Page 66 of The Silver Spider
Chapter 22
She was sorefrom the previous evening drills. Amnan had been ruthless, and when Anissa joined, they tag teamed Serephone, testing every move she knew, critiquing her style and training her in a few new tricks. Nothing she wouldn’t be able to master in a matter of hours, which meant what they could teach her was limited.
“You have a chance of surviving,” Anissa said. “The best thing you can do is show that you would not be an embarrassment to the Line, and gain enough pity that the warriors will allow you to proceed to each round.”
“Are there any against us?” Amnan asked.
“Most are neutral, which is better than I could have hoped.”
Serephone dressed in supple leather trousers and a sleeveless white shirt that clung to her torso, no extra fabric for an opponent to grab. Her weapons were returned to her…and her clothing.
“Lord Dawnthorne wishes you to display yourself for the honor of his household,” Yuruth said when he delivered the items. “We will see you in the circle.” He smiled. “And we thank you for the entertainment. It’s been boring around here of late.”
She didn’t don her jacket. Instead she worked to resew the little pouches inside her trousers, whispering sweet nothings to her darlings as she worked. They scampered over her arms and climbed into her hair, leaving trails of green phosphorescence in their wake.
Amnan walked into the sitting room and stopped. “Your hair is glowing.”
She didn’t look up. “Hmm.”
“If it’s a show Dawnthorne desires, we’ll give him a show.” Amnan's voice was grim, and angry.
Serephone looked at him. “There’s still time to—”
“Serephone, if you finish that sentence, I will be very angry with you.”
She shrugged and went back to her sewing. He was a grown man. He knew what he was doing. She had to accept that for whatever reason, he’d chosen of his own volition to stick to her side like a scratchy burr.
They waited in their room until the sun just peeked over the sky. Or rather, the magic of the Dome approximated the peeking of said sun. In the Outlands it would already be blazing, early morning or no.
A knock on the door and Anissa stepped in, Etienne accompanying her. Their father met Serephone’s eyes, but said nothing. His presence threw her for a moment—he hadn’t sought her out the entire time she’d been here. And she was good with that.
She ignored him as she and Amnan left the room, following the two fae out of the house and onto the grounds.
The circle was an area of fine, white sand she knew hadn’t been on the lawn previously. Someone had worked throughout the night to set it up. Large enough for several men to fight shoulder to shoulder in a small melee. Spectators stood around, some in groups of two or three, quietly talking, others standing alone, and silent. She noticed several were dressed like her. Close fitting leather pants and sleeveless white shirts on the women. Men bare chested. Everyone was bristling with weaponry, though she didn’t see one firearm.
On a dais just outside the edge of the circle sat Lords Dawnthorne and Evervaine. Anissa and Etienne led Serephone and Amnan to them.
“My Lord,” Etienne said. “My daughter Serephone. May she prove worthy, or die.”
Amnan’s glance at Etienne was baleful, a fiery anger in slitted eyes. And then the anger was shuttered away. They would need cool heads to get through this day.
Dawnthorne gestured. “Serephone, I will not insult you by requiring you fight in the beginning rounds with the children.” He glanced at Amnan. “And you are allowed whatever allies will aid you in the later rounds, so the dragon’s presence will be tolerated. Though to step into the circle is to forswear all grudge and vengeance should the outcome of the fights not be to your liking.”
Amnan nodded curtly, understanding the subtle warning. “Serephone, I will release him from his containment, so he may fight, but if he behaves poorly, the consequences will be on your head. Remember, if you try to leave the grounds without my permissive will, the geas will take your breath, and you will die.”
She nodded. Amnan said nothing, but the lack of response was implicit agreement. Evidently it was enough for Dawnthorne, who turned his attention to the crowd, and rose.
He stepped forward, the pitch and timbre of his voice deepening. Silence fell over the gathered household. “It is rare these days to celebrate an addition to our ranks. Etienne has gifted us with a daughter, who desires to be included among our ranks as fae, with the rights and responsibilities of our Line.”
She desired no such thing, but said nothing. Challenging the lie would be pointless.
“Should she survive, we will welcome her, and show her the glory of our heritage. Let us begin.”
Dawnthorne stepped back and sat, gesturing for Serephone to remain at his side. “Watch.”
She understood what the fae meant by children as she watched the first several rounds. The youth who fought would appear nearly adult to human eyes, but their open eagerness and the edge of clumsiness to their slower movements were telling. Serephone watched with a critical eye, trying to learn something about the stages of training the young would go through, and comparing it to her own.
Standing there for over an hour, the sun shining on her neck, her darlings nestled in her hair, it was almost as if she were just at a friendly afternoon exhibition. Until it was time for her to fight.
