A few Raki guards deliver a fresh pair of strappy black clothes that I hastily change into since I’m unsure when they’ll return. Part of me wants to refuse their hospitality, but my spacefaring attire is too stiff for fighting, and I need every advantage my enemy’s willing to give.
I’ve seen him fight on holovision. I’ve religiously watched every one of his brutal brawls in the pit. I’m going to die at his merciless hands, and that certainty has every one of my cells quaking.
Curled in the corner of my cell, I rake my hands into my hair and tamp down the worst of my sobs, letting only a few tears loose. I didn’t say goodbye to my father before leaving our home on Lupheria. I didn’t want him to know my rash plans—didn’t want to believe I wouldn’t come back.
Part of me knew the Morbaks might capture me. Part of me craved it—wanted to spit in his face for how he’d betrayed me. Now I’m too drained, too weakened with grief to expel my rage. The boy I studied with, laughed with, frolicked through the flowery fields of Lupheria with—he’s dead and buried beneath the weight of his sins. Maybe my sins, too.
I press my hands together, fingertips to forehead, and connect to Ether, the most elusive energy. Most Lupherians don’t even try, especially now that our culture has become so agnostic, so technologically tethered. This spiritual essence has guided me through so many tribulations, though, and I ignore it at my detriment.
Like, when I didn’t consult it before enacting my assassination attempt. So galactically stupid.
A sense of lightness overcomes me as I train my focus on Ether, like I’m floating through the void of space. In the blissful nothingness, the image of Ziphoter appears, and I physically recoil. The lush jewel of a planet has become the symbol for all the pain in my life—the loss of my mother, the loss of him.
For my people, though, for my family, it remains a beacon of hope. If we can claim Ziphoter before the Morbaks do, we’ll have full control over its precious ziphium crystals, the resource that makes the planet so valuable. We won’t fall prey to the power-hungry whims of Rakillon—we’ll finally have peace.
The harrowing omen disappears as I open my eyes. I know I’m physically incapable of killing him, but if Ether is right, I can’t even try.
He’s my path to Ziphoter now. I’ll have to give him my secrets about the planet, like I did when we were ten, this time knowing he’ll use them against me.
I don’t fight the Raki guards as they guide me from my cell through the obsidian halls of the Morbaks’ stronghold. They won’t hesitate to hurt me, and I need all my limbs if I want to last more than a minute in the pit with him.
While abrasive white light illuminates the cool corridors, nothing brightens the pit, a cylindrical chamber carved into the Hostean Mountains. As a child, my family attended the fights here, cheering on whichever bloodthirsty Morbaks claimed the honor of killing criminals.
Now all the sacrifices are my fellow Lupherians, and because our bodies are bioluminescent, the brawls are conducted in darkness, giving the Morbaks an advantage. Since the change, spectators stopped attending in physical form, preferring to watch via holovision, which enhances the visual exposure.
Also, no one wants to be in the stands when he’s in the pit. He doesn’t give one molecularly small damn about missing his target and impaling an onlooker instead.
As the guards slam shut the door, blocking out all light, leaving me alone on the outskirts of the pit, I peer into the towering darkness rimmed with the faintest sketches of ghostly forms. For years, I was one of those holograms watching in anonymity, in silence. Call me a masochist, but I inhaled every single fight of his like an addict, drilling his techniques, his tells, his mannerisms into my brain.
Problem is, he’s less predictable than Hostea’s mountain winds. He almost never does the same move twice. And he knows I’m a creature of habit, a studied fighter rather than a natural.
My heart pounds with the impending doom, in tandem with the rising chants of “MOR-BAK, MOR-BAK, MOR-BAK!”
I scan the floor for signs of him, but I can’t see anything past the pink phosphorescence of my skin. If anything, my natural glow blinds me even worse to my surroundings.
Screw the Rakis and their unfairness.
“Welcome, to this special spectacle,” rasps a familiar voice, disgustingly phlegmy, like he’s in dire need of a good cough. I can’t discern him, but he must be floating far above me on his obsidian throne, the only witness here in his corporeal form: Nahaurius Morbak, Grand Monarch of Rakillon.
His subjects cheer, so many voices I wonder if the entire planet’s tuning in to my execution. Any Lupherians in attendance keep their disapproval to themselves, lest the Rakis kick them off this channel.
Is my family watching? My friends? They must know I’ve been captured, and my heart aches with the feeling of their disappointment, their despair.
My father especially—this will be like a meteor impact to him. Since my mother died three years ago, I’m his only immediate kin, his only heir. I shouldn’t have gone behind his back, even with the intention to save the worlds.
The guilt weighs heavy on my limbs, makes it feel like my sensory inputs are wading through thick sludge. When Nahaurius speaks again, his voice almost doesn’t compute in my mind.
