Lady Love loves one and all

the young and pure, the old and gray

if you fail to serve her well

you’ll mourn your birth and lose your way.

“Loss,” by an anonymous washout

Billi stops suddenly after fifteen minutes of slow, steady walking. I bump into her. She grabs my arm and steadies me.

“What?” I whisper.

Her voice catches. “I think that’s a den. Over there. Under the ferns.”

A dirt hill stretches out to our left, illuminated by a slash of silver moonlight. A clump of green foliage hangs over the slope, obscuring a circular opening. I would’ve missed it if I’d been out here alone.

“Are you sure?”

“The tracks stop here,” she murmurs. “What do we do?”

“I’ll block the exit with my lance.” I point to her bistaff. “You kill it.”

We approach the outcropping of greenery. My spear shakes—I tell myself to tough up. If we don’t come back with a bluedeer corpse, it won’t matter that I took out two members of the opposing pack. I want to win this hunt, but I’m not sure why; I’ve never been competitive. Then again, I never thought I was a fighter. But here I am in white academy leathers, with two laurels pinned to my chest and a legacy staffmaster at my side.

My spear is illuminated by the moon. It shines through a break in the tree line directly above our heads. I use the weighted tip to pull back the ferns.

Egad.

It’s a bluedeer all right, sleeping peacefully on the dirty earth. Her delicate ears flutter as the foliage parts. She’s the size of a calf, with a cerulean pelt and white spots covering her hindquarters. She’s a mutant, but she’s breathtakingly beautiful anyway.

Billi exhales a long, slow sigh. She doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. She raises her scythe. She pauses. One second. Two. Three.

“Do it,” I whisper. “Get it over with, Billi.”

“Fight forever, never yield.” She follows up the Oziaz family maxim with her personal battle cry. “Manipulate the enemy. Fight forever, never yield.”

A stick cracks. Branches rustle. The hair on my arms rises to attention. I look around, my posture stiff, but there’s no one in sight.

No one I can see, anyway.

“Fight forever.” Her voice is wet. “Never yield.”

I look at the still bluedeer. Her eyelids quiver in her sleep.

Billi lowers the cocked scythe. She shakes her head. Tears pool in her eyes. There’s a scuffling noise behind us, as if someone is moving closer. I stare into the blackness. There’s no one there. Right? One thing’s for sure; I don’t want to find out. We’re out of time.

In one smooth motion, I drop my lance. The bluedeer jolts awake—

I yank Billi’s bistaff from her trembling hands and push her back.

I drive the spear point into the creature’s stomach.

The bluedeer breathes a high, hoarse cry that sounds eerily human. I stab again, then twirl the bistaff around and slice the scythe blade across her neck. I want to end her suffering quickly. Blood splatters over my boots. Up my leathers. Across my knees. The deer’s chest stills. Her eyes stay open, reflecting light from the overhead moon.

I turn the scythe end toward me and wipe it across my thighs. It leaves a strip of crimson in its wake.

“Turn around,” I murmur.

Billi follows the order without hesitation. I clasp the bistaff to her back, and I give myself three seconds to catch my breath. Then I heave the carcass over my shoulders. Hot, sticky blood trickles down my neck and chest.

“You know where we are?” I ask.

Billi nods, her eyes wide.

“Good,” I say. “Take us back to the statue, please.”

###

Saxxon, Dune, and Osyrus never show at the meet point. Billi and I stumble back to the castle with fifteen minutes left in the challenge. She won’t look at me. I deserve that—I just killed a baby deer. I wouldn’t be able to look at me either.

I’m guessing I won’t be getting a stuffed hound anytime soon.

When I get back to the dormitory, I’m going to cry like a child. Then, if the lanistae don’t have plans for the corpse, I’ll eat every piece of her. The thought makes me sick, but it’s better than killing her for a game.

The sun has started to rise when we arrive at the courtyard, illuminating the sandstone complex. Billi runs ahead and throws herself into attention in front of Leómadura. We’re the last ones back. The others are lined up. They break attention as I approach, which goes to show how much of a sight I must be. I’m covered in blood—drenched in it, really. It’s started to dry, leaving brilliant streaks of crimson up and down my white leathers.

“Hi,” I say. “I got your deer, sir.”

I drop the cadaver at Leómadura’s feet and join the others in line.

Silence stretches over the courtyard. Saxxon, Dune, and Osyrus gape at me. Pink chalk slashes across their chests, sending speckles of magenta down their leathers.

“Well,” Leómadura says finally. “You all failed to complete your assignments.”

