Queen of Fire полностью

Their quarters consisted of a windowless cavern-like chamber providing more than ample room for practice. Reva danced across mosaic-tiled floors, dodging between elegant pillars of black marble veined in white. The walls were decorated in faded paintings depicting various beasts and men in combat and she noted how Lieza did her best not to look at them. At the far end of the chamber a large bath was inset in the floor, supplied with hot water via some hidden contrivance of pipes. Besides the bed, however, there was little in the way of furniture, or anything of sufficient weight to make a decent weapon. Even her wooden sword was made from sandalwood and like to shatter at the first contact with anything substantial.

“Fear kills,” Reva told the slave girl, spinning through a final combination of parries and thrusts. “You’d fear less if you trained with me.”

The scale was her own invention, a much modified variant of one of Vaelin’s Order standards, designed for confronting the Kuritai. Although from what Lieza told her of the spectacles Reva concluded a contest with the slave-elite might be preferable. She had quizzed the girl closely for several hours, leaving off only when she began to cry, tears flowing as she stumbled over a description of some kind of cat with teeth like daggers.

“I not a . . . fighter, like you.” Lieza hugged herself closer, resting her head on her knees.

“Then what are you?” Reva asked.

“Slave.” The girl spoke in a murmur, not raising her head. “Always just slave.”

“You must have skills, abilities.”

“Numbers, letters, language.” Lieza’s shoulders moved in a shrug. “My master taught me much. Won’t help here. I am Avielle, you Livella.”

“And they are?”

“Sisters. One weak, one strong.”

Reva grunted in annoyance, going to the bed and grabbing the girl by the wrists, hauling her to her feet. “Look at me!” She took hold of her chin and raised it, shaking her until her eyes opened, wet and bright with alarm. “Enough of this. Whatever waits for us here will need all our strength, yours and mine, if we are to survive it.”

The girl sagged, tears flowing once again. “I not like you . . .”

Reva drew a hand back to slap her. Beat some spine into her, make her practice and beat her every time she falters. She’ll learn quick enough if I put some bruises on those perfect legs, the miserable, fatherless sinner . . .

Her hands gave an involuntary spasm, allowing Lieza to sink back onto the bed, head slumped in misery. “I’m sorry,” Reva said, retreating from the weeping girl, her heart thumping.

A jangle of keys came from outside the thick iron door. It swung open on squealing hinges to reveal Varulek with two Kuritai at his back. His eyes tracked from Reva to the still-weeping Lieza. “I have been instructed to punish this one if she fails to please you,” he said.

“She pleases me well enough,” Reva told him. “What do you want?”

He stood back from the door, inclining his head in a surprisingly polite gesture of respectful invitation. “The blond man fights today. The Empress thought you would like to see it.”

Her initial thought was to refuse, having little desire to witness the Shield’s murder. But she would find no opportunity for escape here, and perhaps the pirate deserved his end to be witnessed by at least one ally. She tossed the wooden sword onto the bed next to Lieza. “At least try,” she said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Copy what you saw me do.”

The girl’s head bobbed in what might have been agreement and Reva went to the door, noting how the Kuritai maintained no more than a six-inch gap between themselves and Varulek. He fears me, she decided, depressed by continual evidence the Master of the Arena was no fool. He remained unmoved by the insults she cast at him, was always just out of reach and ensured her wrists were shackled on the rare occasions she was permitted out of the chamber.

She kept still as one of the Kuritai held a knife to her throat, the other snapping the manacles to her wrists. She calculated dispatching one would be relatively simple, hook the chains over his throat and snap his neck, but had yet to formulate a manoeuvre that would prevent the other killing her a heartbeat later. Also, she considered it unlikely Varulek would simply stand idle and watch her escape. Although he was of average proportions, she could tell from his bearing and the evident strength in his tattooed hands, he was no stranger to combat. Once a soldier, perhaps?

“Your quarters are acceptable?” he asked, leading her along the passage. They were deep in the bowels of the arena, the passage leading to a long flight of stairs ascending in a curving arc in line with the giant oval of the arena.

“A table and chair would be nice,” she said as they began the climb.