“Please receive into this pit, everyone’s favorite fighter, Vexuvium Morbak, Exarch of Rakillon!”
The roar of applause is deafening, as if millions of souls actually fill this mountain.
I feel him slink into the pit, his chaotic energy like lightning to my nervous system.
On holovision, he always raises his daggers, always screams along with the crowd, but he’s silent today, his lack of sound charging the space between us. This isn’t a show to him; it’s cold, calculating revenge.
“And his opponent,” Nahaurius continues, almost coughing out the words, “a Lupherian captured in her attempt to kill me with her bare hands.” I roll my eyes at his blatant lie, knowing he’ll see the gesture with my luminous turquoise irises. “Please swallow into this pit, Saskia Valah, heir to the rubble that will be our enemies!”
The crowd boos me, obviously, as I take one measly step into the pit. The ground shifts like sand beneath my bare feet, but it can’t possibly be hornblende dust. That substance is too powerful—and too depleted—for the Rakis to allow it in their enemy’s presence.
“Nahaurius Morbak,” a strong voice cuts through the racket, and my knees threaten to buckle with anguish. My father is holographically here. “You captured one of my family’s vessels before it reached your magnetosphere. You will return all persons and items to neutral space, or I will retaliate with full force.”
“Was your pathetic assassination attempt not full force?” Nahaurius asks with a hacking laugh. “I quake on my throne, Armanis.”
“He had nothing to do with it!” I shout into the endless dark.
“He created you, vermin; he had everything to do with it.”
The Grand Monarch’s dark presence lowers closer to me, but I don’t glimpse the outline of his throne before my father booms, “If you follow through with this—”
“Arvilla,” Nahaurius sighs to his stewardess, “I tire. Extinguish this yapper.”
“Nahaurius,” my father tries again, but his threats and pleas die off with the distant speck of his hologram, electronically banished.
Relief and sorrow mingle within me, setting my whole body on edge. I would have liked the supportive presence of my father, but he shouldn’t have to witness whichever unfortunate outcome results from this duel. Either I will die or forfeit secrets to save my life—not ideal by any measure, but deserved for my injudicious choices. I just hope the consequences won’t condemn my people, too.
“Let the extermination begin!”
The Grand Monarch’s throne whooshes upward, far out of reach from any stray blades—or intentional ones, if they came from me. Unfortunately, the Rakis didn’t give me a weapon to fight with. I’m utterly defenseless.
Still, I shift into an engaged stance and strain my ears for any sign of my opponent, but my heart’s beating too loudly, he’s moving too quietly. When a dagger stakes into the sand between my feet, I jump as if it stabbed me.
Apprehensive, I inch toward the weapon, checking for a trap, assuming he’ll sever my spine if I bend to pick it up.
“An offering,” he croons from behind, raising every hair on my body. “Can’t have any doubt that I’m the superior fighter.”
As quick as my body will move, I snatch the dagger and spin in his direction—or, where he was. By now he’s probably on the other side of the pit, reveling in my blindness.
I struggle to keep my breathing consistent, to stave off the panic. Back home, in our sparring chamber, I’ve practiced blindfolded combat, but never with a partner as vicious as Vex.
Letting his name spark through my mind ignites the fiery determination to inflict some damage on this brute. With my senses on alert, I begin my own prowl around the pit.
His laugh rings from afar. “Have you been training, Valah? I can’t tell.”
Ignoring his jibe and his location, I pretend to have no clue where he is, purposely fumbling my steps. I track his approach through the magnetism we’ve cultivated in our years apart, like a sixth sense. The second he enters my electromagnetic sphere, I whirl, driving my dagger toward his heart.
He ducks and slices my calf, drawing blood but not debilitating me. The light graze seems intentional, like he plans to whittle me down one piece at a time.
I strike toward his gut next, trying to keep him within the range of my glow so he won’t sneak attack me. He dodges every one of my attacks, though, his weapon-strapped body a blur coated in black powder to make him even less detectable. By the time our blades clash, mine struggling to impale his throat, his effortlessly deflecting, I’m pocked in tens of tiny scratches and he’s pristinely unharmed.
“What impressive reflexes you have,” he sarcastically commends. From the radiance of my skin, I can finally see his demonic grin aimed directly at me, even though his eyes are fully closed.
“You’re…playing fair,” I say, too astonished not to. He must know I can see now, but he doesn’t flash open his lids. He’s that cocky.
“Like I said, can’t have any—”
I don’t wait for him to finish, slamming my knee toward an exposed patch of his stomach. Laser-fast, his free hand snaps toward it, gripping my kneecap before twirling me aside with the ease one discards a dirty shirt.