“I’ve seen children do better,” Romi comments from his side.

“I wasn’t expecting much.” Segolé sips his coffee. “And yet, I’m disappointed anyway.”

Deres shakes his head.

I wonder if they’re always like this.

“In the time it took for Diable and Oziaz to finish playing whoopee behind the tree line, we calculated your murder board rankings,” Leómadura says. “Tonight’s hunt wasn’t the only factor. We’ve been watching you carefully, and we’ve discussed your progress with your academic lanistae. Who wants to know their score?”

We stay silent.

“Tied in first place are Zeph and Hyacinth.” Leómadura begins to pace. “You got the rock and the clover, and you managed to stay alive until the end of the hunt. You didn’t get me my bluedeer, but you didn’t fail as badly as the rest of your peers.”

Zeph and Hyacinth stand a little straighter.

“Rypress,” Leómadura says. “You completed two of the three tasks, but forty percent of your fighters were killed. If this were an active combat situation, I wouldn’t want to be in your pack. Loathe as I am to say this—and believe me, I fought against you in the debate—you came in third.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Rypress dips her head, her expression a stony mask. Leómadura stills in front of Billi.

“You made fourth,” he says. “Not bad for a grunt. Your academic lanistae and guest lecturers have all sorts of fantastic things to say about you. Keep up the good work. Starting tomorrow, you’ll be Session One’s packmaster.”

Billi beams at him.

“Saxxon, Dune, Osyrus.” Leómadura pivots on his heel. “You all died. Your team completed a task, but you weren’t there to see it. You’ll have reduced privileges this week—that means no leaving campus.”

Leómadura stops in front of me. We stare at each other. My heart hammers in my chest.

I didn’t come in last.

“Bloodstained Ko.” Leómadura’s lips twitch. “Conqueror of venison.”

I want to roll my eyes. I resist the temptation.

“You took out two members of the opposing pack, and you got me a bluedeer,” he says. “But you failed the other two tasks, and sixty percent of your pack was dead within the first hour. Segolé’s decided to give you three cuts—one for each of the men you lost. Stop by his office tomorrow after PT.”

“You did good for a first-time packmaster,” Segolé growls. “You also made the call to split up. Their deaths are on you.”

“I’ll do better, sir,” I say.

My voice doesn’t shake. Who am I?

Leómadura offers me a smile that’s almost kind.

“Nice kill-strike,” he says, and then he moves on. “Rowan, you’ve pissed off every one of your peers. You’re lazy and entitled, and we’re not training lancers—we’re training leaders. Your academic lanistae have found you underwhelming, so we’re giving you a demerit for your performance this week. Let this be a warning to you—you aren’t a child. Stop acting like one.”

“Do better,” Segolé growls. “Be better.”

Rowan’s entire body trembles.

Leómadura turns to Theo. Tears drip down his face. He shakes his head as Leómadura approaches, the movement rapid.

“Two weeks in a row at the bottom of the murder board,” Leómadura says quietly. “You know what that means, Theo.”

“Life’s not over, kid.” Deres steps forward, coffee jug in hand. “You remember what Leómadura told you at the end of your last session?”

“Learn to lead,” Theo says wetly.

“Exactly.” Deres’s voice is patient. “I was rooting for you, but the girls lap you in PT and in the classroom. You’ve failed every test I’ve set for you this week. You’re not a grunt anymore, and only the best pledges make it through my program. I wanted to see you step up. You haven’t shown me you can do that.”

Theo’s throat bobs. He drops his gaze to the ground.

“You’ll be deployed to the frontline as a nestmaster,” Segolé cuts in. “You can keep your title and leathers. Hang back a minute—I’ll debrief you. The rest of you are dismissed. Get some sleep.”

Rypress, Zeph, and Saxxon give Theo friendly nudges as they pass, their expressions impassive. I cast one last look in his direction, and then I break attention and turn away.

Leómadura catches me before I can follow Billi across the quad.

“Not so fast, Diable,” he says. “My office. Now.”

###

Leómadura’s office is smaller than Segolé’s. Draftier too. He shuts the window as soon as he enters. I stand at attention by the door. He jerks his head toward one of three wooden chairs. I slide into it and fold my arms across my bloodstained chest.

He forgoes the plush seat behind the bare desk and sits beside me. I examine my surroundings, anxiety clawing a hole in my stomach. A clock hangs on the wall behind the two-drawer desk, and an ornate cabinet stands in the corner. A bookshelf lined with militia texts covers the eastern wall.

