Day 14 of the War

----------------------------------------

Robil stood by the icy door to the arena watching Zalyn pace between the walls. Ayla followed his sturdy build, tight with tension, and watched the way his pants moved around his legs.

“I don’t think pacing can be considered a proper warm-up, Zalyn,” she said, crossing one of her legs over the other as he cringed and threw a glare over his shoulder. “You’re not nervous, are you?” she teased.

“No,” he said, quickening his pace.

Robil chuckled as Zalyn sneered at her. “She’s right, kid. Why don’t you just sit down and relax? You’re ready for this.”

She patted a spot next to her on the red-cushioned round couch and Zalyn paused, looking from her hand to her face. He studied her for a moment before sighing and taking the seat. His anxiety rolled off of him like radiation from the sun.

“I didn’t think I’d need to stroke your ego anymore, but you’ll be fine,” she said. Ayla lifted her hand to his bare arm and rubbed, feeling the rise and fall of his muscles under the fever of his skin. “Really.”

His muscles relaxed under her touch. He hung his head, leaning over to put his elbows on his knees. “What if I’m not fine? I don’t want to disappoint Mother.” He peeked over at her, his eyes a ruddy mahogany. “And I don’t want to leave you all alone in the final battle.”

Her heart fluttered against her collarbones. What was this feeling? Flattery—appreciation? She swallowed and smirked, falling on what she knew best: insults. “I wouldn’t hold it against you. Not like you’d be much help.”

His head dropped as if his neck broke. “Ouch.” He sat straight and put a hand to his heart, his eyes piercing into her. “You know, that hurt.”

She felt at a loss for words for a moment, staring at the rigid seriousness in his expression. Her stomach dropped. “I was joking,” she said. Her mind raced, trying to undo damage she never would’ve cared about two weeks ago. “I want you to be in the final battle with me.” She flushed as he broke out into a grin and a deep chuckle. “Didn’t think I’d have to say it aloud! I thought you’d just know. Or something.”

He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth again. “A good luck kiss,” he said, remaining close. She could see the magic spiraling within the depths of his eyes. Zalyn put a finger to his grinning lips. “Can you give me one?”

Heat soared around her like a protective shell, her magic retreating away from her as she stared at the sturdy finger across his lips. Pink, slightly chapped, and tasted like cinnamon. Would it be weird if she gave him a good luck kiss? Would he want it like the one he’d given her—or like the one Loran had taken from her?

She swallowed and leaned in, setting her fingers on his hand and pulling it away from his lips. It felt like his magic pooled into the pit of her stomach as his eyes locked onto hers, his lashes casting shadows along his cheeks under the flickering candle chandelier.

Roses. She smelled roses in spring, a whole field, red. She hovered over the part in his lips, faltering—she shouldn’t. She couldn’t. She wanted to. Heat shot through her veins as she tilted her head, catching the side of his lips and pressing into light stubble and soft flesh.

“They’re starting,” Robil said, voice low like tumbling rocks. “Unless you two want to keep going. Guess I could tell them they’ll have to postpone.”

She pulled away, breathless. “N-no…” How could she have missed Ohorshina’s voice or the roar of the crowd? Her whole chest pounded with her heart. Could he feel it? Could he hear it?

Zalyn grinned and stood, his eyes on her. “I’ve got all the confidence I need to take down those worthless mutts. No worries, Robil.” He rotated his arms, stretching and loosening. He joined his trainer by the door and Robil set a hand on his back.

“Go get ‘em, kid.” Robil squeezed his shoulder as the door lifted. “You’ve been waiting for this day your entire life.”

Ayla wanted to pull him back. She wanted to have faith in him, but she didn’t want to lose him. She didn’t know when she started to care so much. Ohorshina finished calling the two therians into the arena, Alaz and Xerzan, before she announced Zalyn. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled.

She wanted to tell him to be careful, but she knew he’d just ignore it.

“Ready to watch your partner win?”

“More than ready.”

He laughed, low and rolling, and Robil sent him out with a push. His trainer walked to Ayla and offered her a hand. She watched Zalyn’s red pants and sleeveless shirt disappear into the arena, his chuckle fading, before she took it. He escorted her to the stands, taking his seat with the other trainers in the row behind the competitors.

Sabro gave her a skeptical look. “Where were you?” he asked, and then paused. “Don’t bother answering that. You were with Zalyn. Your face is still red.”

Ayla pressed her cold fingers to her cheeks, watching Zalyn face the two therians. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him—or get rid of the heat circulating her body. “I was. Hopefully you’re not jealous?”

He laughed, the first time she’d ever heard. “No, he’s all yours.” It sounded different than Zalyn—higher pitched, less taunting, and more like a bird.

She wanted to hear Zalyn laugh more. Would she?

