Day 2 of the War
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Her room in the western quarter of the castle filled with late morning sun. Light reflected off the walls like the inside of a hollow shard of ice. Normally, she’d be just waking up.
Ayla did not sleep. How could she? Since she learned about the War, she’d never once thought about the gravity of the words one will be left standing. Winning meant one thing, but winning at the expense of twenty other lives meant another. The actuality stiffened her muscles, an oppressing burden matching her deal with Ereshkigal.
She threw her covers off and stood on her low mattress. Ayla refused to think of her deal as a mistake. Her deal couldn’t be a mistake. She needed her dad. It was the reason she’d fight. She couldn’t start wavering now.
Maybe if she could get a chance to speak to Loran, the uneasiness in her stomach would disappear. She could clear some things up—like her last day in Ekarkara, the vague conversation he exchanged with Ashor at the Illutu meeting, and his pained expression in the arena yesterday.
Stepping up to the floor from her mattress and crossing the icy floor of her room, she ripped open her clothes chest. Fur, fur, fur. Guess she didn’t have much option for the lunch today. It’d be her only chance to talk to Loran, and only if she was lucky.
She threw on a heavy shirt, thick training pants, and a fur belt before slipping on a fur cape and a pair of fur boots. She descended the stairs to the crescent-shaped common room with caution while tying her hair into a messy bun.
A second-story view of the snowy arena and the therian’s eastern quarter greeted her in a blinding whiteness. Stairs wound down to the first floor hall. Light poured in from the arched windows across from the doors lining the hallway.
“Ayla.”
Great, she’d be tired and late for this stupid lunch. She looked over her shoulder to see a tight frown on Ashor’s face.
“Why’re you in such a hurry?” he asked, catching up. He put a hand on her back, giving her a quick hug. A tuff of facial hair curled under his pointed chin. “You seemed upset yesterday. Is everything well?”
“I—” She swallowed, shifting her eyes from Ashor. She could only tell him half of the truth. “The image of Loran standing across from me on a battlefield finally clicked, that’s all. It’s not a big deal. I know he’ll be there in the end with me—with us.”
He gave a half-smile, almost as if trying to make her believe in something he didn’t believe himself. “He’ll definitely be there with you. He’ll make sure he is, Ayla.”
She felt the annoyance from her rough night fade. “Why did he look so angry?”
Ashor’s face tensed for a moment. “He—he probably didn’t like seeing you as an opponent that much, either.” He glanced down the hall and leaned closer to her. “We shouldn’t talk about this in the open, though.”
She sighed, plucking some of the fur of her robe with her fingers. “You’re right.”
“I know.” He grinned—a rare thing for him. “You can see him at lunch. Zalyn’s already there. He said he’d save seats for us.”
His kindhearted smile made her feel silly for worrying. But it didn’t change the facts.
“That was nice of him,” she said.
“Yes.” Ashor rolled his eyes as they pushed through the door to the southern quarter. “He’s so thoughtful. Don’t forget who got us lost in the desert.”
“We already decided that was my fault.”
“I’d rather blame him.”
They climbed the grand staircase to the second floor. Guards opened the doors to the dining room for them. The pale lady from yesterday smiled at the front of the room, her back to a window that spanned the entire width and height of the wall, facing the snow-covered arena and the northern quarter of the castle where the gods resided.
“Welcome,” she said with a soft smile. “I believe Zalyn has been saving you seats. I’m Ohorshina, the High Priestess. Just call me Ohorshina, no need to be too formal with me.”
Ayla took a seat on the purple pillow by Zalyn and Ashor took the pillow by her. All of the mageian competitors sat on one side of the long table on a single bench facing the therian’s table. The therians faced back at them with sneers. Loran sat at the end of the table closest to the door, his expression cold and uncaring.
“We’ll have lunch here every day,” Ohorshina said. “I hope you’ll use it as a chance to relax and enjoy yourselves among your peers. It will also serve as preparation for your battles, which will start next week.”
Servants entered from doors on either side of the room. They did not cross sides as they set down identical plates of the traditional breakfast food.
“This week, all of you will have a chance to speak with the gods,” Ohorshina said, smiling. “You will each have ten degrees with them to ask or inquire anything you desire. They will also use it as an opportunity to better know you.”
