Page 49 of Black Sea

I told myself not to sigh with relief at the immediate sensation of lightness. My arms fell limply at my sides, and I had to grit my teeth against the pain mingling with the gradual relaxation of my muscles.

Roxior shooed the soldier away like an insect, disregarding his wounded guards, and signaled for the two servants to move forward. One of them came up beside me with the basket, while the other stood next to Amlach. At a nod from his Master, the man lifted the cloth to reveal the contents of the basket.

Two silver collars of different sizes, connected to the attached handcuffs by a thin chain.

My nostrils flared. My anger burbled. No, that was too much. I couldn’t go on with that farce.

I was a general. I was a princess. I was the heir to the throne.

I could not accept that humiliation.

I was about to speak and object when Amlach casually moved a bit closer and pressed his arm against mine.

Easy, he seemed to want to tell me through that gesture.

I repeated it in my mind like a mantra, reminding myself that, right now, Roxior was our only chance to return to the Lands of the East. I couldn’t risk compromising it and plunging us into an even worse fate.

I let Amlach’s looming presence envelop me, concentrating on the connection between my skin and his to keep the urge to attack under control.

“In a house like mine, copper is used to distinguish the slaves engaged in minor roles such as livestock farming, food cultivation, and so on,” the Master explained to us as the servant placed the basket on the grass. “Bronze is for servants. Silver, instead . . .” He nodded slightly to the two men. “Silver is for gladiators.”

The servants moved behind us and closed the collars around our necks.

I took a sharp breath at the sound of the little pin being inserted into the two holes at the ends of the metal band. A feeling of repulsion washed over me, and I had the impression that a flood of scorpions had emerged from the collar, pouring over me and slithering across my skin.

The cuff tightened around my right wrist, and I felt a wave of horror as I realized the chain linking it to my collar wasn’t the only one.

There was a second chain, about five hands long.

And it connected me to Amlach’s handcuff.

“What’s the meaning of this?" I hissed at Roxior, glowering at him.

He remained unperturbed. “I want you two to live in symbiosis, Princess. To learn to move in unison. To become each other’s shadow. I want you two to merge so that you have no equal in the Games, not even in your . . . ”—e searched for the right word while observing the chain binding us—“condition.”

“We have just shown you our ability to fight chained together,” Amlach protested, scowling.

“And I gave you my word that I would not cause any trouble,” I added bitterly.

“And I am sure you will keep it, Your Highness. As long as you have him near you,” he clarified, giving me a wise glance.

I sought Amlach’s gaze.

I found it.

I held it longer than I should.

When I looked back at Master Roxior, a sly, crooked smile was painted on his lips, his eyes glimmering with craving.

“Welcome, my gladiators,” he announced.

29

Lotte accompanied us upstairs; her austere posture reminded me of the priestesses who climbed the steps of Aegel’s temples.

Aegel . . .

Would I ever really see it again? What about my family? Had they realized that something was wrong? That I was in danger?