The King's Marked Page 12

  I could hear Cerac’s pain. He wanted to think his father loved him.

  “It is good to know your mother loved you since she is not here to say it herself.”

  “She was a servant in the castle. After he raped her, the queen had her dismissed.” He stared ahead, but I doubted there was anything he was looking at. “A woman with child, cast out of her home and job. It would’ve been a very difficult time.”

  “It must be painful to know what your mother suffered.”

  “Everyone suffers. It’s how you deal with the suffering that counts. The first day, when I had you brought to my chamber, I saw your pain, but I also saw your inner strength. You are someone life cannot bring down, I think.”

  “What about you? Are you someone with inner strength?” I allowed the gentle tease into my voice, hoping that would lessen how intimate this conversation felt to me.

  It was no good denying my feelings. Every time we spoke, I liked Cerac more and more.

  14

  The fight was over soon after it began. The warriors had been unevenly matched in height, strength, but also in skill. To save himself, the fallen warrior remained on the ground, cowering before the other much larger man. I was surrounded by the united cries of “Coward!” Perhaps buoyed by the loathing coming from the crowd, the standing warrior grabbed the other by the leather strap slung over his shoulder and wrapping around his waist and pulled him to his feet. The man swayed uneasily on his feet and was downed again soon after with another blow, this time to the side of his head with the end of the sword.

  Everyone jeered their disappointment at how fast the fight had been, but followed that with a cheer when the winning warrior lifted both arms in victory and turned in a slow circle, punching the arm. Filled with the crowd’s adulation, he bowed to the king, then turned and left the arena.

  “I think I’ve seen enough,” I told Fednick, who’d dragged me up here to show me his favorite warrior, the man walking from the arena.

  He’d given Fednick a brass coin for cleaning his sword until he saw his own reflection. Pralovic took the coin but promised Fednick he would return it on our night of freedom. Servants weren’t allowed to own anything. Only those who’d earned a certain trusted place within the arena, such as Helna and Pralovic, were allowed to keep any money and that was for purchasing the stores they needed to do their work. It was all accounted for in the ledgers and checked rigorously. Fednick would be accused of stealing if the coin was found and beaten before being thrown out onto the streets.

  “He’s gone now,” Fednick said and stooped his shoulders, the usual way he carried himself around.

  I would not have bothered to watch a fight but was willing to encourage Fednick’s friendship so agreed to steal away from the kitchen after the dishes were complete. My task today was to help Fednick in the weapons room cleaning the swords once they were returned from the arena.

  “We had best head back before we’re missed,” I said.

  A tall man, dressed in the cheap clothes of the commoners on the street, blocked our path. A patch covered his left eye, and his right was watery and red. He swayed where he stood and sneered down at me as he tried to lift his hand to his face. His movements were uncoordinated and awkward. Drink robbed a person of their morality and manners most of the time. My mother would say things she regretted in the morning, if she remembered saying them at all.

  “We need to pass,” I said, moving Fednick behind me.

  “Wooya, lurvve,” he slurred. I missed the words but not the meaning. This man had no intention of letting us pass.

  “The master of the arena is expecting us in the armory now.”

  “I shudda knun ’y a servant. ’Y too preddy to spend ’y time alone.”

  He raised his arm, leaning toward me. I jerked backward to miss his grasp, but he managed to catch my arm at the last. He also lost his balance and tumbled toward me, knocking me into a man sitting close by. The man pushed me from his lap, shouting at me, then seeing the drunk, shouted at him. With the warriors for the next fight entering the arena, everyone around us started shouting at us too.

  I scrambled to my feet and grabbed Fednick’s hand. No one was paying us much attention now a fight had broken out between the drunk and the man I’d stumbled into. I caught Fednick’s eye and motioned with my head for us to leave before any more became involved.

  A sudden pain shot through the left side of my face, as someone’s fist hit me high up on my cheekbone, just below my eye. I lost Fednick’s hand and staggered sideways before falling to the stone step, jarring my hip. I tried to get to my feet, but my head was a muddle and my vision wavered. A small hand rested on my shoulder.

  “Rya. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  All around me, chaos drowned the echoing chant from the rest of the crowd for the fighters in the ring. On either side of me, more people involved themselves in the fight now happening in this part of the stands.

  I focused my attention on Fednick’s hands as he grabbed my elbow and tried to tug me to my feet. I blinked a few times to clear my vision, then using the stone under my hands to steady myself, I stood.

  Fednick would not let me go, instead slipped his small hand in mine and pulled me the last few steps out of the stands and onto the walkway, which would take us to the stairwell and safety.

  Once inside, I leaned my hot cheek against the cool bricks. “I need a minute.”

  I touched my cheek, then pulled my hand away and looked at my palm but saw no blood.

  “We’ve got to hurry. They will send up the guard to stop the fight and throw those involved out of the arena. We can’t be caught here,” Fednick said.

  I slid myself off the wall.

  “Here, put your hand on my shoulder.” Fednick placed my hand where he wanted it, then guided me down, keeping his pace slow for my benefit, even though he had to be jumping inside to race down.

