Page 62 of Her Manticore Master
“Corrina,” I say, voice whispering in the quiet.
She stirs, tilting her head back to look at me. Her dark hair is a wild tangle, her lips are swollen from my kisses, and her green eyes are soft with sleep and satisfaction. She looks beautiful.
Vulnerable. It’s a dangerous combination. “What?” she whispers, her voice husky. “Decided you want another round, beast? I’m not sure I can walk as it is.”
The teasing is reflexive, a familiar defense. I ignore it. “Who were you before this place?”
The question catches her off guard. The softness in her eyes vanishes, replaced by a familiar, wary glint. She pushes herself up on one elbow, putting a small but significant distance between us. “What does it matter? I’m here now. We’re here now.”
“It matters to me,” I say, my voice more earnest than I intend. “I know the woman Valdris wanted you to be. I know the fighter I’m trying to make you. But I don’t knowyou.”
She stares at me, her expression unreadable in the dim light. “Why do you suddenly care?”
“Because if I’m going to die beside you in that arena,” I say with brutal honesty, “I’d like to know whose hand I’m holding.”
My unwelcome question hangs, heavy, between us. Corrina pushes away, sitting on the cot's edge with her back to me, creating a wall of proud, stubborn silence. Her spine is rigid beneath the tunic.
“You don’t want to know,” she says, her voice flat. “It’s not a pretty story.”
“My life hasn’t been pretty,” I counter. “I’m not a stranger to ugly things.”
She laughs, a short, bitter sound devoid of any humor. “Oh, I’m sure. The great warrior, familiar with all the horrors of the world. Blood and battle and honorable death. My story isn’t like that. It’s small and pathetic and stained with shame.”
“Tell me anyway.”
She is quiet for so long I think she’s going to refuse. When she finally speaks, her voice is a monotone, as if she’s reciting a story about a stranger. “I was a merchant’s daughter.
My father had a taste for wine and dice, and a terrible habit of losing. He frequented the games here at the arena, wagering onmen like you. He lost, and he lost, and he kept losing, until his debt to Valdris was a mountain he could never hope to climb.”
She pauses, taking a shuddering breath. I stay silent, letting her find the words.
“Valdris made him an offer,” she continues, her voice dropping to a whisper. “A final wager to clear the debt. He could fight in the pits himself… or he could give Valdris his most prized possession.” She turns her head slightly, and in the faint light, I see the glint of a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. “Me.”
Rage, hot and blinding, surges through me. Rage at her father, at Valdris, at a world that allows a woman to be treated like a piece of property.
“So you see,” she says, her voice regaining its sharp, brittle edge as she wipes the tear away with an angry swipe of her hand. “There’s your answer. I am the price of a coward’s life. He didn’t hesitate. For my father, it was an easy choice.”
Her story, a cold, heavy burden, explains her bitterness, sharp edges, and deep hatred for confinement. The pampered pet I saw was a survival role, hiding a life stolen by betrayal before it truly began.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words inadequate but sincere.
“Don’t be,” she says, her voice still hard. “Pity is the last thing I want from you.”
“It’s not pity,” I growl, sitting up behind her. I don’t touch her, but I can feel the tension radiating from her small frame. “It’s… understanding.” I rake a hand through my hair, struggling to find the right words. “My loyalty, my mission… it’s all I have left. It’s what keeps me from becoming the beast everyone thinks I am.”
She turns to look at me then, her curiosity overriding her pride. “Your mission?”
I reveal everything to her: Osiris's plight due to the dying Zable crystals, and my five brothers—Corvak, Silas, Caspian,Tarek, and Lucaris. I recount our vow to reunite in Northern Rach and retrieve the crystals
“Then the storm hit,” I say, my own voice growing rough with a pain that is still raw. “It wasn’t natural. There was something in the clouds, something ancient and malevolent. It tore our ship apart like it was kindling.” I clench my fists, the memory of the churning water, of losing sight of my brothers in the chaos, as vivid as if it happened yesterday. “I failed them. I was supposed to protect them, and I failed.”
“So that’s why you fight so hard,” she says softly, her voice devoid of its usual mockery. “You’re trying to get back to them.”
“They’re all I have,” I admit, the confession feeling like I’ve just exposed my throat. “That’s why I can’t die here. Not until I know they’re safe.” The silence stretches, filled with the weight of our shared histories. Two different stories of loss and betrayal, but with the same bitter ending: a cage in Vhoig.
“It’s hard to know who to trust in a place like this,” she says, more to herself than to me.
“I don’t trust anyone,” I confess, the words a harsh truth. “The storm taught me that. My brothers taught me loyalty, but the world taught me that everyone else will eventually let you down.”
