Carnival of Souls

CHAPTER 3

THE MEN NODDED AT Belias as he helped the girls and women over the back of the gatekeeper. They gave him the attention befitting his caste and his fight standing, and he accepted it without drawing attention to it. Not everything has to be a show. Belias couldn’t get Aya to understand that. He could accept her need to make her way in the world, respected it even, but she seemed determined to choose the hardest possible path to do that. Highborn girls didn’t brawl in the street, and they surely didn’t enter death matches. If her father had survived a few years longer or if her brother were older, she wouldn’t have been able to risk herself so foolishly, but the way things had unfurled, Aya had achieved her majority — eighteen — and with no one to stop her, she’d refused their wedding and entered the competition. Once entered, there was no way out save forfeiture or death.

“I hope you kill her,” a girl murmured as she stepped gingerly on the gatekeeper’s back.

Belias remained silent. He’d entered the competition to prevent Aya from dying. If she weren’t so obstinate, he’d have teamed with her publicly. It wasn’t the way the contest was structured, but he was ruling class, and with or without these wins, he’d be a general in Marchosias’ government. It was what he had been raised to do. His father had died in the service of their ruler, killed by a supposedly tamed witch’s treachery, and Belias had been raised to know that he had two functions in his life: to fight as bravely and ably as his father had and to have sons to carry on their family line. Preferably with Aya by my side. She’d been chosen for him, selected for her lineage, and she’d been trained to fight in order to be strong enough to help protect his future children.

Unfortunately, his chosen mate had decided she’d rather kill him and a slew of other people than be by his side. A growl of frustration slipped from between his lips and caused an older scab to tremble as he took her hand. Belias offered her his most comforting smile.

She squeezed his hand. “Don’t go too hard on Aya. She’s doing what many of us wish we could. Things need shaking up.”

Belias nodded.

Too hard?

He wasn’t sure he could strike her with intent to kill. Of course if he didn’t, she’d be even more aggressive. There was no way to win this fight that wasn’t also a loss — unless Aya forfeited.

Once the last of the females crossed the gatekeeper, Belias turned to face the remaining line, bowed once, and then walked into the fight zone. The space for their match was clearly marked by a fresh chalk-and-salt circle. The wooden seats that spanned the fight grounds were almost filled, and the stink of too many bodies in the heat mixed with other equally unpalatable stenches.

“Forfeit, please,” Belias murmured as he came to stand beside Aya.

She ignored him as she slipped her arms out of her jacket, stretched, and checked her cache of weapons again. She removed a cloth-wrapped blade from her bag. Two knives were sheathed at her hips, and the hilts of two smaller knives protruded from her boots. Her left boot had a razor edge at the toe, and her left glove had jaw- busters built in.

He held her gaze as he peeled off his shirt.

Her right hand tightened on the hilt of the falchion she withdrew from its cloth, but she didn’t look away. The daimons in the crowd were watching for her reaction, but Belias knew she wasn’t going to give them — or him — that satisfaction.

“We can announce our reunion right now and walk out of the fight.” Belias reached out to touch her cheek, but she raised the wicked curved sword as if she’d start the fight now. “We don’t have to be here. We’re already ruling class.”

“I’m not meant for being a wife, Bel.” Sorrow flashed in her eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“If you don’t marry me, you’ll be given to someone else eventually. You can’t avoid your duty.” He looked up as the gate slammed shut with a thud. “Be with me, Aya. You know I love you.”

“And you know I won’t breed.” As the last of the audience took their seats, Aya snapped a choke guard over her throat. “Tell me we can marry and never breed.”

If he could agree to such an absurdity, he would, but they both knew that he couldn’t. He needed to have an heir; it was his duty. It was her duty — that was why marriage and breeding ceremonies made female daimons fertile; it was why marriage entwined a couple’s lives so that the death of one was the death of both unless the woman was pregnant. Children were essential to the survival of The City. He could wait for a while—had waited — but eventually, if she didn’t marry him, she would be given to a daimon of Marchosias’ choosing. Marrying her but never being with her wasn’t really an option, either. If they were married but failed to produce a child, the marriage would be dissolved. He’d considered every possibility.

After a moment of staring blankly at her, he shook his head. “Don’t be foolish, Aya.”

“If I win the competition, I’ll rule. Why would Marchosias force me to wed or breed then? He follows the laws too.” She looked away from him to take in the crowd assembling to watch their match. “I have to win, Bel.”

“You can’t beat me, and I won’t throw the fight.”

“I know.” She smiled sadly at him.

“At least leave the collar off,” he pleaded.

“No.”

Belias shook his head again. Aya hadn’t ever made his life easy, but this was beyond unreasonable. He was fond of throttling his opponents. With his strength, it was a reliable way to incapacitate a fighter, maneuver them into an unforgiving position while they were unconscious, and then when they regained consciousness invite them to forfeit. It was legal, albeit not a crowd-pleaser. A lot of far less humane things were legal, too. Those were the crowd-pleasers. The fight rules were pretty basic: at least fifth blood had to be drawn before a kill, no outside aid, stay within the designated fight zone, and try not to die.

Fifth blood will be harder tonight.

Killing Aya wasn’t going to happen, and he was certain she couldn’t kill him, either. That meant that their fight would go until one of them had no choice but to forfeit. He felt a pang of regret for bribing the judges so that he could fight Aya, but better that than have someone else eliminate her by killing her. He’d had no doubt she’d make it to the final rounds, but now most of the remaining fighters were good enough to defeat her. She needed to forfeit before she faced a fighter like Kaleb or Flynn.

“It’s time,” Aya said as she laid her falchion just inside the edge of the ring.

With a lingering look at the girl he’d spent the last year fighting to reach, Belias walked to the center of the circle and called for her: “Aya.”

She stepped over the sword and entered the circle.

As the lower-ranked of the fighters, she walked to him, clasped his hand, and bowed her head. While her head was bowed, she whispered, “I wish we hadn’t been matched.”

“You can forfeit at any time,” he answered just as quietly.

She lifted her gaze to stare directly at him. “Likewise.”

He released her hand reluctantly.

The witch waited just beyond them to raise the circle. Belias scowled at him. The presence of witches — even controlled witches — made him want to behave in very ungentlemanly ways. They should’ve been barred from The City centuries ago. It was one of the things he intended to put into motion once he took his place in the government.

The witch bowed his head, and Belias turned his back to him and to Aya in order to address the crowd. “Aya has stood against and defeated as many fighters as I have. She is an honor to the ruling class already.”

Addressing the crowd was not typical, but he was ruling class. He turned to face Aya again and bowed deeply, as if they would dance.

She said nothing.

Together, they both reached into the bucket and took a handful of salt and chalk. Walking in opposite directions, they followed the perimeter of the already-drawn circle; when they met at the opening, they used the