Xerzan jumped around like a monkey, his pointed nose casting a shadow over his smirk. A layer of hair coated his chest and the muscles lining his torso. A deep frown sat on Alaz’s face, his thick eyebrows bunched together in the middle of his forehead and his eyes squinted against the sun. He stood with his feet spread and his fists sitting on his narrow waist.

“They’re kind of small,” Sabro said. His thin lips pressed together under his straight nose. “You’d think they’d be more muscular like Zalyn. Even I could probably take them on.” His straight eyebrows frowned over his squinted eyes, his black hair slicked back and brushing against the golden fur cape on shoulders.

Ohorshina’s voice rose over the chattering crowd. “May Inanna be with you.”

“Size doesn’t really matter for them,” she reminded him, watching Zalyn slide into his fighting stance as he faced off against Xerzan and Alaz. “Since they transform—they can be as strong as an elephant, as quick as a cheetah…”

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Xerzan disappeared into the snow, encased in white fur. She swore, burrowing magic in her eyes and straining to see his form. He circled Zalyn, a white jaguar, large padded feet and shining ruby eyes. Alaz followed suit, taking the form of a white lion, mane flowing around his head, muscles clenching as he prowled.

Sabro swore with her. “Spoke too soon. We’ve never… had to fight with animals like that…”

She swallowed, closing her eyes for a moment. “He’ll be fine. He has to be.”

Stubble sat on Sabro’s square chin and outlined his clenched narrow jaw. “He’s Zalyn—of course he’ll be fine.”

Xerzan leapt at Zalyn’s back, but he turned with a snarl and spun a kick into his angular head. Xerzan flew to the side, skidding to a stop, and gave his head a shake as Alaz took his place, ripping his claws toward Zalyn.

Zalyn lifted a forearm to block his claws and Alaz took it—sinking his teeth into the magic coating his arm. He roared, flinging Alaz away. The lion landed on his feet, licking his lips and sauntering toward him again as Xerzan followed.

They jumped at him again at the same time. Zalyn fell over under the jaguar’s weight, grunting, and kicking his legs up and kicking Xerzan away. Alaz darted to him as Zalyn hopped to his feet, sending a punch between the lion’s eyes. His neck snapped, the inertia of his body sending Zalyn’s fist hammering into his skull. Alaz whimpered and slid away, a lifeless lump among the piled snow.

“That had to hurt…” Sabro muttered as Zalyn charged toward Xerzan.

The jaguar jumped over him and turned on its heels as Zalyn tried to switch directions. Xerzan roared, teeth clamping down on Zalyn’s thigh, tearing a scream out of his human lungs. Ayla stood, her lungs in a fit, her heart in her throat as Zalyn struggled against the jaguar’s teeth. The therians cheered, wanting a fifth win.

Xerzan ripped into Zalyn’s leg and he let out another cry of pain before he raised his fist. Heat flooded the stadium as he roared, crushing his knuckles into the jaguar’s head. Blood soared into the air and splattered across the snow. Xerzan released his thigh and Zalyn lifted his leg, slamming his foot down on the jaguar’s neck. The white fur darkened into a shade of rust, lithe frame slimming and snout elongating. Blood pooled in the snow.

Sabro pulled her down. “Look, one down. Have a bit more faith in your boyfriend.”

Ayla’s heart felt like it was on clouds—weightless—as she plopped back down on the bench by Sabro’s side. Boyfriend? “I have faith. I think I’m allowed some worry.” Her whisper sounded husky. “I know what it’s like out there.”

“Have you ever seen Zalyn fight anyone but you?” Sabro asked, his eyebrows tightening more on his forehead. His golden eyes glinted in the sunlight, genuine and wise.

“I’ve seen him with Robil. And A… Ashor…” She swallowed and turned her attention back to Zalyn. Her heart didn’t want to behave. She dug her fingers into her palms, concentrating on the pain and then working to recall the icy feeling of her magic. “I haven’t seen him fight against any of the other competitors.”

Zalyn rubbed his hand along his thigh, trying to heal it before the wound could become deadly in the arctic temperature. Blood soaked his red pants into a deep shade of crimson. His eyes watched the lion twenty paces away rise with a glower. Her magic swam along her skin like a sudden frost, circling her heart.

“He’s good, Ayla,” Sabro said. “No one has ever beaten him. Why else do you think he’s the city’s hopeful? He’s the best one out of all of us. There’s no way he could lose.”

She hoped he was right. “I know he’s good,” she said. Her voice sounded stronger now, magic dancing on her tongue.

Zalyn moved his hand from his thigh and shook the limb, testing. He stepped down on it with caution and winced, moving his hands to the wound again. He’d never been good at healing. Robil always chided him for it, urging him to practice.

