“What?” he says, giving me a sheepish grin. “I tried to tell you before. I trained with the greatest grappling master on the Nablis Peninsula. He began mentoring me when I was five. Mainly meditation back then and—”
“Then why did I have to defend you at the palace during the attack?” I rake my eyes over his proud stance.
He groans. “Of course you don’t know who Narik is. You only put females on pedestals.” I open my mouth to retort, but he holds up a hand and quickly continues. “What I mean is, Master Narik is the most renowned grappler in Perinya. But, as your country only awards the achievements of women”—he raises his brows and rushes on when I scowl—“and rightly so, I might add. I’m just not surprised you haven’t heard of him. Narik only trains in the art of the body. Not weaponry.” His features harden, and I sense there’s more to his admission than he’s willing to say.
“So you’re some master in the art of body combat?” I tilt my head, and my lips involuntarily curl into a smile. “But not weapons. And why not? Did you not feel that learning to handle a sword would be beneficial at some point in your life?”
“I’m not discussing this with you, protector, if you’re only going to mock me.” He sidesteps me and heads toward the wall of weapons.
Figuring that I’ve touched on a sore subject, I change my tactic. “Wait,” I say, pulling him to a stop by his sleeve. He faces me, broody mask in place. “I’ll refrain from mocking your customs if you’ll do the same for mine.”
He considers this for a moment, then says, “Agreed.” Raising a finger, he adds, “And on the condition that you’ll train me in weaponry.”
I suppose in order to keep him alive, this
is something that must be done. “It would be my honor”—I bow my head regally—“Prince of Pain.” As I straighten, my back flames. I grab it with a groan.
“Maybe you shouldn’t wield a weapon,” he says. “You’re injured.”
As I turn and walk toward the weapons, I say, “Better injured than dead. I’m a fast healer. Let’s go.”
Crew and the woman contender with a high, slicked ponytail stand before the wall, their eyes scanning over the weapons. As I approach, the woman peeks at me through her thick lashes, but keeps her focus on a long obsidian spear. She takes it down from the wall and walks away, testing its balance as she goes.
“Her name is Lena,” Crew says, reaching for a broadsword. “We’re both from Taggar, though we didn’t meet until we were brought here.”
My chest bristles with needling pricks as I make the connection of his homeland. The war with Taggar was the last major war my country fought before the Otherworlders’ invasion.
Prince Caben sidles up beside me, and says, “I’m Payne. From Perinya.” He extends his hand. “And the one with the foul temper”—he cocks his head toward me—“is Kaliope.”
Ignoring his remark, I stare down at his outstretched hand, wondering if Crew will slice it off with his sword. To my disbelief, he cups the prince’s hand, wrapping it with his giant one and shakes.
Crew then offers me his massive paw. “I know our countries had their differences,” he says. “But here, that is of no matter.” So he recognized my protector uniform when I first came here. Why did he attack the prince and not me? “I’ve never met a woman who can fight like you other than Lena,” he continues. “She was one of the most feared assassins in my country. I assumed, like many, that she was a man until now.”
Quickly glancing at the assassin in the corner of the training room, I catch her throwing the spear into a target’s center. Then I meet Crew’s gray eyes and accept his hand. “Thank you. I’m a protector to my empress. I’ve trained for years, but you truly gave me a great fight.”
He chuckles. “Were,” he says, stressing the word. “You were a protector. Now your Bax’s property and his top contender.” He swipes his hand over his shorn hair and sighs. “I picked a fight with Payne to test you. I wanted to know what I might be up against during the last match.”
Prince Caben grimaces. But I ignore his bruised ego, and ask Crew, “We’re on the same league, correct?” He nods confirmation. “Then how do I threaten your freedom ring?”
Jerking his head toward the end of the wall, he starts to walk, and the prince and I trail behind him. He stops next to a section filled with more swords, and runs the tip of his thick finger across one of the blades.
“We fight until there are two,” he says. “Then bets are taken no matter what league the contenders are from.”
“But how can there ever be just two?” I ask. “If they continually bring in new contenders, then there is always someone new to fight.”
Crew shakes his head. “You and Payne are the last. The season for new signups has ended. Now it’s fight to the death.”
Prince Caben scoffs. “New signups.” He shakes his head. “Sounds like we’re here willingly.”
“New signups for the ring leaders,” I say, and Crew nods.
“Exactly.” Crew swaps out his broadsword for a larger warrior’s sword. “Twenty-one contenders in all, and only one freedom ring.” Before he walks away, he adds, “Just pray you’re name doesn’t get drawn for the windfall.”
The prince glances at me curiously, and I look back to Crew. “Why?”
Over his shoulder, he shouts, “Because then the Otherworlders bet against you defeating the Grimmal.” He frowns, his lips tight. “And no one has ever beaten the Grimmal.”
Before I took up our first training session, I asked Crew to elaborate on the Grimmal. I wish I hadn’t. Bax’s threat last night about the Grimmal picking my bones from its teeth was not an idle one.