Time to go, Lynn. Don't keep the master waiting."

I swallow back my nerves and nod. My small collection of armor sits piled in the corner. I attach it quickly and efficiently, my fingers moving through the motions without thought. My only weapon is a single dagger, a gift from Master Asmus Abaret on my twenty-first birthday. Slave bellatis aren't usually permitted to own weapons, not unless exceptions are made.

I give my room—a closet, really, with a bed, a dresser, and a wash basin—a final glance before leaving.

My overseer is waiting for me in the hall. He's three decades older, having earned his freedom long ago, leaving his bellator days behind. Now he oversees the bellatis of House Abaret. "Gallus." I give him a nod. He looks me over, then nods in return. "The others are assembled?"

He grunts a yes.

Rising in the ranks has a few perks. It took most of seventeen years to claw my way to the top. The rest of the bellatis sleep in the holding quarters under lock and key. I'm the only one with a room in the main house. It is also locked at all times, but at least I have my own space.

"Coin's fighting today." Gallus's words stop me in my tracks. He puts a hand against my lower back, prodding me forward. "He'll be fine."

"I don't want him fighting yet," I grit out, using annoyance to hide behind.

"Well, that's too fucking bad," he drawls. "He's no younger than you were for your first fight." Gallus would know; he was there. I bite my tongue, knowing full well that my position as head bellator won't get me much say in this.

We stroll through the lower corridors, dimly lit with sconces that cast patches of buttery yellow light intermittently. There are no windows on the lower levels of the fortress. House Abaret is ancient and crumbling.

We emerge into a dirt courtyard. Far beyond the main gates are the training fields. Every house has them. Ours are decrepit compared to other, newer houses, even if they might have once been something magnificent to behold. But Abaret is a proud lineage, nonetheless.

There are other buildings ringing the courtyard of the main house. Slaves quarters, a blacksmith, stables, a clothier, and more. This fortress functions on its own, despite being located at the edge of Lapona, a small city three days from the capital. Tens of thousands of years ago, the city was nearly nonexistent and the fortress relied on itself for necessities.

The bellatis of House Abaret are already assembled. They snap to attention at the sight of Gallus and myself. "By the sword!" their voices echo as they salute. Our house motto. I ignore it, eyes immediately latching on to a boy's small body, his head of messy blonde hair. Coin is Asmus Abaret's latest acquisition. His only acquisition in the last two years.

My heart tightens at the sight of him.

Gallus is right. Coin is no younger than I was for my first fight. Ten, or thereabout. Slaves don't often know their real age if they enter slavery as children, whether from conquered kingdoms or simply pulled off the streets. In Coin's case, the streets.

I go to him and kneel, ignoring the others, ignoring the dirt threatening my already stained pants. The other bellatis learned to leave me alone long ago, even if it still rankles to have a female at their head. "You're ready for today?" I quietly ask him. He stars at me with determined blue eyes and nods. There isn't any other choice.

The life of a slave is brutal. The life of a bellator slave, even more so. The only difference is, at least for the bellatis, there's hope. A possible way out. Bellatis earn money in the arena as long as they win, eventually buying their way out, except in certain circumstances. Like when you're part of the poorest house and only fight in the pits. Then there is even less hope.

A large hand lands on Coin's shoulder. "The lad will do all right," rumbles a voice I know all too well. "Won't you?"

Coin nods, still holding my gaze.

I look up and find Takai staring down at me. There are a few bellatis I've allowed into my bed over the years. He's one of them. It's never more than a quick fuck to ease my aches. We're not stupid enough to let emotions get in the way. Not when we could die tomorrow, a month from now, a year from now.

I stand, putting us at nearly the same height. He's average height, just shy of six feet, and handsome, in a rugged sort of way, with dark hair and darker eyes, and a deep scar marring his left cheek. He is the only other fae slave in our cohort. So his ears are clipped like mine, like all fae slaves. A sign of our fall from grace. Our eyes hold briefly before I turn, making my way back to Gallus without sparing Takai a single word.

"Load up!" Gallus calls, signaling everyone into the large wagon. I glance at Coin, then swing into the wagon, taking my place on the bench beside him. Today is not the day he dies.

Shadowcroft is disgusting. The least glamorous of Herocratis's fighting venues. A collection of death pits only the most unfortunate bellatis frequent. Namely, me. It's where criminals are sent to die.

"Fucking hate this shithole," I mutter. I'm standing near the gate. Coin stands at my side. We watch as Takai prowls the pit, waiting for the next wave of prisoners. "You remember all the death points I taught you?" I ask Coin.

"Yes, Arbitrix."

"What are your strengths?"

"Speed and agility, Arbitrix."

"And?" I prompt, looking down at him.

His cheeks heat. "Cleverness and stubbornness."

"And?" I prompt again, this time ruffling his hair.

He sighs. "My smile."

