Forcing himself to release her arms, he stepped back. Nynn took a deep breath that seemed significant. Exhaled. Tossed her head in a way that once would’ve flung long, pale hair back over her shoulder. “I’m eating today, Leto. I’m sleeping. And I’m not training for a single minute.”
A laugh escaped him. He couldn’t help it. She was no longer a neophyte, despite her lack of experience in an actual Cage match. The confidence and competence shimmered off her. Stronger now. Undeniably powerful. Almost savage.
Dragon be, he wanted her.
“Yes, you’re eating today. Tomorrow we’ll learn to coordinate our strengths and weaknesses.”
She tilted her head, still wearing a teasing smile. “You have weaknesses?”
“Few. Very few.”
“That
Drawn by a newfound camaraderie, he stepped closer and touched her chin. Perhaps it was his relief that made him relent. She wanted a piece of her old life. Who was he to deny whatever would propel her through the tough months to come?
“Audrey, you will get your son back.”
She flinched. Drew back. Frowned—just when he’d gotten used to her fine, smooth brow and another pattern of freckles. “My name is Nynn.”
He shrugged. “If you’d rather.”
“And you must have me mistaken with some other neophyte. I had no idea you trained so many.”
“What do you mean?”
“Leto, I have no son.”
He went very, very still. His lungs had stopped working. Quickly, he searched for Ulia. She stood outside the Cage. An enigmatic smile turned her face into a mass of overlapping wrinkles. “The Old Man will be pleased, don’t you think?”
Leto grabbed Nynn’s arms. Gave her a shake. Harder. Her injuries would heal but he needed to get through to her—to her mind—as if his will alone could undo the last few hours. As if that would ease the sudden plummet in his gut.
“If not for your son, then why will you fight?
“For the same reason you do,” she said calmly. “For the glory of the Asters.”
SEVENTEEN
Nynn woke with a massive headache and little memory of what had happened the night before.
Night. As if anyone could tell light from dark when underground. The bare bulbs were out, so that meant night. There was no other way to mark time other than the schedule Leto set for her training. She was grateful for the attention from the Asters’ champion. Being given over to a lesser warrior’s tutelage would mean her defeat.
The idea of defeat was as powerful as the idea of death.
Leto was fast becoming more than a trainer. She remembered being at odds with him as if watching the memories of another woman. Why had she been so contentious? She should’ve been paying attention from day one. And why, for so long, had she denied her attraction to him? He was a godlike man—a living example of why Dragon Kings should be revered. All graceful power. His skills made him impressive, and his teachings had made her strong, but he possessed a magnetism she no longer wanted to refuse.
Despite her headache and how her back throbbed, she lay in the dark and combed through the images of how he’d held her. How he breathed. How he caressed. How he kissed.
She hadn’t seen him with the right eyes. Blinded by pride, she was of Tigony blood. From the house of the Giva, no less. Her condescension and a few years of martial training in her youth had made her stubborn—just enough knowledge to be a danger to herself. She’d wasted too much time.
Why she’d put old Tigony biases above her survival was beyond her. Aside from Mal, they’d treated her like dirt. Worse than dirt. Dirt could nurture crops. She was more like the barren rock aisles jutting up from the Aegean. Pretty. Useless.
Not anymore. That wasn’t her world anymore, trying to fit in where no one wanted her. This was a new day.
Or it would be soon.
Aside from her pounding skull, she felt good. Refreshed, even. She sat up and ran a hand over all of her aching places. Her recollection of their last training session was fuzzy. Her powers were still so big and strange that she closed her eyes when she set them free. Gaps in her memory made sense. They must’ve gone a full twelve rounds with how much pain pulsed down her back and thighs. Yet the flesh beneath her fingertips was whole.
A Dragon King’s gift was a mysterious, powerful thing.
Nynn of Clan Tigony could harness lightning. Pull it into a sphere so beautiful that she was reluctant to let it go, make it burn, set it free. But she would. Leto would be her partner in her first Cage match. He needed her. Relied on her. And they both had reasons to fight.
He would provide comfort to his sister.
She would . . .
There in the dark of her cell, where the only sound was trickling water from the crevice in the corner, Nynn frowned again.
The lights above her winked on. She blinked away her confusion and stood. Stretched. Shook out the last of her foggy fatigue. That strangeness must be the remnants of an unpleasant dream. She knew who she was and she knew her place: in the Cage.
Excitement merged with a case of nerves. She’d only ever practiced. The idea of stepping into a real Cage, with clay beneath her boots and a crowd roaring its approval, was too much to imagine. Her first time would give detail to her vague, eager visions.
“Armor on,” Leto called as he strode up the corridor. “Today’s the day.”
“Today . . . ?” Even as she tried to sort her memories, she was already obeying his command by gathering her things. “I thought we had more time to prepare.”
“You must’ve lost track of time. You’ve worked hard these last few days.”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest wall, as was his habit. He looked . . . magnificent. Whatever armor he’d worn in the past must’ve been for the sake of training. This set was immaculate. Polished bronze accented black metal as dark and lustrous as onyx. Protective layers over his right shoulder accentuated the breadth of his upper body, while his bare left shoulder revealed striated, defined muscle. The leather wrapped around his forearms seemed to be a part of him. Stronger. More supple. Not on its own, but because of the toned flesh it protected. More leather tucked around his waist and laced around his thighs, clinging and accentuating his strength.
He was freshly shaved. Defiant jaw. Lean cheeks. Raised chin. Even his hair was shorter. Dark. So dark. She ran a hand over her own cropped hair and felt a rush of camaraderie.
“You’re going to need to dress faster than that,” he said, “if you want to meet the Old Man before we begin the match.”
“Of course.”
One eyebrow lifted only a fraction. She read more of his cocky, amused mood from the way he widened his stance. He pushed his shoulder blades flush against the wall. Chest out. Taller now. More intimidating. Only, she wasn’t intimidated anymore. She couldn’t remember why she had been.
More likely, she’d probably thought him beneath her. Clan Garnis. The Lost. What did they know about tradition and long millennia of controlling their human subjects? The idea of having anything to learn from a man of such wandering stock must’ve been laughable.
She wasn’t laughing now; she was staring.
Rather than rush through her preparations, Nynn crossed the training cell—not toward the pile of her armor,
