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Fen drank as much water from her bucket as she could to fill the gnawing hole in her stomach before using the rest to wash her face. When the guard came to get her, she had braided her hair back out of her eyes. He surprised her by passing her a yellow fruit the size of an apple.
"Eat it and assemble in the courtyard," he said gruffly.
Fen smiled her thanks at him because he seemed less of an asshole than the others. She didn't know the fruit's name, but it was juicy and sweet. It was only into her third bite that she felt warmth spread through her chest like she had drunk a horn of mead too quickly. She quickly stopped chewing and sent her magic into the fruit. It wasn't poisonous, thank Freya, but it definitely had an intoxicating effect.
The slaves in the courtyard were all eating the fruit, their pupils blown out. Fen realized it was to keep the slaves calm and make their horrific deaths less painful.
How generous of our slave masters,she thought bitterly. She spotted the man from the cell next to hers and offered him what remained of the fruit.
"Are you sure?" he asked with a wobbly smile.
"Go ahead. I never have an appetite in the morning," she replied, pressing the fruit into his hand. At least he would have a more peaceful death.
Fenrys was a shield maiden; she didn't want a peaceful death. She would go out bloody and screaming with a weapon in her hand. She wasn't going to die quickly for anyone's sport.
The stranger's words returned to her,Try not to die tomorrow, little witch.
She didn't like her chances, although she couldn't remember one fight she'd had odds in her favor.
Fen gazed up into the blue sky above her. The sun was already warm and would cause a glare on the white sand. Something else that would hinder their fighting. The sounds of horns blew in the arena, and Fen knew their time was up.
The guards led them from the courtyard and through a tunnel. Fen could smell the nervous sweat of the men around her, and someone had definitely pissed themselves.
"Pick a weapon and be quick about it," the guard said, gesturing to some racks.
As Fen expected, most of the weapons were cheaply made and would probably break easily. She found a small round shield, too small for any of the larger men around her to pay attention to, and an ax with a cracked shaft. She broke it over her knee so it was half the length and hefted its weight in one hand. It would do.
"That's going to be too short to be any good, silly bitch," a stocky man with one ear laughed at her. He was no Norseman, so she could forgive his ignorance. He had clearly never seen how much damage avikingrcould do with a small ax.
"We'll see," Fen replied. She stepped away from the racks and ran the tip of her thumb over the blade's edge. Blood instantly welled on her skin, and she set about sketching battle runes on the inside of her shield, ax, arms, and hands for strength. She felt nothing from Odin, but when she prayed to Týr and drew his rune, white-hot berserker battle-heat filled her veins.
Thank you, One-handed, for not abandoning your wolf.
Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them back. She didn't know what she had done to piss off Odin, but Týr and Freya, the other battle gods, were still with her. If Odin had truly abandoned her, maybe Freya would still accept her in her great hall of Sessrúmnir.
They were taken out of the room and into a waiting area. Above them, gaps in the wooden boards of the ramp dropped sand on their heads, and the crowds roared loud enough that it vibrated through the air like thunder.
Fen swiped her fingers through the black grease of the metal cogs that worked the ramp and smeared it around her eyes. It would help with the glare, and she had never gone into battle without war paint.
The fruit they had eaten had worked because no slave tried to run, even with the weapons in their hands. It was eerie enough that Fen was reminded of the drugged eyes and calmness of animals she had sacrificed to the gods over the years.
All-Father, you might have turned your gaze from me, but every drop of blood I shed today is in your honor. Let your Valkyries watch, if you will not, and let them decide to send me to Valhalla.
The wooden floor above creaked, and the ramp dropped. The guards behind them lowered their spears to prod them forward in case anyone decided to fight back. None of them did.
Týr's bloody rune on her forearm sent a jolt of adrenaline, battle lust, and courage racing through her veins. She didn't fight the magic—she fell into it—and any fear she had vanished. She walked up the ramp and onto the sand into the hot light of the sun.
The arena was packed with people, all shouting and cheering. Flags with the cat-headed sigil of Sekhmet fluttered in the light breeze and were carved into the six stone columns that stood in the arena sand.
On one end, special areas for the wealthy patrons had dark blue fabric shading them from the burning sun. Fen spotted the beautiful woman from the night before in the stands, sitting on a dark wood and gold throne.
So she was a princess, after all, Fen thought. Her surprise jumped even higher when she saw the masked magical stranger sitting in the same box, two imposing guards standing behind him. Was he her consort? He hadn't chided her for spilling the wine on her, so Fen doubted it.
Fen might not have been able to see his expression from where she was, but she felt his gaze and the slightest flicker of his magic. The woman beside him leaned over and said something to him, and gold flashed between them. They were placing bets on the fighters.
Well, I hope I give you assholes a good show, Fen thought bitterly and spat in defiance.Fuck, these slave traders to Hel's frozen halls.
She didn't get a chance to dwell on her hatred long. Horns sounded, a high piercing cry, and a roar shook the arena. Two other trap doors had opened, and large cats the size of ponies raced across the sand, flashing fangs as long as her forearm.