"Good. Stick with the first four. Save the smile just for me, yeah?"

"Yeah," he breathes, his little shoulders rising and falling. Gods, I want to hug him. I want to pull this child into my arms and tell him it's going to be all right. But I don't. I can't.

Because that is a promise I can not make.

"Are you nervous?" I ask, just to keep him talking.

"No."

"Coin. You know I can always tell when you lie."

"No!" he insists.

"I was nervous my first time," I tell him. "Threw up all over my boots."

"Gross," he mutters, not looking at me.

The gate across the pit opens and three male bodies charge out. A flash of surprise goes through me at the sight of a Qiryn male among them. We have a total of ten Qiryn among the slaves at House Abarat. Mostly female, because, surprise-surprise, they were all Asmus could afford. They work in the kitchen and main house. I've managed to befriend a few of them, but most are too quiet and have suffered too much trauma to trust even a fellow slave.

Like the fae, Qiryn have pointed ears and enhanced strength, along with other senses like smell, hearing, and sight. But that is where the similarities to our distant cousins end. They do not possess magic, and their skin is dark gray.

Takai roars in challenge. We watch as the criminals sprint for him, their weapons raised. One of them carries a mallet, another, a blunt sword, and the third, the qiryn, nothing but his bare hands. It takes Takai twenty minutes to bring all three down. Qiryns die more easily when their ears are clipped.

Gallus appears at the gate beside me, unlocking it. "Just the boy," he warns before signaling for Takai to return.

"I'm aware." I rock my jaw back and forth.

"Asmus wants to see what his investment got him."

I sigh, squeezing Coin's shoulder. "Give them hell, yeah?"

"By the sword, Arbitrix," Coin says before walking out onto the dirt pit. Takai passes by him and claps him on the shoulder, just enough for Coin to skip a step. Our eyes meet as he steps into the dark opening shielding me from the pit. "By the sword, Arbitrix," Takai says without stopping. I let him pass but remain silent.

Coin comes to a stop in the middle of the pit. The sounds of the crowd explode. I hold my breath, studying his little body, the way he holds his posture. He hefts a short blade, keeping his small knives hidden in their sheaths beneath his tunic.

The commentator calls out the next round. The gate across from me opens and two figures appear. I swear under my breath. Both are large men, humans, thankfully, but they carry weapons. When they see who they're fighting, they jeer, snarling and spitting.

"Come on, Coin," I mutter.

Coin moves, striding swiftly around them. One of them is tall and broad shouldered, bald, with crooked teeth and eery, pale eyes. The other has a mane of matted hair, not nearly as tall, and at least two times the girth of the other, with a protruding belly that will surely throw off his center of gravity. He'll be the slowest of the two, the clumsiest.

They both wear thick metal cuffs to mark them as criminals. The chain links have been removed to allow them mobility. A last chance at freedom before death.

The taller one lunges, striking out with his sword. Coin dodges. He lunges again, growling this time. Again, Coin dodges.

I blow out a breath.

Coin will tire them out. Chances are, they haven't had anything to eat or drink for a few days. He'll use that to his advantage. Even still, I watch with my heart in my throat.

I need to trust that I taught him—that we all taught him—well enough to handle this.

The large one lunges next, trying to throw his weight right on top of the boy. Coin drops into a roll, moving out of reach, keeping his sword clenched in his small hand. I can't help but whisper my suggestions out loud, as if he might hear me, as if I'm coaching him.

Over and over they lash out. He continues to dodge, just like I taught him. Warmth spreads in my chest.

Their insults have stopped, replaced by growing fury. "Take that side," the tall one orders, pointing in one direction while he stalks towards Coin's left. Coin feints left, in the same direction as the large man lunges. He changes direction, whirling away, dropping low before dragging his blade along the backs of the man's legs, severing tendons. The man screams and goes to his knees. The tall one jumps after him, grabbing Coin's tunic.

I curse.

Coin rears backward and cries out, swinging his blade wide. My fists clench. Stupid, I was so stupid to get attached to this kid.

The man grabs Coin's wrist, squeezing hard enough that the boy drops the blade. The man sneers and says something I cannot hear. I see a flash of fear in Coin's eyes that makes my heart leap. The man drops his dull sword and wraps his fingers around Coin's throat, squeezing.

"Your daggers!" I scream. "Use your daggers!" I know he can't hear me over the roar of the crowd, but that doesn't stop me.

Coin's mouth opens and closes, gasping for air that won't come. Oh, gods. My stomach heaves. This is it.

"Fuck!" I scream.

Coin's face turns red as he flails about, struggling. My heart rises into my throat. I can't breathe. I can't watch—

There's a flash of movement. Coin reaches for a hidden dagger, slipping it free and jabbing it into the man's side over and over. The man howls and drops him.

I exhale.

