Caged Warrior

He led Nynn—a little dazed, but remarkably steady on her feet—toward a gathering anteroom where the combatants were given their assignments.

Nynn stood at his shoulder, trying to read the paper he held. Her smile was brilliant, with teasing lips that bordered perfect, almost small white teeth. Whatever shock and possible memories from her encounter with the doctor had faded entirely. “So, who do we get to humiliate?”

“You’re taking to this rather well.”

“Careful, Leto. That almost sounded like a joke.”

He stilled. Chills shivered beneath his armor. The hair atop his head itched with a sudden prickle of sensation. She had used his given name before, but now they had the promise of victory between them. All that could entail. He would hear her gasp his name when he entered her.

Another weakness. And another reason to win.

“The Pendray woman, Weil,” he said. “And Urman, sent by the Townsends.”

“What’s his clan? I can’t recall.”

“Tigony.”

“Too bad for him. No trickster gets by another.” She walked an appreciative glance down his body, then back up to his face. A deep pulse of awareness radiated out from her smile, into him. “Let’s do this.”

¦   ¦   ¦

Nynn followed Leto. She had never been so overwhelmed.

The crowd surrounding a real combat Cage was thick. Loud. Eager. Men in suits and women in evening gowns. Bodyguards and strange shadowy figures. Possibly even other Dragon Kings, if their distinctive bronzed skin and larger-than-life auras were any indication. That they would associate so freely among humans struck her as peculiar. She couldn’t make sense of it.

There was a lot she couldn’t make sense of lately.

Like why seeing that doctor had propelled hand to hilt. She’d been ready to take off his head. She’d envisioned it. The spray of blood. The strike of metal against flesh, then deeper into bone. And then deeper still, into a place of satisfaction. Even justice.

Those images were the remnants of some dream. Leto had done her a favor by intervening. Her opponents were in the Cages, not among the Asters.

There was no mistaking the grandeur of where she would do battle. Leto had described it perfectly. Larger. Brighter. An ominous pall of significance made it far more than a place to spar and learn. This was a place where futures were determined.

Probably a thousand people circled the Cage—a complete circle of spectators around the familiar octagonal framework. Lights shone with the brightness of day. Only then did she realize that each corridor since the one they’d entered upon arriving was slightly brighter. A slow means of acclimating them to what would shine down like another enemy.

She kept her eyes on Leto’s boots. Better to ignore the crowd. Better to focus. She wore armor, carried a weapon and a shield, and climbed up eight webbed wrought iron stairs behind one of the greatest warriors among the Dragon Kings. Their names were announced.

A Cage warrior. The stuff of legend and nightmares. Nynn didn’t feel like a nightmare; she felt like a blade. Sharp and ready to cut.

Despite countless distractions, she waited for the moment she’d come to relish: when Leto stepped into the Cage. He tipped his head to the ceiling. His expression became as animated as any she’d ever seen. He was in his element and reveling in it. Holding his mace and shield, he lifted his arms as if to encompass the arena, then turned to stake his claim over the entire building. He roared back at the crowd.

Part man. Part animal.

Nynn followed him inside. The same gorgeous rush of freedom stole her breath. Power. Just power. This was what it meant to have full possession of her Dragon-given gift. Her cells quivered inside skin two sizes too small. The clay floor was like gritty mud beneath the soles of her boots. Glaring lights atop each of eight support posts bathed them in an unearthly shimmer. The visual echo of the Dragon, perhaps, as it dove into the fiery Chasm and birthed their kind.

Two opponents entered the Cage. Weil was a short woman, as were most Pendray. She had wild red hair that stood out from her head as if zapped with electricity. But the one who truly commanded electricity was the Townsend warrior, Urman. Nynn’s allegiance to the Tigony did not exist here. The only person she wanted to please right then was Leto.

Only when an official entered the Cage did she catch a shift in Leto’s posture. He stood straighter, chest out. Posturing. But bristling with something close to confusion.

The official carried two manacles connected with a ten-foot length of chain. “Leto. Nynn. Your ankles.”

“What in the name of the Dragon is this?” he asked.

With a triumphant sort of smile, the human official nodded toward where the Old Man sat with that doctor and the strange girl in black. “You knew the Asters wanted to make these matches interesting.”

“And fighting with a partner isn’t interesting enough?”

“When the Old Man meant partners, he meant it. You’ll be chained together.”

“Fuck that. We fight as we were meant to, not chained like dogs.”

The small man—small compared to Leto, as most were—grabbed Nynn’s ankle. He affixed the manacle too quickly for her to protest. Frustration like she’d never seen tightened the tendons of Leto’s muscular throat. Then it was too late. They were bound together.

“And our opponents?” Nynn asked. “What of them?”

The official sneered. “Do you see another chain here, neophyte?”

Nynn removed her sword from its scabbard and absently twirled it through the air. She fairly hummed with potential. Already she could feel the bubble of electricity—all those beautiful colors, a whole spectrum—building inside her body. “No one calls me neophyte but the man who trained me, and he won’t call me that after tonight. Shut your mouth.”

She lifted her chin and found Leto’s gaze. Their gazes locked. Without the damping properties of their collars, they produced a burst of gold and even green and blue—right there in the five feet between their bodies. The crowd gasped. She almost felt the light on her skin. It was like staring down the length of a kaleidoscope. Colors didn’t wait for her at its end. Just Leto’s dark eyes. Her awareness narrowed. Centered. Focused.

Only him.

Spellbinding.

“What is that?” Her voice was an awed whisper.

“I don’t know.”

She wanted to know what Old Man Aster thought of their little party trick, but she didn’t want to look away from her partner.

“Do this,” she said softly. With his senses, she knew he’d be able to hear. “Best fucking show they’ve seen in years.”

The chain rattled between them, dangerous as a snake’s hiss. His jaw was a granite vise and his temple throbbed, pulsing that serpent to life.

The roaring beast was gone, but the seething, outraged man remained. He would not bear this humiliation well. Nynn couldn’t wait to see what he would unleash. She only hoped that she could keep up. Because no matter how much she would depend on him to emerge triumphant, his only objective was to keep her alive.

He’d do so by whatever means necessary.

¦   ¦   ¦

Leto swallowed his anger. To be shackled again . . . chained, for the second time in as many days. Treated like an animal rather than a warrior of worth. Every fiber of every muscle protested. What good was a Garnis who was chained to a Tigony? His reflexes and speed would be useless with Nynn as his anchor.

He grabbed her shielded arm and dragged her close. “Now who needs to keep up?”

“Not ideal, is it? Think of something. Quickly.” She was deadly serious.

Yes. Dragon be, yes.

The cheers were growing in ferocity. Across the Cage, Weil and Urman circled one another, pacing, as if taunting Leto with their unencumbered legs. Weil used her long lance to spin practice circles—strikes that would