Page 31 of Chained to the Champion
I spotted Kinsley near the back, her cropped hair damp with sweat as she vigorously stirred something in a massive pot. She was the leader of this pack, the one I needed to get on my side. And her guard was up so high I wasn't sure I'd be able to surmount it. Definitely not tonight. But I had to try.
“I told you I'd be back,” I said.
She stiffened and nearly dropped her spoon into the pot. Her head whipped around, eyes wide with panic before recognition set in. “What the hell?” she hissed. “How did you … If they catch you?—”
“I'm with one of the warriors,” I said, grabbing a nearby platter of unidentifiable meat and rearranging the meat in piles. “I'm supposed to be his …” The word stuck in my throat like a chicken bone. “His slave.”
Her eyes narrowed. “The Drakarn you mentioned?”
I nodded.
“And he just let you wander off? Bullshit.”
He's my partner, not my master, I wanted to protest. But I couldn't say those words out loud, not even in English. I wouldn't be that sloppy and risk my cover in this den of Drakarn.
“He's occupied with the Tournament Master.” The piles of meat on my tray were looking more and more like mush. “I don't have much time. I need to know more about this place, the tournament, how to get you all out?—”
“You can't,” she cut me off, voice flat. “No one gets out, not unless they're carried out in pieces for the scavengers.” Her gaze drifted to the kitchen entrance, then back to me. “See those three?”
I followed her gaze to where the three humans I'd seen in the cells before my capture were now circulating through the hall. Their clothes were clean now, each had nicely combed hair, and they were moving around like they wanted to be there. One, a woman with long dark hair, was actually smiling as she placed a tray before a Drakarn warrior, who rewarded her with a casual stroke down her arm.
“I saw them before,” I said. “They were in a cage on the arena grounds.”
“Don't trust them,” Kinsley warned, her voice dropping even lower. “They've … adapted. Found favor. They'd sell any of us out for an extra scrap of meat or a softer place to sleep.”
The disgust in her voice was palpable. I studied the three humans more carefully. Their movements were fluid, posture too relaxed. Stockholm syndrome? Or something morecalculated? Survival looked different on everyone. Who was I to judge?
“What about Larissa?” I asked. “You said she was taken somewhere outside the city?”
Kinsley's mouth tightened. “Some mining operation, I think. One of the Ignarath officials took a liking to her engineering knowledge.” She hesitated. “She fought them at first. Hard. But then …”
“Then what?”
“Then she stopped. Started cooperating.” Kinsley's eyes were haunted. “The last time we saw her, she was different. Quiet. Remote. Like something inside her had just … switched off.”
A cold weight dropped through my gut like a stone. What the fuck had they done to her? Christ. What would I even tell Kira? Found your sister, she's broken inside? My hands were shaking. I curled them into fists.
“What’s up with Omvar?” I asked, nodding toward where the massive red Drakarn had taken a seat. “What's his deal?”
Kinsley followed my gaze, expression unreadable. “He's one of the favorites to win. Been champion three years running, they say.” She lowered her voice further. “He's … different from the others. Doesn't take slaves for himself. Doesn't participate in the … entertainments they arrange after the feasts.”
“Is he trustworthy?”
She barked out a harsh laugh. “None of them are trustworthy. But he's less likely to tear your throat out for looking at him wrong.” She glanced toward the entrance again, posture tensing. “You should go. Someone's looking for you.”
I followed her gaze and spotted one of Skorai's guards scanning the kitchen, yellow eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Go,” Kinsley urged. “And if you really want to help us? Tell your warrior to win. Then get us the hell out of here.”
I slipped away, ducking behind a column just as the guard entered the kitchen area. Heart hammering against my ribs, I made my way back into the main hall, eyes scanning for Zarvash.
I spotted him at the high table, seated among the elite warriors, Skorai at his side. The Tournament Master was leaning close, speaking into Zarvash's ear, a predatory smile stretching his scaled face. Zarvash's expression was a perfect mask of cold indifference, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid set of his jaw.
Our eyes met across the hall. A silent message, danger, caution, the reminder of our fragile deception.
I started toward him, weaving through the crowd, when a heavy claw landed on my shoulder. I froze, every muscle tensing for a fight.
“Well, well,” a voice drawled into my ear, hot breath against my neck making my skin crawl. “The Scalvaris pet, wandering all alone.”
