Page 21 of On Broken Bonds

At the bar, I’d only half believed him as he told me about his experience, his fighting skills. Now, I have no choice but to witness it. To drink in the sight of him effortlessly fighting off three or four men at a time.

In a blink, we’ve climbed the stairs and reached the long hallway, and I’m unlocking the door, letting this man into my room. He steps in after me, his hands bloody, his blood or an opponent’s, I’m not sure, tucked together in front of him. I walk in, past the edge of the bed, and he stays standing by the door, watching me.

I’m reminded of Ivor, of his talk of honor. Decorum.

“Why?”

The man raises an eyebrow in my direction. “Why, what?”

“Why do you want to enter the Trials?” He’s quiet, and I go on, “I’m entering to get my sister back. To win her for myself and return her to our family home. So what is it that you want? Because if it’s the Courted Prize⁠—”

“It’s not.” His gaze darkens, then he clears his throat and says, “I intend to take the greatest part of the prize.”

My eyes widen when I register what he means. The part of the prize that everyone desperately wants. “Divinity?”

He nods once, tersely. “Yes. Your sister is of no interest to me.”

That’s one of the interesting things about having teams for the Trials. Everyone has to know what they want from the prizes. Everything is split up between them according to their own agreements. Whether you have one team member, or five, you split the prizes. That’s why they typically keep the teams small.

Another long silence stretches between us, and I realize that I’ve put myself in another poor situation, standing in my room with a stranger as I am. A strange man whose strength I’ve never seen the likes of before.

And yet, I don’t feel like I’m in danger. There’s something oddly comforting about this large, violent stranger.

“Take the night to think it over,” he says, stepping toward the door, perhaps sensing my discomfort. “I will⁠—”

“I’ll do it.” What choice do I have? “You and I will compete and win. You take the divinity, I keep the Courted Prize, and we split the rest.”

His eyebrows dart up when I say you and I will win but I ignore that. Without the certainty of will, I have nothing.

“Very well.” He clears his throat and nods, his hand lingering on the door handle. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning. We don’t have much time left, so we’ll train as much as we can. I can at least teach you basic techniques before the start of the Trials.”

After the door shuts behind him, I’m left in the silence and relative dim of my room, the stew from the bar sloshing in my stomach, mingling with the ale, making me feel slightly sick.

I sit on the bed. Now I have a team. A partner. I’m officially fighting in the Trials.

I’ve never been much of an optimist. More than likely, I will die. I know that.

But at the same time, I hold another truth. I would do anything to save my sister, to keep her safe. I can’t imagine leaving this place without her by my side.

There’s no other choice.

Riddled with these thoughts, I ready myself for bed, washing the best I can in the small sink. I clean my face and brush back my hair. I wash and rinse my undergarments, hang them to dry for the morning, and slip into the nightshirt I brought. It’s smaller than a nightgown and takes up less space in my pack.

It’s not quite proper, but there’s nobody here to witness me in the wrong sleeping attire.

For the first time in a very, very long time, I am alone.

And I fall asleep thinking about the man from the bar. It's just before I slip into my dreams that I realize that through everything, our meal, drinking, the fight, and the deal, I never learned his name.

7

Nyx

“Are you ready to come out yet?” my new partner calls, an edge of impatience sharpening his voice.

No. Absolutely not.

I stare wide eyed at my reflection in the polished shield hanging on the wall. It’s no grand mirror like the one back home, and the curved metal distorts my shape, but I can still make out enough to know this is all terribly wrong. My dark hair, usually loose around my shoulders, has been braided up around the crown of my head. My legs, which have never been exposed to the world in anything but flowing skirts, are encased in fitted leather the same dark shade as the jacket my new partner had been wearing when he arrived at my chambers this morning.