Page 9 of Love of the Bladed Dove
Then-footsteps neared from above, forcing her focus vaguely to the presence once again. Her heart thudding painfully in her chest as her frayed nerves flared.
“Twice in one day. What’s this about?” Tynan’s voice cut through the stillness. His tone was sharp with suspicion. Layla strained upward, trying to see beyond the angle of her pit, but darkness swallowed everything outside her small world.
“Figured you might want to slink off for an ale,” came that smooth, unshaken voice.Velvet Voice.Layla went utterly still.
Tynan laughed, pleased. “Good man.” His boots thudded against the earth, growing fainter. Then-creak. The grate shifted slightly open. A moment later, something hit the ground beside her with a dull thump, and the grate slammed shut again.
“Drink. You’re going to need your energy for tomorrow,” Velvet Voice said from beyond her view. His voice was quieter than before. More clipped. Layla’s eyes darted to the bundle on the floor of her prison. She didn’t move. Her lips were cracked, and her throat begged for moisture, but her instincts refused to yield to trust.
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” she rasped, surprised by how raw her voice sounded in the dark. A pause. Then—
“You’re going to fight to your death.” She froze. Her mouth parted in disbelief. Her heart jolted once in her chest—then kept thudding, louder, harder. His voice softened, turning almost ghostly. “Don’t lose.”
Then, footsteps. “Thanks, man,” Tynan called out as Velvet Voice’s own footsteps faded into the night. Layla was alone again. But everything had changed. Her fingers trembled as she stared at the small bundle lying in the dirt. Her brain screamed caution.This could be a trick. Another test. A poison.But her body overruled her thoughts.
She crawled over silently, like prey avoiding a predator. When she reached the bundle, she untied it with care. Inside, she found a smallleather pouch, a chunk of meat and another apple. She lifted the pouch first, bringing it to her nose.Water.She could’ve cried. Layla took a cautious sip, then more. It wasn’t much, but it felt like life itself. Cool relief spilled down her throat and across her chest. Her limbs warmed, if only slightly. She cradled the pouch like a sacred relic, holding it tight against her stomach. Her gaze shifted back to the piece of meat and apple.No tricks. No poison.She was sure of it now. He was helping her.But why?Who was he? If he was her capture, why would he help her now, after delivering her to this hell?Whatever the reason, she didn’t have time to puzzle it out. Because tomorrow… she would be thrown into a fight she hadn’t asked for, with warriors who would takejoyin spilling her blood. Layla leaned her head back against the wall andbreathed deeply, letting the water settle in her bones. She was going to fight. And she was going tolive.
Chapter six
Theron.
Like all others in the Antonin tribe, Theron woke before the sun. It was not out of habit, it but instinct. The kind bred through decades of ritual and discipline. When the air still held the chill of night and the forest whispered beneath the weight of ancient roots, that was when Antonin warriors rose.
Theron sat up on his cot, exhaling slowly as the familiar weight of the day settled over him. His hut was humble by choice- made of tightly bound branches, brush-packed walls, and a ceiling woven so thick with thistle and pine that only slivers of morning light pierced through. No furniture beyond the cot. No keepsakes. No distractions. His sword, polished and battle-worn, rested upright by the wall near his gear. A small bowl of fruit sat untouched at the floor. That was all. While others in thetribe filled their homes with carved tokens and stories etched in wood or bone, Theron preferred efficiency. Clean. Cold. Controlled.
He stretched slowly, his neck cracking on each side. Normally, his sleep was dreamless and uninterrupted, his mind a silent weapon just waiting to be unsheathed. But lately? Lately, everything had shifted causing restless sleep, if any at all.
He laced his leathers in silence, tugging the cords tight across his thick thighs, then pulled on his armor. Every piece strapped into place with practiced ease. The heat already clung to his skin, and he hadn’t even stepped outside. But he would rather sweat than feel unready. Still, his mind churned- unsettled, unwilling to quiet. And he hated it.
The woman—Layla. Even her name disrupted the fragile silence in his thoughts. Her claims had been verified. The castle had fallen. The Bartorians had swept through like fog and flame. Yet knowing the truth changed nothing. Not about today. Not about what he would have to witness. She was going to die. And he would have to stand there and let it happen.