  At the bottom, he turned toward a shortcut to the kitchen. “No,” I said, “we’re expected in the armory.”

  “Helna should look at your face.”

  “I’m not ready for her to know what we’ve been up to. It will bruise, that’s all.”

  “It was a huge blow.” He wiped his long fringe aside and I was treated to his beautiful blue eyes as he stared up at me in wonder, perhaps marveling at the fact I was on my feet after such a hit.

  “That explains why I feel light-headed.”

  I slipped my hand from his shoulder, but he placed it back where it had been. “You look like you could use more help.”

  “Thank you.”

  We made it to the armory without encountering anyone and having to explain ourselves. Once inside the room, Fednick led me to the bench running around the perimeter. “We’re here now. You should sit down.”

  “And leave you to do all the work?”

  “I’m faster than you.”

  “What if Pralovic comes in? I’ll get in trouble,” I teased him.

  He took a sword down from the rack and brought it over to me. “Do this while you sit. That way he can’t say anything if he does come in.”

  I smiled, then regretted the attempt. My cheek was bruising fast.

  Fednick frowned at me. “It’s gonna be hard to hide that.”

  “I’ll say I tripped and hit my face on the corner of something.” I looked around. “How about the corner of the rack? We both need to know the story so we get it right.”

  Fednick slumped forward, his face drooping also. “You don’t have to lie for me. You’ll get in trouble if anyone finds out.”

  “No one will. I promise. And I won’t say anything, so you have to promise you won’t either.”

  Cerac walked through the door at that moment. As was his way, he’d moved without sound. Fednick flicked a nervous glance at me, then back to Cerac and bowed his head.

  “Leave us, boy,” Cerac said.

  Fednick scurried out the door after a short worried look in my direction. I gave him an attempted smile, then r
esisted the need to rest my palm against my cheek while the muscle throbbed.

  Cerac kept his eyes on me as Fednick disappeared. “You’re upright at least.”

  I was momentarily confused. “What? You saw?”

  “I was watching you the whole time. I’m aware the boy likes to sneak up and see the fights. But I thought you would have more sense.”

  He strode toward me, a slow smile spreading on his lips. “You do get yourself in trouble.”

  He crouched in front of me and took my chin between his fingers, turning my head to catch the best light. “Is this the promise?”

  “It was my fault. I was the one to encourage Fednick to come up with me.”

  Cerac shook his head. “You do know the punishment for lying?”

  “No, and I’d rather not know.”

  “Why have you not taken yourself to Helna yet?”

  “It’s a bruise. Nothing more.”

  He stood, looking down at me. “That was quite a stir you caused.”

  I stared Cerac in the eye. “If that man had decided to stop after one drink and kept his hands to himself, it would not have happened.”

  I looked at the sword on my lap to keep myself from looking into Cerac’s eyes, because he’d not uttered a sound or moved a muscle, including his eyes, which stayed on me.

  I took the hilt of the sword in my hand and lifted it from my lap. It was heavier than it looked, but not so heavy that I would find it difficult to wield. Cerac backed up as I stood. “Perhaps you could teach me how to use one of these.”

  He came in close. “A woman has never wielded a sword before.”

  “Never?”

  “It’s not the way.”

  “But not against the law?”

  My eyes were on the blade of the sword, but when I shifted them to Cerac, I found him fixed on me, his gaze roaming my face, hovering on my mouth, then settling on my eyes. The heat flooded my face when I realized my lips had parted when his eyes had lingered on my mouth.

  “No.”

  “So you will teach me?”

  “And what would you do with your new skill?”

  “Encourage others to keep their hands to themselves.”

  “Does that also include me?”

  I stepped back, forgetting the sword, our conversation, my body flaring alive from his suggestion. My heart hammered through my chest so hard it felt like it would burst out to reveal what his words had done to me. Cerac read my hesitancy and dropped his gaze to the sword.

  “It would be my honor to teach you.”

  I struggled to find my voice, reeling as I was from my sudden reaction. When had my feelings grown from like to something more? Maybe it wasn’t my heart doing the talking but my body, developing a need denied since I’d been taken. I knew what it was like to be held by a man, to feel his soft breath and warm lips travel the length of my body. I knew what it was like to love a man and have him love me back. To know such a feeling intensified the cravings. But this was not what my heart wanted.

  “When did you learn to fight?”

  “When I learned how much my father and brother hated me, oh, and the rest of the court, which means when I was a child.”

  “And the court will follow the king’s lead because they do not have a mind of their own.”

  “I am also a marked. The prince and the king’s marked army are immune because the king will have it that way. But the king likes that I should be reminded every day of where I’ve come from. Besides, none dare to say anything to my face, not to a marked, not to the master of the arena.”

  He said it with a voice drenched in pride. I could understand why he worked so hard to be the best. As a boy he was likely driven by the need for his father’s approval. As a man he would be driven by revenge.

  I swallowed. “When shall we start?”

  Cerac pulled his sword from its scabbard and backed away from me. With his free hand, he motioned for me to come toward him. I moved like my feet were not my own.

  “Do not lower your sword at any time when faced with an opponent.”