“I thought Segolé was going to cut me, sir,” I say.

“We’re just here to talk,” Leómadura says.

A knot wedges itself in my throat.

“I watched you kill that deer.” His voice is kind. “Are you okay, grunt?”

He leans closer, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes are the same shade of gray-green as the algae rocks Team Rypress brought back from the pond.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he says.

“I’m fine, sir.”

“You sure about that?”

I nod. The movement feels jerky and hesitant.

He rises, pulls open a cabinet, and pours two drinks into crystal glasses. The liquid he holds out to me is amber and smells like salt. I raise an eyebrow. Trap, my Leisure Street instincts scream. Trap, trap, trap.

“Drinking isn’t allowed on campus,” I say.

“It is when I say it is,” he says. “Take it. That’s an order.”

Hesitantly, I pluck the glass from his outstretched hand. My mind spins into overdrive. I’m not sure what I’m doing here. He’s a drill instructor. He’s supposed to play mind games. The problem is, I have no idea if this is a test. I don’t know what to make of him—his behavior seems wildly inconsistent. One second, he’s making me packmaster. The next, he’s tying an oak limb to my back and slitting my forearm. The next, he’s complimenting my kill-strike, asking if I’m okay, and giving me a drink.

“Substances aren’t my thing, sir.”

“You’re on candydrops.” He raises an eyebrow. “Your urine test came back with sophoria and baccy.”

“I haven’t smoked since we got here.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “Drink the whiskey. All of it.”

Chest tight, I raise the glass to my lips. It burns my throat, makes me gag. I pinch my nose shut, eyes watering. A smoldering aftertaste fills my mouth, along with something else—something darker. It’s oaky. Woodsy.

I don’t like it. I don’t like any of this.

“Give it a minute to kick in.” He watches me carefully. “You’re out of the forest. The nefarious bluedeer is dead. You’re safe.”

No one is safe. Not in this realm. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar.

“I want to help you.” Leómadura folds his arms across his chest. “I know I give you shit—that’s my job. Even so, I see something in you, and I don’t say that to many students.”

“Thank you.” My voice shakes. “I should really be going…”

“Don’t be hasty.” Leómadura sounds amused. “I need to warn you about something. You almost got a demerit this week. Deres and Romi thought giving your sword to a vestal showed poor judgement. I fought for you in the debate.”

Does he want me to thank him again? How am I supposed to react? My mind has started to cloud, my mouth tastes like whiskey, and my breaths come in short, raspy huffs.

“I can turn you into a fighter,” he says. “Do you want my help or not?”

I eye the ceiling. Segolé’s office is directly above us, but he’s still on the quad with Theo. The exits are blocked off. Leómadura has positioned his chair between me and the door. Outside the window, there’s a fifty-foot drop to the grass…

I’m trapped.

“I should get back to the dormitory,” I say. “I should sleep. I didn’t sleep last night.”

I already know he won’t let me leave.

His hand is on my leg. His fingers creep up my thigh.

Up, up, up…

I’m expecting it.

I flinch anyway.

Relax, Whoreson, I hear him say, but it’s as if he’s speaking from very far away. I knew this would happen. Knew the second I walked into this office. Knew or feared. I’m not naïve—I grew up on L-Street. He knows who I am, what I am. It’s the Whoreson family maxim: Property of Leisure Street. Born to be used and then cast aside.

My head fills with fog. The seconds pass in rapid spurts and then slow to agonizing drawls. I could’ve listened to my gut and stuck with Billi and the others, but he’s my lanista, and he gave me a direct order.

We’re on the floor of his office, now.

His weight is on my back, pushing me into the floor.

I can hear Tester Wynn counting down, just like he did when I was pinned under Dune in the Colosseum.

Ten. Nine.

The stench of whisky makes me gag, but I don’t know if it’s from my breath or from his.

Eight.

I should fight. I need to fight, but my chest won’t stop heaving and I can’t seem to control my mind or body…

Seven.

My eyes are wet and hot. I can’t see anything except for the scratch in the hardwood floor. Everything smells like dust and baccy. I choke on it.

Six, five, four.

TAP OUT, my mind screams. TAP OUT, TAP OUT, TAP OUT. My fingers tap against the floor three times, frantically, and then I do it again, but it doesn’t work. I’m not in the Colosseum. This isn’t proctored. No testers rush forward to end the bout, and I’m still in this fucking room…

Two.

This is so much worse than I thought it would be. I can’t let this happen—

—I can’t think.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t move.

Can’t stop it.

One.