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She was the daughter of Keres Andromadix. Her mother was the daughter of the emperor. Which made Kerrigan not only the granddaughter and only heir, but also … a Doma.
“I’m a Doma?”
Cleora blew out a harsh breath. “It would explain a lot.”
“What exactly does it explain?”
“Your spirit abilities for one. Few have that sort of access. Let alone a half-human, half-Fae girl from another world.”
“We had another spirit user a thousand years ago,” Kerrigan argued. “She had my same abilities.”
“And she might very well have been a demi-Doma as well.”
“Oh,” she whispered. That seemed reasonable somehow. It explained why there weren’t more. “So, I’m half-Doma, half-Fae.”
“We don’t really use those terms. You’d be a Fae-touched demi-Doma, but considering your parentage”—Cleora’s eyes widened—“I doubt your powers would be that diminished from a full-blooded Doma.”
The insinuation hung in the room. Heavy with meaning and weighted with uncertainty. Not to mention eighteen years of hardship over her mother’s abandonment.
“But if I have these powers—had,” she corrected, “then why did … why did she get rid of me?”
“That I can only guess at. Keres and Vulsan have been trying to conceive a child to be the heir to He Who Reigns for … decades.” She sighed. “Some might consider you that heir, and Vulsan would never allow that.”
“He tried to kill me,” she said softly. “My father said that Vulsan came looking for me in Alandria. If he finds out who I am, he’ll definitely kill me now.”
Cleora nodded. “With certainty.”
“So … what do I do? Is Keres here? Could you get me in to see her?”
All the possibilities suddenly opened up before Kerrigan. Maybe she didn’t need this fight. Maybe she didn’t need a gift from the gods to get home and help her people. It had only been her plan B after all else fell apart anyway. Her mother was supposed to be the one to help her. Kivrin must have known that Keres was a Doma, that she was the Doma. He must have known that she could end this war with a sweep of her hand if she wanted to. Now that Kerrigan was this close, she couldn’t back down.
But Cleora was shaking her head. “I have no idea where Keres is. She doesn’t normally come to the gladiator tournaments. She always said battle was one thing, but for sport was another matter.”
Kerrigan had said much the same. She felt the difference in the arena compared to the battlefield. But still, disappointment crept in …
“How do I find her then?”
Fordham’s hand came down on her shoulder. He’d been silent through this interaction, untroubled by her parentage and the potential consequences of her being a Doma. “We have to win.”
She glanced up at him. “Plan B then?”
He squeezed her shoulder. “It was always a long shot. We make our own way.”
“Always,” she whispered.
Cleora glanced between them with another heavy sigh. “I’ll do research on your magic and Keres. I’ll see if there’s something I can dig up. Try to stay alive in the meantime.”
“Thank you,” Kerrigan said, reaching forward and clutching her hand.
“You’re the best student I’ve ever had. I have to help. And really … anything to go against Vulsan.”
Kerrigan laughed at that. She couldn’t disagree. “One more thing: can you break the crux bond between Fordham and Iris?”
“Can I see it?”
Fordham took a half-step backward before forcing himself to stillness. His finger slipped around his neck, and for a second, a golden light illuminated a collar. Kerrigan felt sick at the sight of it. There was no reason that he’d have to be restrained like that. What a monster!
Cleora blew out another harsh breath. “This is … good work. Iris is thorough.”
“Yes,” Fordham said, his voice rough.
“I’ll look into it too. My brother might know more about this work. I’ll see what I can do. I’m just sorry that I can’t give you more.”
“You’ve done enough,” Kerrigan assured her. “More than enough. You’ve given us hope again.”
31
The Tournament
Constantine crossed his burly arms. His eyes were fixed on the gate waiting to open for Kerrigan’s second fight. “You remember what we trained?”
“I remember.”
“She’s not to be underestimated.”
Kerrigan nodded. “I saw that for myself at the party.”
He grumbled something under his breath, and she shot him a smirk.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I’m glad there are no more parties for you until you win. That’s for sure.”
Constantine had filled her in on everything that had happened after she and Fordham escaped the festivities with Cleora. Tarcus had returned furious and only gotten more so as he got drunk. He left at some point with a pair of prostitutes there for the evening, but not before slandering Kerrigan’s name and promising that she’d lose the tournament. Iris had laughed at him on his way out, and that had only made it all worse.
Kerrigan almost wished she’d been there to see it. But his threats weren’t unfounded. Neither was anything Iris had said. Kerrigan had seen the collar wrapped around Fordham’s throat that kept him from accessing his magic, that kept his shadows at bay.