Zalyn helped himself to a full plate of flatbread, cheese, and yogurt. Ashor ate one flatbread at a time. At the end of lunch, laughter and conversation filled the room. Servants retrieved their plates and replaced them with cups and pots of coffee and tea.
“I hoped everyone enjoyed their first lunch in Dilmun,” Ohorshina said, setting her own cup down after a quick sip. “The gods request to see each competitor separately starting at high sun. Banipal, you will be first. Sanhareb, you will be second.” Her gaze turned to the therian table. “And Arden, you will be last.”
They nodded in the silence of the room.
“When you are finished with your drinks,” Ohorshina continued, “please leave at your own leisure.”
“Ayla, do you want to train after this?” Zalyn asked, leaning toward her with an elbow on the marble table. A charming smile graced his features. “The entire first floor is filled with training rooms.”
“You are too excited,” Ashor said. “You’re like a two-year-old with a new toy.”
Zalyn leaned back, shrugging. “Grew up fighting. It’s all I know.”
Ayla remembered how her father described his younger years living under the lime light. Did Zalyn feel that way, too? She tilted her head, wondering if it’d be out of turn to show concern.
“It doesn’t have to be all,” she said, deciding on something simple.
He paused, his mahogany eyes sliding to her as he took a slow sip of coffee. Did she catch him off-guard? Zalyn pulled the cup away from his full lips with a bright smile.
“True. What about you?” He set his cup on the table, porcelain tapping against the marble as he leaned closer to her. “Do you count?”
“You want to get to know me?” she asked, needing the clarification to cool her flushing face. Her magic seemed to settle cold in her stomach like butterflies.
He lifted a finger and brushed it across her cheek, the touch tingling against her cold skin. “Do you want me to get to know you?” he asked back, a smile curling into his dimpling cheeks.
Ashor touched her wrist. She turned to him and caught Loran standing from the table, his black fur cape billowing behind him as he marched out of the room. Her chance to talk to him seemed to disappear.
“Zalyn, what’s your room like?” Ashor asked, forcing a smile on his face. “Hopefully not obviously infatuated, right?”
Zalyn dropped his head and retracted his hand. “It’s… just a room, Ashor.” He sighed, resting his elbow on the table and slumping over, putting his head in his palm. “Do you want to get in my bed that bad?”
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Ashor’s mouth dropped.
Ayla finished her coffee. “A nap sounds good.” She set the cup down and put a hand on Zalyn’s arm—imitating what she’d seen Diyalam do with Banipal. “I’ll take you up for some training after that.” She looked at Zalyn and smiled—really smiled.
He melted. “I’ll wake you up in fifteen degrees. Is that enough time to feel rested?”
She breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Yes. Thank you.” Ayla stood, patting Ashor on the shoulder. “Feel free to join us.”
“I’ll pass,” he said.
“It could’ve been a date, Fifty-Seven,” Zalyn said with a clip of sarcasm.
Ashor sneered over at him. “I’d rather date a therian. Let’s not start this here.”
Ayla left without sparing another moment. She breezed through the doors and spotted one of the therian competitors descending the stairs in brown pants and an evergreen shirt, a dark brown belt low at his waist. Short stubble lined his square jaw and crept into his hollow cheeks.
She swallowed, bit her lip, and drew her cape closer to her body. The guards stationed at the arched, two-story door faced away from her as she climbed down the stairs one step at a time. The therian stormed past the crystalline pillars to an ornate door in the corner to the left. His dark, messy hair disappeared with him behind the door.
Ayla followed, trying to mask the sound of her footfalls with magic. Her hand trembled as she reached out and pushed the door open. She slipped inside, holding her breath. The door thudded shut behind her and echoed down the hall. The therian looked over his shoulder, his emerald eyes piercing into her through thick eyelashes. Loran stood in front of him, his eyes a bright azure.
“Mageian, did you get lost?” the therian said, his voice a low growl. He shoved Loran into the door, a sharp crack splitting the air, and turned toward her. He sauntered down the hall. “I thought I smelled you following me.”
She took a cautious step backward, her back pressing against the door. Loran groaned and Ayla sucked in a subtle breath. She pressed her fingertips into the icy door, clenched her teeth, and willed her magic into her body.