The crowd goes wild as he drops to the ground, fishes around for his sword, then swings it wide, slicing the man along the hip. Then, he finishes him off, dragging his blade over his throat, and goes for the other.

It takes all of five minutes.

He returns to me covered in blood, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Good fight. You'll do better next time. Go get cleaned up."

"Yes, Arbitrix," he mumbles, then stalks away. I pretend not to notice the glossy sheen of his eyes. First kills are always the hardest. You tell yourself they're rapists and murderers, that they deserve it, that they would have died by your sword, or someone else's.

Those words never makes it easier.

It will be a hard night for him, but he's alive and stronger for it.

"Ready, Lynn?"

"Ready," I repeat, nodding to Gallus..

"By the sword," he says. I repeat the words back to him, our eyes holding. I wonder, did he feel like this when I had my first fight? Did he watch with his heart in his throat, worried I wouldn't walk out of the pits? Did he feel a rush of intense pride when I did?

I want to ask him these things, but I don't.

Instead, I heft my sword, testing out the weight of it in my hand before Gallus closes the gate behind me. I stride into the center of the pit, looking up, scanning the crowd as the commentator introduces me. The crowd knows me and roars, stomping their feet with delight.

I search for Asmus Abaret's face and find him sitting in the head box. I've made him a lot of money over the years. A lot of fucking money. Which is why I insisted on a contract when he promoted me three years ago. There was a great deal of hemming and hawing. A great deal of arguments and threats, at which point he almost sold me. Except he knew that would have given me the upper hand. So he caved.

Ten years. I've already served three. Seven left and I'll have my freedom. Half my life will be spent, but I'll be free.

I nod respectfully at Asmus before faltering. There's a fae female with him, with long silver hair elegantly twisted half up in a bun, the rest falling over her shoulders, over a jeweled gown dripping with wealth—the kind that has no business in a place like this. I nod to her, too, and almost look away. Almost. A face beside her catches my attention. Chills race over my arms and climb my neck.

A brutal looking fae male.

Dark, murky eyes hold mine, studying me with cold indifference. They're set into a handsome face hewn from stone. His dark hair is several inches in length, swept to one side. The other side of his scalp is closely shaved, showing off his left ear. It's pointed and filled with rings along the cartilage.

He leans over and says something to the silver haired matron beside him. Her gaze remains fixed on me and she nods. There's something final about the movement.

I let my gaze drop and hone my focus. A gong sounds and I turn towards the opposite gate. It opens, and six bodies race out into the pit. With a challenging smirk, I lift my sword in one hand, and rip my dagger free with the other. Then, I slaughter them all, giving the crowd exactly what they paid for.

My body aches. I try not to fuss with the gash across my side, even though it's still bleeding freely. It's merely a flesh wound, and not even close to the worst I've experienced. Meka will put it to rights with needle and thread.

It makes me thing about what I'm going to do when we return to House Abaret. After seeing Meka, I'll visit the bathing chambers with the other bellatis and rid myself of all the blood and muck, eat a plate of food, hopefully something decent since it was a fight day, and curl up in my cot. Tomorrow will be another training day, so I'll need my rest.

The bellatis of House Abaret are shelving weapons, riding the high of victory, trading banter about the fights, as Gallus appears in the doorway. We've already had our victory speech, so I frown, watching him.

"You're wanted in the pits," he announces. "All of you." His eyes don't meet mine. My mind flashes back to the silver-haired matron from earlier and I just know. This has something to do with her.

We follow Gallus out onto the blood soaked dirt of the pit. It stinks. Flies are already swarming. We assemble in our formation line, with me at the head. Coin is at my side. I resist the urge to reach out and touch him.

The crowd has emptied out for the night. An eery quiet permeates the space. If ghosts could talk, this place would be screaming.

I stiffen as Asmus appears, limping with his cane in hand—a leg injury from his days in the military that never quite healed. He's accompanied by the silver-haired matron and dark haired fae male. They walk down the line, their eyes a slow perusal. Asmus passes me, offering a nod I'm not supposed to see with my downcast eyes.

The woman stops before me, looking me over. I hold still, muscles coiled. I'm used to this kind of perusal. I may be a bellator, but I'm still a slave, paid for and owned. I'm still property, no matter how loudly the masses shout my name while I'm slitting throats.

The fae male is only inches from me. This close, I can smell him. Bergamot, maybe? And leather. And something...earthy. I find myself inhaling before I can stop, then force the breath out.

If I thought he was intimidating from the stands, it's nothing compared to being this close. I fight the urge to lift my eyes, taking in only what I can see from this angle. He's tall, with broad shoulders and trim hips, dressed in a sleeveless doublet that's accented with light plate armor. The etchings on the armor are fine and delicate. His bare arms are honed, showing off a warrior's strength. Tight fitting pants are tucked into black boots. He's got baldrics crossing his chest with an array of blades. A belt at his waist holds a single short sword. Leather bands wrap around his wrist, held in place with ties.

