Day 23 of the War
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Ayla forced herself to bathe, hissing at the icy water and shivering as she ran her washrag along the bumps forming on her skin from the cold.
She remembered when her dad used to help her bathe when she was younger. He’d make it a game and they’d race every time to try to wash her up quicker than the day before. Sometimes they’d have water fights, or she’d try to wash his beard. His tan skin looked funny against the white soap bubbles. The image danced across the back of her eyes, a soft smile touching her lips.
Even before that, she used to bathe with Loran. As a pup, he had the softest fur. Pejna would drain the tub and cover her in a towel before Loran shook out his dark coat. She’d giggle every time. After he’d stolen his magic and learned how to shift into a human form, he refused to bathe with her.
At the time, she’d been really hurt. She’d refused to see him for a week until he apologized. His excuse was that boys and girls shouldn’t bathe together. That’d been the first time she’d noticed him as anything other than her friend. She tried for seven years to win his attention until she gave up. If she hadn’t, maybe they would’ve already been together right now.
Ayla let out a shuddering breath and stepped out of her tub after she finished washing. The cold air hit her like a thousand knives. Magic prickled under her skin as it fought off frostbite. She gritted her teeth against her quivering, pulling for magic she hadn't been allowing herself to touch until the cold stopped bothering her. She dressed herself for the first time in two weeks.
She slid her hands over her hair, twisting it in a long rope above her head before raveling it into a tight bun. Her fingers tucked the ends into the middle and froze it in place on the crown of her head with a little magic. Her mom taught her how to do that when she was three. It’d been the most impressive thing she’d learned and she showed it off every day for a year to her dad. He’d pretended to be surprised each time.
The sunset colored her icy tower in a pastel orange and pink. Ayla stretched on her bed, warming her muscles with the same rigid routine her dad worked her through every morning until her sixteenth birthday. She remembered the first time he taught her to do the splits, the first time he made her reach her toes above her head, and the look on his face the first time he’d accidentally injured her.
Her eyes stung with memory. Things she used to look back on fondly and laugh about sat in her chest like a brick in the cavity of her ribs. All the times she’d felt her life couldn’t get any worse because Loran and Faya were always together while she was stuck in the human world with her dad weighed her down like snow on tree branches.
She didn’t have any of that anymore. All she had was herself and her magic.
When she finished stretching, she ate her breakfast. Her stomach threatened to reject each bite, but she’d need the energy in the arena. After she ate, she practiced a few kicks and punches for good measure, warming her muscles again. By the time she finished, a light sweat coated her face.
She grabbed her scythe when the sun reached fifty-five degrees in the sky, and she allowed its power to fill her.
When she opened her door, she found Zalyn sat on the bottom step of her staircase. He glanced over his shoulder at her when the door slammed shut and jumped to his feet.
“Are you ready?” Zalyn asked, offering her a hand. Dark circles under his eyes aged his face, his eyes bloodshot. He tried to smile.
“No,” she whispered, placing her hand in his and closing her eyes against the warmth flooding through her. She swallowed against her honesty. “I don’t want to do this.”
He weaved his fingers between hers and headed down the stairs to the main hall. “We have no choice.” His strong arm rubbed against hers. “I’ll protect you with everything I have, even if I die doing it.”
“I don’t want you to protect me,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I don’t need it.”
He stopped by her waiting door and slid his arms around her, hugging her as if it’d be the last time he’d ever see her again. “But I want to.”
She snaked her arms around his small waist and inhaled, trying to commit his sweet spicy smell to memory. What if she never saw him again after this? What would she do?
He pulled away and kissed her, his tongue soft and slow against hers. She pulled away after a few moments, keeping her eyes closed until she stepped through her door. She felt stupid for kissing him. She felt weak. But she didn’t want to deny him, or herself, such a simple pleasure right now. That’d feel even more stupid.
When she reached the waiting room, Ishkur sat on her round couch, a leg folded over the other, leaning back on his hands. Ayla sucked in a breath and tightened her hold on her scythe. Her heart hammered in her chest.
“Sleep well?” he asked. A calm and somber expression relaxed on his tan face. His lips curved downward and his eyelids weighed over his stormy eyes. The rounded line of his mustache above his lip and the strip below it hadn’t moved since she’d last saw him.
“No,” she said with clenched a fist. “How could I? Everything’s ruined.”
“Everything?” he asked. His thick eyebrow arched over his almond-shaped eyes. “Do you remember our deal?”
She groaned, tipping her head back and feeling a wave of disgust surge through her. “Yes.”
“So, what’s the problem?” His stormy eyes burned into her. “Not so selfish anymore?”
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She swallowed her heart down into her stomach. “My deal with you—shouldn’t it be null now that my dad’s no longer here?”
The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “You’re quick today.” The candlelight flickered across his face. He rolled his neck on his shoulders and released a ragged breath. “Yes, you're right. Because your deal was an extension of your father's, it is no longer valid. So, let's see... Doesn't that leave you with three options? Die, win, or draw. If you die, you’ll be with your parents—”
“—Hardly being with them when it’s in a place like Irkalla,” she growled.
He chuckled, a dark quality in the slow roll. “You didn’t seem to care before.”
She clenched her teeth, sucking in a breath through her nose. Of course she didn’t care before. Before she hadn’t realized that her simple wish would condemn twenty people, including Ashor, Zalyn, and Loran, to death—an eternity in Irkalla.
“Well, your other option is to win. Then Ereshkigal will take your magic. You and your father will live like humans and die like humans, and that’s only if a therian doesn’t end up finding you and murdering you both.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. She did not need to be reminded.
Ayla breezed past him and stood in front of the icy door, flames coating her insides. She pressed her palm to the door and let the coolness sink into her skin as she closed her eyes. “Why’re you here? Where’s Naramsin?”