  I raised my sword to meet his. He dipped his forward so our blades touched at the tip. “Keep your eyes on the body first before the sword. Your opponent will reveal their next strike in the way they move before it follows through into their sword. If you follow my advice, there will come a time when you are able to see their move before they make it.”

  With that, he swept his sword back, then brought it forward in a dramatic arc, catching my sword from underneath and ripping it from my hands. It somersaulted through the air. On its way down, he caught it by the hilt with his free hand. I’d barely drawn one breath.

  He prowled toward me, holding both swords, one to either side. “You were an easy target, so perhaps that was unfair of me.”

  My breath stalled as he approached.

  “This is something we must do in private. It must be our secret. That means neither Helna nor any of your friends are to know.”

  I nodded.

  “I can’t train you every day. You have your duties, and I mine.”

  “I’ll be happy with whatever time you can spare, but could you teach me how to do what you just did?”

  He spoke as he placed the spare sword back in the rack. “The idea is to start simple and work your way up. Disarming a man will take longer to master.”

  “But you believe I will be able to master it?”

  Cerac re-sheathed his own sword, then turned around to face me. He gently took my hand and turned my wrist over while pushing up my sleeve. My breath hitched as my pulse quickened. A faint hint of earthy spices wrapped me in a cloud.

  As he trailed his finger down the inside of my arm, he said, “If you were marked, there would be no doubt.”

  “But I am only a woman.”

  “I would not be willing to train you if I did not see more in you.” Still holding my wrist, he looked into my eyes. “Something tells me, Rya, you are destined to become so much more than you were born to be.”

  15

  I ran a hand over the sword and then the next below it on the rack. I wrapped my hands around the hilt and took it down. Although it wasn’t heavy now, I understood Cerac’s warning. A few repeated blows and the sword was likely to feel the weight of stone.

  “It suits you.”

  I spun as Cerac came into the armory dressed in a fitted deep green jacket and pants. He’d not bothered with his cloak, so there was nothing to distract the outline of his body. My pulse flared on seeing him, spreading warm liquid through my veins. Like he did to me, I took the time to run my eyes over his face, intent on learning every curve and line. He was nothing like his brother. The more I was with him, the less I saw their similarities and the more Cerac’s strength shone through.

  “Is that the one you’ve chosen for today?”

  “It looks as good as any other.”

  “That is where you’re wrong.”

  He pulled another from the rack and weighed it in his hand before turning it hilt first toward me. “Try this one.”

  I copied him, trying to detect any difference in weight. “It feels the same to me.”

  He came up close behind me and ran his hand down my arm. My eyes followed his trail. Once he reached my wrist, he lifted my arm up. “Look down the line of the sword.” He breathed in my ear.

  I did and noticed something wrong. “It bows to the left.”

  “If the sword is of poor quality or stored wrong, these things can happen. Or the blade could be blunt.”

  “Am I supposed to slice myself on all the swords to find out which is sharper?”

  He chuckled and the sound tickled my ears. “You need to be aware that not all swords are the same. After you’ve held a sword in your hand for so long, you can feel the difference too. Many warriors will only fight with one sword. Their lucky sword.”

  “A superstition.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s strong enough to win them the fight time and again.”

  “I beli
eve you call that skill.”

  This time he laughed. “Am I to stand here all day listening to your smart-mouthed commentary, or do you want to learn how to fight?”

  “I stole away from the kitchen for this, so explaining swords to me better not be all you’ve got.”

  Where had my courage come from? One moon ago, I would not have dared look Cerac in the face for any length of time. It was his nature that gave me the courage, his friendly, inviting nature.

  Cerac winked, “Follow me if you dare.” Then he was gone, out the door that led us farther into the arena, but before we made it to the spiral stair that would lead us up, Cerac ducked down another passage that wound beneath the stairwell. Before we made it a few steps down, he swiped some flint on the wall and lit a candle. Stone steps led down underground. The walls were slimy to touch and the steps slippery under foot, but neither hindered Cerac. He took the stairs with his catlike fluidity and grace. A few times, my hand shot out to grab his shoulder to stop myself from sliding all the way to the bottom. In the end, Cerac was forced to slow and guide me down if he did not want me to spear myself on my sword before we began my training.

  The steps leveled out into a low tunnel of rock. I hesitated before moving forward, still holding onto Cerac.

  Cerac squeezed my hand. “Everything all right?”

  “I’ve never been underground.”

  “It frightens you?”

  “Unnerves me. What if the rock falls on our heads?”

  “This tunnel has been here for hundreds of years. If you believe the legends, it was built during the Hundred-Years War as a place to hide from the wraiths. And if that is true, this tunnel was built a long time ago. It’s not about to fall now.” He tugged my hand, encouraging me slowly forward. “We don’t have far to go to reach the other end.”

  I continued, scanning the ceiling in the candlelight, noting the cracks and grooves where rock could fall away. We walked to the smack of my footsteps, echoing behind us, but as was his way, Cerac made little sound. I tried to gauge how much light the candle had left to give—we had the return journey to think about—and found it alarmingly small. No way could I make this journey in black as dark as charcoal, even with Cerac by my side.