“Therians sure do have good noses,” she said, trying to imitate the conceited and condescending tone she’d heard when mageians talked about therians in Esagila.
He chuckled. “You can call me Vejen. You’re pretty for a mageian.” His left limb twisted into a bear’s arm—brown fur covering his skin as it stretched into a heavy paw. “Did you come to play? I hope so.”
Ayla could’ve swore. This wasn’t going as well as she hoped. Loran grunted as he winced away from the door, pressing a hand into his back and swearing before he glanced at her. Magic tingled along her skin and into her veins.
She’d knock out Vejen and talk to Loran. Simple. There was no other way.
“My name’s Ayla,” she said. “We can play.”
Loran growled as Vejen transformed his other arm into an identical paw. His black claws glistened in the light. He lifted a finger and scraped along the ice wall as he approached her.
“Vejen,” Loran said, a husky quality in his voice as he warned the older boy. “You’ll be disqualified if you hurt her.”
He glanced over his shoulder to Loran. “I’ll just tell them you did it, Traitor.”
“That’s smart of you,” Ayla said, drawing his attention from Loran. “At least, smart for a therian.”
Ayla understood Vejen’s earlier aggression toward Loran now—the therians knew he played a part in the Illutu. Ashor must’ve warned Loran to be careful for that reason. Loran gave her a hard, cautioning look—she ignored it.
“I could grow to like you,” Vejen said, a dark smirk moving along his lips. “You’re the last winner’s daughter, right? The bastard who stole our victory.”
Ayla’s lungs shrunk, but she willed her magic across her skin, cooling the flush of fury threatening to shake her control.
“That’s me.” She shifted into a fighting stance, her breath growing cold with the rest of her body as magic swam through her. “Intimidating, isn’t it?”
His rich laughter filled the hall. Loran’s eyes burned into her—pleading for her to be careful. She didn’t need his warning—she could tell Vejen wasn’t going to be an easy win by the color of his eyes.
“Intimidating?” he asked, voice full of ridicule. “Hardly. I can smell your fear.”
“I don’t think it’s fear,” she said. Ayla took a step from the door, giving herself room for error. Her focus narrowed on his lithe frame and his transformed limbs. “Are you going to talk me to death, dog?”
He snarled. “That’d be too nice for filth like you.”
Vejen launched at her, faster than any human. She dodged—his paw crashing into the door and shattering it into a thousand glass splinters—and punched with magic hidden deep within her muscles. If she faltered with her magic, he’d be able to predict her every move.
It’d been Loran who’d made sure she knew how to hide it.
The therian’s head jerked back from the impact as he grunted and stumbled away. He raised his claws into the air and slashed down at her. She ducked under his swoop and slid away from him, gathering magic into her fist to hammer into his liver. He glanced at her over his arm and smashed his elbow into her face.
Her magic shielded her, but she reeled backward with a grunt. The brown fur on his arm warped inward, twisting into the muscled form of a gorilla as he launched toward her. He hurled his black-skinned fist into her chest.
She growled, leaning back to dodge his fist as she gunned her heel into his gut. He doubled over with a groan. Loran reached for his head from behind, pulling the older boy into his body and twisted his head to the side.
The crack of his neck stopped Ayla’s breath. Loran cranked his head back to the other side as a trickle of green dust floated from Vejen’s body. His transformed limbs melted into slim, lean legs. His body grew, clothes transforming into deep brown fur, and his face losing its human shape.
“Loran…” Ayla stepped forward. Her hands trembled, and her back stiffened. She gripped her fur cape and bit her lip.
Loran laid the therian’s body on the ground. He ran his hand from Vejen’s pricked ears to his long snout, rolling his thumb over his black nose. Loran sighed, closed his eyes, and raked his hands through his dark hair.
“Is he dead…?” she asked, voice quivering as she knelt down beside Vejen’s form.
“No. I put his neck back in place in time for the remaining magic to heal it.” Loran’s eyes snapped open and stared at her, the clear azure replaced with a muddy blue. “What’d you think you were doing, Ayla?”
She frowned. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“So you march into the therian quarter of the castle? Are you stupid?”