Theron stepped outside. The forest greeted him like an old companion, cool air brushing over sweat-dampened skin. The light beyond the treetops was still blue with night’s end, the sun just starting to breathe over the horizon. He walked toward the Circle, steps steady, calculated. Queen Okteria was already there, flanked by warriors. She turned her head slightly as he approached.
“Inform them they will get their vengeance today. No other news from the Bartorian front.” Her tone was smooth. Calculated. Theron nodded once.
“I’d like to stay,” he said simply, as if the words meant nothing. “To witness it.” His mother gave him a knowing glance, sharp, reading between the lines. But she said nothing. Just turned and strode toward the stone platform that presided over the Circle like a throne. Theron continued to the head of the Circle, stepping in front of his warriors. He didn’t need to shout. His presence commanded attention like thunder before a storm.
“No updates,” he said. “But today, we take vengeance. Let’s make our ancestors proud.” His gravelly voice rumbled through the warriors gathered around. Murmurs of satisfaction, anticipation, even bloodlust, rippled through them. Faces lit up with hunger. Their time had come.
“Sparrow,” Theron called, eyes scanning the group until he found his most trusted warrior. Sparrow gave a curt nod, his icy blue eyes steady above his braided black beard. Their bond welded together by wounds and will. Theron trusted him with his life. “Take my shift this morning.” Another nod. No words needed. Theron turned and ended the meeting with a simple glance. They all knew what to do.
He found his mother again, still speaking to warriors, likely about the youth combat groups. He interrupted without care. “Who do you want?”
Queen Okteria didn’t even blink at the bluntness. “Frea,” she replied. A beat passed, and then, with a glint in her eye, “No weapons. We wouldn’t want it to endtooquickly.” Theron’s jaw flexed. He gave a nod and walked away, heart sinking.Frea.Of course. Their fiercest female warrior besides Okteria herself. Ruthless, fast, brutal. A shadow on the battlefield. She was built lean like Layla, but harder. Sharper. And unlike Layla, she had nothing to lose. Frea was beautiful, yes, but it was thekind of beauty that drew warriors to worship before they bled. Theron had never pursued her, despite the challenges fought over her attention. He didn’t have the time—or the hunger—for women like her. Strong in muscle, self-reliant, carved from the same stone as him. Warriors who needed nothing. Wanted nothing. Just like he was taught to be. But today, her beauty and line of suitors didn’t matter, only her blade. Layla would die and not quietly. He shouldn’t care.Rules are rules.He had said that to himself a thousand times before. But today, the words rang hollow.
Layla.
“Let’s go!” Tynan snapped, yanking the heavy grate open and throwing down a wooden ladder with a loudclatter. Layla stood still on the far side of the pit, her feet anchored by something heavier than fear. Her limbs screamed in protest after days of stillness and starvation. Her joints cracked and muscles yelled. “Now!” he barked, pointing his sword straight at her chest.
She flinched, just barely, but enough. Her ragged body dragged itself forward, unwilling but obedient, as she gripped the ladder and began to climb. The wood bit into her raw palms. Each step was an effort.This was it.She was walking to her death.
Tynan didn’t give her a moment to breathe. His sword jabbed at her spine as he shoved her back in the same direction she had be brought from days prior. The same dirt path. The same thick air, laced with sweat, seared meat, hot metal, and worn leather. But the woman walking it wasnot the same one who’d been dragged here days ago. She was now more fractured, but still not yet broken.
They reached the crowd quickly. A perfect ring of Antonin warriors surrounded the Circle, everybody tense with bloodlust. Layla scanned the crowd as she was shoved forward. Their eyes were not curious, they were eager. Starvation was too slow for them. This… this was entertainment.
Tynan brought the flat of his blade hard against the back of her knees and she dropped. A searing pain flared as she hit the ground, but she grit her teeth and pushed herself back up. Every movement hurt. But still, she stood. And she met Queen Okteria’s gaze. The queen’s expression was practically gleaming.
“Wondering why you’re here, Graystonian?” She called, her tone mocking. Layla said nothing. She kept her back straight, her jaw tight. She would not show fear. Not in front of them.Not now.