My face smacks into the sand but doesn’t stay there for more than a second before he straddles me, yanking my head back by one of my braids.
“Close, close, close, but still too slow, too rigid. I can feel the tension, Valah. It gives away your every move.” He jabs his dagger-wielding fist against my arm before I can try stabbing him behind my back, and I grit my teeth against a cry of pain. “You’re more boring than I remem—”
I throw sand over my shoulder at his face, successfully infiltrating his mouth, if his silence is any indicator. The pressure eases off my arm enough that I can spin onto my back, using the momentum to drive my dagger into his abdomen.
At the last second, he jerks sideways, and the blade only grazes his side, spurting black blood onto my chest.
His cackles spew charcoal gray sand from his mouth, and he effortlessly secures my wrist to prevent further stabbings, lowering until our chests are flush against each other. We haven’t been this close since we were grappling ten-year-old, innocent and blissfully naive.
Every iota of my awareness is pinned to him—the softness of his powdery skin against mine, the inhumanly calm rhythm of his heart, his earthy, spicy scent infused with the vaguest hint of the Lupherian meadows he once loved. That assault of nostalgia flusters me more than anything else, and even though I have one free hand, I’m rendered paralyzed.
He flashes the darkest of smiles before running his sandy tongue up my cheek. “You taste like a reckoning,” he hisses against my temple, twisting my insides with revulsion and longing.
I don’t think on it, I try not to even feel it, as my survival instincts kick in and I bite his cheek.
It’s not very fleshy, and my teeth easily sink through the skin, drawing pungent blood into my mouth. His grip tightens on my wrist, but he doesn’t pull away, like he’s waiting for me to take a whole chunk from his face—like he wants me to tear him apart.
I pray he’s thoroughly distracted as I blindly seize his hand and thrust his dagger toward his heart.
As soon as the tip touches his skin, his arm becomes a solid, unmovable mass, like he’s turned to stone. His cheek moves beneath my teeth as he laughs, the sound reverberating through my whole skeleton. “You wanna take it that far so soon?”
Against my will, my own dagger flies to my throat, and I don’t possess nearly enough strength to fend him off. The metal kisses my tender skin, threatening to break through. My hold on his wrist goes slack, and I reluctantly rip my teeth from his cheek, funneling all my effort into keeping my throat intact.
He tsks in melodramatic disappointment, eyes still casually closed. “We haven’t put on a very entertaining show, I’m afraid. Such a sad way for an heir to go. We can spar more before I deal the killing blow, if you crave a bit more humiliation.”
Though I’m tempted to spit in his face, I’d probably slit my throat in the process. I swallow the remnants of his blood and relax my muscles in feigned defeat. “I’m done fighting you here, on your terms.”
His eyes finally squint open with a hint of annoyance. “Have I not played fair enough? Shall I drug myself to truly stoop to your level of ineptitude?”
“This is your game, not mine—all brawn, no brains; all vanity, no heart.”
“Your family has fatally poisoned you if you think so little of me. I could’ve given you a quick, clean death, but instead I’ve offered you the opportunity to have your own brief taste of revenge before you die. It’s not my fault you’re no match.”
I believe him, to some extent. I should be dead by now, but he’s stalling until I unleash my full fury, until he has no choice but to put me down.
“I have a secret for you,” I whisper, and by the way his eyes glisten, I know he detects my playful mockery.
“Are those your dying words? Don’t you want to beg?”
I arch upward slightly, into the blade. “I know how to claim Ziphoter.”
Suspicious, he leans closer, as if inhaling my essence will verify my words. “And you would give me that information with your last breaths?”
“I’ll give you the information if you spare me. And if you don’t, my family already knows. They’ll take Ziphoter, and you won’t be able to stop them.”
His head cocks like a curious bird. “I’m listening.”
“Get off me,” I command, dipping my chin toward the dagger.
“Hm, no thanks.” With a crooked smirk, he slams my arm back to the sand, throwing my dagger far out of reach. Then his own finds my neck, the much sharper blade digging into my epidermis.
“I have to know you won’t kill me in order to give you the information,” I insist, the frustration and fear leaking through. “I won’t tell you anything in this death pit.”
“Crafty little crystal,” he coos, twirling a finger through one of my braids. “You’ll find some way to slip out of our hold, won’t you?”
“I won’t—”
“I’m slitting your throat,” he declares, and before I can react, his dagger slices.
I stare in horror as his blade arcs high into the air, my luminous blood dripping down the matte black metal. It isn’t much blood, though, and the pain…it’s no worse than a stinging scratch.
The holograms howl as Vex licks my blood off his dagger, but I can’t let my confusion show—I can’t even blink, because all of Rakillon, maybe even all of Lupheria, now thinks I’m dead.
And if I want to live, I have to play along.