“I—” Ayla slumped. She closed her mouth and pursed her lips, rolling her eyes from him to either side of the hall. She hadn’t been thinking. She could’ve gotten Loran in trouble—she could’ve gotten them both killed. “I’m sorry… I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wanted to talk to you.”
He released a loud, rugged breath. “Think ahead next time, will you? I don’t want you to get hurt.” Loran stood, holding out a hand for her. “I’ll take you back.”
She looked at his calloused hand and his trim fingernails back to his face, his full, pink lips and his honest eyes. “Will you get in trouble?”
“No,” he said, voice softening. “I’ll just take you to the door.”
“What if someone sees us?”
“They already think I’m a traitor.” He paused, his straight eyebrows pulling down into a frown. “But if the mageians notice you with me, they might say something.”
“That’s okay with me,” she said. Ayla put her hand in his palm, the warmth seeping into her skin like the sun on a cold day.
He helped her up with a gentle tug. “It’s not okay with me. I’m not going to risk your safety just so I can see you off.”
Ayla slipped her hand from his and started shrugging off her cape. “Here, you can wear this. I won’t be cold. I’ll say you’re a friend if anyone sees me.” She offered it to him, hoping he’d take it. She wanted all the time she could have with him.
He studied it and then lifted his eyes to hers. “Why is it so hard to say no to you?” he whispered, taking it from her and whipping it around his shoulders. “Don’t dawdle, Ayla. I don’t want to put you in any risk just because I like the idea of making sure you’re safe.”
“We’ll be fine.” Ayla tied his cape, watching her thin fingers loop the strings together and pull them tight to keep her mind off of how close she was to his face. She glanced up into his sharp eyes as his expression warmed.
“You say it as if you know it’s true.” He chuckled, his eyes squinting and eyelashes weaving together.
She leaned closer, reaching behind his shoulders and pulling the hood over his soft locks. He put his hands on her waist as it fell over his eyebrows, a soft smirk tugging into his smooth cheeks.
“I do know it’s true.”
“Then I’ll believe it.” One of his hands fell to her back as he led her to the door. “Keep your head down. Stay close.”
She obeyed as he pushed the door open and swept her past the grand staircase toward the other side of the open room. Ayla suppressed her shivers, concentrating on his warm hand pressing into her back. They passed by the guards who faced outward toward the open ballroom across from the dining room.
“Be careful of Vejen from now on,” he said, keeping his voice low. “He’ll seek you out if he can. You shouldn’t take him so lightly next time.”
She could’ve scoffed. “I’m not worried.”
“He’s one of the best,” Loran said, pressing the topic.
“You’re the best and I’ve spent more days out of the year fighting with you than anyone else. I can handle him.” She paused, remembering the introductions in the stadium the day before and the striking color of Vejen’s eyes. “Ashor’s going to have to fight him, isn’t he?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yes. He will…” Loran stopped by the door, pulling her to the side and gripping her forearms. They fell into the shadow of a nearby pillar. “Ashor is going to need to be reassured. He’s a good fighter, but sometimes…”
“He lets his worry get the best of him,” she finished for him, her heart clenching at the thought. “I’ll try to get him to train with me a little bit. Maybe you could…?”
Loran nodded, taking a cautionary glance toward the door for any people before continuing. “I will, too. It’ll be hard.”
“You can do it,” she whispered. Ayla searched his eyes.
His jaw clenched, the muscles of his narrow jaw tightening. “I’ll visit you, too. Soon. Don’t try to come to me again, Ayla. You won’t be so lucky a second time and I won’t be there to help you.”
She rolled her eyes. She didn’t need his help, and she didn’t need luck, either. If she wanted to visit him, she would. But she had promised him she’d stay safe.
“Trust me, Ayla.” His eyebrows dipped into his lashes, a crease of worry on his forehead. “Please listen to me for once.” His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close.
She hugged him back, burying herself into his body heat. “Visit me, Loran.”
“I will, I promise.” His square chin rested on the top of her head.
“Then we won’t have a problem.” She pulled away from him. “I’ll see you soon.”
He smiled, untied the cape, and tossed it over her head. “You will.”
Ayla pulled it from her head, her hair clinging to her face as she turned to watch him walk away. His figure disappeared behind the door across the hall.