“Your trainer is seated in the stadium with the others." His voice softened. "You're meant to be alone, but I’m here to offer you a new deal.”
She spun on her heal. “Why? I don’t have anything for you to gain. I’m about to step into my grave.”
He glanced over his shoulder before standing and walking toward her. He leaned his shoulder against the wall beside the door. “I believe the gods have already decided you will be the winner."
What? She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart thudding against her breastbone like an axe against a tree. “You’re lying.”
“You think they care who the best fighter is?” He gave a small chortle. “This is the truth. That is why they meet with you, why they watch your every move. To decide who will further their goals the most."
“B-but my dad…” If he’d known, he would’ve fought against it. She knew him—he wouldn’t have walked into the arena knowing the gods had already intended him to win.
"What about him? You're the one I'm here for. I want to make a new deal with you."
"My deal with Ereshkigal is still good." Ayla stepped forward, her voice raw. “I’m not who they should’ve picked.”
He brushed a curl out of her face. “They enjoy your honesty.” A smirk crossed over his lips as folded his arms across his chest again. “I want to make a deal with you to overwrite your deal with Ereshkigal."
She released a shuddering breath. Ohorshina’s voice welcomed everyone to the final battle over the chattering crowd above. Her throat seized up as the stadium erupted in cheers and the door began to grind upward into the ceiling. She didn’t have any time.
"You said you couldn't do anything about Ereshkigal before?" she asked.
"The circumstances have changed."
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
"I want you to win and help me make this world a better place." His eyes locked with hers. So he was essentially offering her the same deal as he'd offered her father, but for some reason, this one would allow her to keep her magic? “And what would you like?”
“A draw.” She held out her arm for him to shake. “Deal?”
“We have six remaining competitors.” Ohorshina’s voice rang above the crowd. “Therian Ardan Zebari, therian Loran Amedi, therian Ajna Mutki, mageian Zalyn Yonan, therian Vejen Akreyi, and mageian Ayla Elias. Today one of them will be declared the winner.”
"I cannot do that for you. Think of something else."
She didn't have time to think. "The power to force a draw then. I need to be stronger. The magic you gave Dad, can you give it to me?"
He took her arm with a soft smirk. "You already have the power to force a draw, Ayla. No one else has more of Nanna's magic coursing through them than you. You've just been too kind to use it."
The room fell into darkness, black clouds blocking out the world from around them. Just like back then when he'd given her dad his magic, the air thinned and moistened with dew as thin threads of lightning snaked through the brewing storm. Before, her hair had whipped in her face, the flashes of light too bright for her eyes.
"Breathe in," he instructed, voice like thunder. "Take in as much as you can."
She drew in a long breath as he instructed, the dark storm clouds filling her lungs until she strained to take in more. But she needed more. So she pushed the magic from her lungs to the rest of her body to make more room, to take in every last bit. Time stretched as she struggled, her body begging her to let it all out so she could take in new air, but she refused. She fought to keep her consciousness until the very last moment when she wasn't sure if her eyes had closed or if she'd fallen to the ground.
The roar of cheering and applause brought her back. Her eyes snapped open to find the room was clear of magic and Ishkur holding her up. Something had shifted in her, but she couldn't tell what. She didn't feel stronger. She didn't feel like his magic was flowing through her as Nanna's did, but her mind felt clear.
"The deal is done?" she asked.
"The deal is done. Time for you to go," the god said, guiding her toward the exit.
She steeled herself and stepped into the arena. Both sides of the stadium roared, waving banners as if it was the first day of the War all over again. Her heart pulsed in her bones and her blood swam in her stomach.
Across the closing distance, Loran’s eyes studied her. Her heart fluttered and her eyes watered. She knew how her father must’ve felt facing Evraz. This was much worse than the introduction.
“It was on this day—Elunu 23rd, 4323—that mageian Afrem Elias won the 14th Gutian War.” Ohorshina continued, “The battle will start at high sun, and by sunset, we will have a winner for the 14th Akkadian War.”
Zalyn found her side as they stopped ten paces away from the four therians. Vejen smirked at her, his green pants dancing in the breeze. Arden ran a hand over his short hair, rubbed his face, and scratched his stubble. Ajna licked her reddened lips and shifted her weight to one foot, her hip swaying to the side. Loran let out an icy breath and stared down to the snow. Her heart felt like it was on fire, but she'd never felt more in control of her magic.
Zalyn leaned against her and whispered, “I’m going to take out the girl first. She could be a threat. Can’t see her quiver, can’t see her arrows.” His eyes burned copper, magic ready for the fight.
Her magic drowned within her. “Vejen’s mine.”
Vejen gave her a wolfish grin, stubble coating his lower face, green eyes dancing like this was some kind of joke. If anything went right today, it would be punishing Vejen for taking Ashor from her.
Zalyn smirked. “You seem ready now. Good.” He cracked his knuckles, his neck, and studied the therians. “I’ll leave you to him. I won’t interfere. You don’t need me to. I trust you.” He glanced at her, his face relaxed for the briefest of moments. “If anyone’s my equal, it’s you.”
She did not think anyone was her equal anymore.
Breath escaped her. “B… Be careful.”
“You, too.” His hand pressed into the back of her hair, underneath her bun, and drew her head to his lips. He kissed her forehead and gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “I want to hear your answer after this is over.”
Her answer? He drew away from her and heaved his poleaxe across his shoulder, stretching in the moment they had left. She squeezed her eyes shut. Forget about it. Forget about everything but this arena, this fight, and everything on the line.
She opened her eyes, her hearing narrow, her vision focused. It was time.
“May the gods be with you.”