"This one will do," the matron decides. I don't lift my head even as my heartbeat takes off at a gallop.

"You cannot be serious, Sadria. She's my best fighter. You take her and...and that's it for me."

Sadria. The name drags at something in my memories. Something I can't quite grasp as it slips away.

"But I am serious, Asmus." Her airy voice is firm, unyielding.

I finally risk a glance up at Asmus as a realization crashes over me. Three years. Three years of leading his bellatis, of earning my freedom year by year, and he is throwing it away.

Years ago I'd be weeping with relief. The hope of joining a better house means coin in my pocket. I would've jumped at the opportunity.

Now, I have a contract. One that ensures my freedom. All I have to do is carry out the terms.

Until now.

I go numb. The matron doesn't appear to notice, but her fae male does. He looks over and his expression hardens into one of distaste. I quickly look downward again, but not before I see his beautifully carved cheekbones and perfectly formed jawline.

"Fine. Take her and go." His words are an icy slap and it feels a lot like my world is crashing down around me. I croak Coin's name and glance down at the child. Then I say something very, very stupid. It slips out before I can stop it, even knowing how careless it is. Showing them what matters to you is showing them how to break you. But I can't leave him behind, and I hate myself for the weakness. "If I go, Coin comes with me."

I feel more than see the male beside Sadria stiffen. I flinch, waiting for the crack of his palm across my face. When it doesn't come, I lift my gaze and look the matron dead in the eye. "Please."

I'm not above begging.

That one word spurs the male into action. He lunges forward. His hand wraps around my throat before I can blink. For a split second, I'm eight years old again, small hands clawing uselessly as the overseer's grip tightens—No! I push the memories away.

Gods, he's fast, but I'm fast too. My blade is drawn and pressed firmly against his groin before the memory can drag me under. He tenses, but doesn't release me. "You do not speak unless spoken to, slave." Something about his voice, deep and controlled, sends an unwelcome shiver through me despite the threat. I hate that I notice the steadiness of it, the way it never wavers even with my blade pressed against him.

I hiss the next words. "Remove your hand or I will remove your pretty little jewels."

For a heartbeat, he simply stares at me. Like he can't quite comprehend that I've spoken to him. Then his face draws closer to mine, cruel mouth lifting in a smirk. I'm completely caught off guard by the flecks of amber in his brown eyes, like there are flames crackling in his gaze. "You think they're pretty?"

I press the blade harder, hard enough to slice through the fabric of his pants. "Shall I go in for a closer look?"

"Enough, Finley. Release her," the matron tsks. He holds me for a heartbeat longer, then two, then he painfully squeezes my throat in warning before releasing me with a firm shove. I stumble backwards, gasping, coughing. I don't double over. I keep my dagger raised.

"Who thought it a good idea to give a slave a weapon?" he asks no one in particular, lifting his arm to casually adjust the leather ties at his wrist.

"I did." Asmus gathers himself up. I can't even bear to look at him, the sting of betrayal too sharp. "She earned it, for obvious reasons. As her master, I'm permitted such...indulgences." One of the few things Asmus has ever given me, besides a contract and bringing Coin in. Few masters permit weapons to slaves, but years of profitable fights earned me small privileges.

Finley makes a humming noise low in his throat. "Well, as of now, you're not her master any longer, so I'll be taking that."

I don't fight him when he snatches my blade and sheathes it with a smirk, a dare, like he wants me to reach for it, to fight him. Like he wants nothing more than to wipe the floor clean with me. I inhale and let my hand drop, squeezing it into a fist.

"We'll be going now," says Sadria. "I'll take the boy, too. Unless you'd rather I submit your debt to the collectors, Asmus?" I finally glance at my master—my former master—and watch his skin turn ashen. He nods.

Suddenly, it makes so much sense. Why we only ever fight in Shadowcroft. Why his house is crumbling into nothing. He's drowning in debt and this is the only way to claw himself out.

Sadria is already walking away, confident in her threat. Whatever he owes her, handing me over is the better option. I know he meant what he said before. That with me gone, it's over. He's done after this. I should feel...something, but I don't.

"Get moving," Finley barks, glaring at me.

I huff and place a hand on Coin's shoulder, pulling him away with me. I don't look back at any of them, trying not to wince as the movement pulls on my wound. A quick glance down shows the side of my tunic soaked in blood.

Whatever.

My mind is blank, my feet moving one in front of the next, taking me away from this place. We reach the gate and I hesitate. Coin hesitates beside me. I squeeze his shoulder, urging him on, urging both of us on. Right as I dip into the shadow of the tunnel, I hear, "By the sword!" A single voice, and then another, and another, until the chant repeats in unison. A farewell.

Those words follow me long after we leave the pits.