“But he’s hurt,” she whispered. She wanted to be in the arena with him—to help him heal at least. “It’ll take him forever to heal that wound…”

“The therian’s hurt, too. That punch should’ve knocked him senseless.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a determined look resting in his eyes. “Zalyn doesn’t care about pain. He fought Banipal with a broken shoulder once. Still beat him.”

Ayla glared at him for a moment. “You’re such the motivational speaker... Why haven’t we ever spoken before now?” Ayla asked, her eyes trained to Zalyn’s form.

Zalyn and Alaz kept their distance as he continued to rub his thigh, mending the tore ligaments, weaving his arteries back together, repairing his femur. The cheers waned until the stadium fell silent as if everyone was bating their breath for the one moment they’d attack each other.

“You didn’t seem like you wanted to talk,” he said. “Beyond that, Zalyn’s made it pretty clear you’re off-limits.”

“Off-limits?” She frowned. “I understand he probably threatened everyone to make sure no one said anything stupid about my dad again…”

“He lik—”

The therians cheered as Alaz’s body morphed, short fur growing into tufts of white, body shrinking and reforming into an arctic wolf. He snarled across the distance, blood-red eyes burning into Zalyn as he moved into his fighting stance. He hopped from foot to foot and then spit to the side.

“He… he’s totally playing around…” Ayla’s heart soared and warmed, watching Zalyn’s body relax. Her magic hummed against her skin as the mageians cheered against the therians.

Sabro laughed again, a quick and relaxed noise, as if his chest had swelled with sudden pride. “He’ll do some one-hit kill or something. I’ll bet you a million zuzu.”

Alaz gnashed his teeth and his hackles rose at Zalyn before he took off in a four-legged sprint, bushy tail trailing behind his strong, agile body. Zalyn waited like a patient hunter as Zalyn lashed out, his teeth snapping at his arms, his legs. He dodged and nailed a fist into Alaz’s head.

The wolf’s eyes squeezed shut in pain as he flew to the side from the impact. He landed on his side but picked himself up, panting, shaking his head. Alaz launched himself at Zalyn again and Zalyn stepped out of the way and slammed his elbow into the wolf’s head between his erect ears.

Alaz went down with a thump. Zalyn drove his foot into his head, smashing it against the layers of frozen snow underneath the fresh pack. The mageians erupted into a chant, naming Zalyn Esagila’s most hopeful. Sabro broke out in a laugh, standing and clapping with the crowd.

Zalyn turned toward the mageian side and found Ayla. He smiled and lifted his fist. His lips moved—‘I’m with you.’ A shiver crawled up Ayla’s back, her heart freezing in her chest. A cheer burst out of her mouth and a happy laugh as she waved at him.

“The winner is Zalyn Yonan.”

Ohorshina crossed the field with the Bloody Poleaxe, the long handle a deep ruby glittering in her hands. The crescent-shaped blade shined red like frozen blood and stretched half the length of the pole, the other half adding more height to the weapon.

He took it from her hands and swung it over his shoulder, lifting his fist again as the crowd chanted his name. Ayla’s chest swelled, her eyes prickling with tears of joy. She wouldn’t be alone.

She had Loran and she had Zalyn.

He treated back toward his waiting room. Ayla jumped from her seat and dashed out of the stadium, through the door to the mageian common room, and hurried down the stairs to the room. Zalyn set the poleaxe down by the door and smiled as she burst through the door.

“What’d you think?” he asked as she ran into his arms. He lifted her and spun her around, just like her dad used to when she was younger. “Was I any good?”

“You won!” She tightened her arms around his neck. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d lost.”

His arms closed around her waist, pressing her body into his. His chest heaved with every breath, his heart shuddering against his chest as he walked her to the round couch. He fell on top of her, his hand resting at her hip, his leg moving between hers.

“You would’ve had to come down to Irkalla and help me escape,” he said, his lips lowering to hers. “You would’ve, right?”

She couldn’t breathe. His heart hammered into her hand. His touch burned her skin. Her whole body ached, throbbed with every beat of her heart. She didn’t know what to say—no answer came to her mind.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. “On the lips…”

A hesitant whisper slipped through her teeth. She wanted to say yes, but she felt scared of what would come after that kiss. How could she face Loran? She could taste the cinnamon, the rose, with a hint of pomegranate.

A loud knock sent a jolt through her body. Zalyn sighed and pulled away as Robil called his name. Ayla sat up as he opened the door and nurses flooded the room, bringing in a standing table, blankets, and bowls of steaming water.

“Please lay down, Mister Zalyn,” one of the nurses pleaded. “We need to tend to your wound.”

He looked at Ayla, his expression lost and almost desperate, until one of the heavier nurses pushed him onto it. He sat and they began cleaning it first. He hissed and clenched his hands at the table’s edge.

Sabro joined her on the couch and enjoyed the show. Ayla couldn’t think of anything but the way it felt to beneath him, the way he smelled, his taste, and what it would’ve been like to kiss him.