Chapter 12

Little Kings

Once I’m sure BloodRock isn't coming back. Relief and anger flow through me and I start to sob. I hate it here. I hate BloodRock and I hate Muraab and everyone else in this compound. I hate the way the beating made my existing injuries worse. I just want to lay here and sob until the whole world goes black. I can’t though. The sleeping halls are never empty and it's bad enough some of the boys in my hall would have seen BloodRock beat me half to death. I will not let them see me as weak. Not now. Not ever. This is my hall. Mine! When word spreads about what BloodRock did to me I want them to talk about how I walked it off. There is only one problem with that plan. It requires me to walk it off. It takes three attempts to get off the floor. Even then it's all I can do to stand there leaning against my cot. Which is hardly walking it off. I do eventually get going even if it's more of a head hung shuffle than the imperious stride I had envisioned. Still, I’m moving and that's enough. I can hear the sounds of the other boys getting ready for dinner. We don’t eat inside. Instead both the youths and adult pit slaves will drag a series of long tables from behind the halls into the central path of the compound.

Once it’s ready domestic slaves will emerge from the manse to feed us whatever garbage it's decided we will eat today. There will be guards too. Just in case we get a bit too handsy with the domestics. We tend to sit at tables filled with our own hall members. It’s not a hard and fast rule and tonight I'm probably going to ignore it. Not for any social reason. It’s just once I get outside I want to sit down as soon as I can. I don't even look up from the floor as I make my way. I could walk this hall with my eyes closed, and right now lifting my head seems like an awful lot of effort. No. Can’t think like that. The point of this is to look good. There are real reasons for that. It’s not just my pride. I’m like a little king of this hall. Keeping things that way is often the reason I get dragged into challenge fights. The weaker I seem the more likely someone is to try to fight me. In my current state of injury, with Muraab’s warning and BloodRock’s rage hanging over me, I’d have no choice but to turn it down. To give up my place. From there it would only get worse. Boys from the other two halls would descend on me with challenges every other day. Just like I've always feared. The point is to look scary. I've never been much good at being friendly or looking good. But I've managed to keep at least twenty boys afraid of me. It's not quite as helpful as them liking me. It is however an effective substitute. If only I could do that to the fans. Make the crowds afraid of me and bully them into spending their money to see me. To bet on me. I snort at the ridiculousness of the idea. No one would want to see a pit slave they hated.

Despite my rapidly swelling face and blood dribbling from my nose I lift my head. To my surprise I see Gori and the little kid who won today standing in my path. “ need some help?” Gori asks quietly. He seems a lot more aware of his surroundings than when I last saw him. “No” I grunt through split lips. Then I amend myself. What's the point of being a little king if I don’t get a little help? “Maybe. Just stay nearby in case I look like I'm going to fall over.” At least that's what I try to say. It comes out less garbled than when I was talking to BloodRock and they seem to understand, but it's far from the clearest I’ve ever expressed myself. Gori rolls his eyes and the little six-year-old beams a smile up at me. The two of them flank me and my instincts scream threat. I try to ignore the feeling. They aren't boxing me in. Gori doesn't even like fighting, it's just so they can help. It does help. Not because they actually do anything physically in any way, it's the knowledge that they will see me struggle. Can't have that. So even as my face aches and my ribs scream with every breath. I keep my head high and my breathing steady. My composure does break when it comes to sitting down. The tables are set up. As always there are no chairs. The wooden tables are low to the ground and the boys either sit in the dust or crouch around them. Gori and….his little kid assistant? Help me slump to the ground at the table for my hall. Which was mercifully the closest tonight. I let out something between a snarl and yowl as pain shoots up my side at the motion. After a few sharp breaths through gritted teeth, I manage to thank the pair. Turns out the kid’s name is Tavin. He isn’t even from my hall which I don’t really understand. He must have some connection to Gori but I don’t have any clue what it is. It’s not weird for older pitters to look after new kids now and then. What is weird is that they aren’t from the same hall. I consider demanding an answer from the antlered cursed but It doesn’t seem worth the effort. Instead, I just let them go find their own seats. Seats. I almost laugh at the thought.

It wouldn’t seem out of place. Every night there is a sort of festival aire to dinner. As though each of the boys is celebrating having survived another day. Or maybe we just imitate the adult pit slaves. I glance across BloodRock’s courtyard to their tables. As always the adult slaves are kept far from us. But otherwise, it's almost an identical scene. They laugh, joke, and complain about the food always being late. Just like we do. The only real differences are they are bigger and they have alcohol. That stuff is contraband for us. Of course, we still get our hands on it anyway but we can’t exactly bring it out at the evening meal. Even I usually get swept up in the good-natured camaraderie of slaves sharing food. Tonight though I keep myself apart. At best offering the boys from my hall a weak smile or shallow nod. Not long later the domestics start filing out of the manse with our food. I know before I see them. The atmosphere goes from friendly to raucous. Most domestic slaves are women, especially here in BloodRock. They are just about the only women most of us ever really interact with. That doesn’t make it any less embarrassing to watch as most of the boys start hollering or making clumsy attempts to flirt. The domestic women respond the same way they always do. With false good nature. They will tolerate us getting loud as long as we keep our hands to ourselves and tonight none of the boys are stupid enough to try anything. It's hard to say if the five domestic women remain unassailed as they ferry the food over to us because of the three armed BloodRock guards behind them or the fact that they carry five bowls a piece. If They drop any of the food there will be no replacement and someone will go hungry. Usually, the boy who caused the issue. I can’t speak for any of the other pit slaves but I didn’t eat anything today and the idea of that continuing is more than enough to ensure my good behaviour.

Not that it is anything worth celebrating. After… what's her name? Tululah I think. Deposits my bowl in front of me. I see dinner is a common one. The weird gelatinous bean curd BloodRock likes to feed us over rice. I can’t imagine anything blander. And for the briefest moment, I consider dripping some of my own blood onto the meal for flavour. I can’t bring myself to do it though. It would taste better but the idea is just gross. At least the food is hot I console myself. I think I might have hurt someone if tonight turned out to be cold food again.

I've long since finished my bland meal when a cheer comes from one of the other tables. It doesn’t take long to see why. Kalon blonde hair shining gold in the light of the setting sun comes slowly walking to his own hall’s dinner table. I feel a little jealous. No one cheered for me any of the times I returned from the tower. They didn’t ever crowd around me like they are him. Boys offering jokes or congratulations.

I think I even hear my own name a few times followed by laughter. Muraab’s warning comes back to me and I do my utmost to ignore them. That becomes a challenging proposition when I hear the strange listless accent of the boy I fought today. With a frown, I glance over at the other table. There he is the dark-haired non-slave I had clashed with. Sitting next to Kalon chatting and smiling at the slaves around him. Drop me into the world of sky if that makes any sense. Why would one of BloodRock’s guests eat with us? Especially one that is apparently a champion in another city. A tourist maybe? Come to slum it with the slaves for a night. I can see most of their table fawn over the pair of them. Kalon I get. He faced the beast, the monster from hall three. They always act like fighting me is some right of passage that should be applauded. The dark-haired boy though. Why are they treating him so well? He is an intruder in their midst. Are these boys so stupid as to think he has some influence over their futures? Trying to suck up now so he will remember them fondly later? That has to be it. The boy is obviously rich. You could buy ten of me for the price of the sword he used today, and at least two of Gori for the price of his shirt. With its dark fabric and golden buttons. Even the fact that he is wearing a shirt sets him apart. So I guess I can’t really blame them.

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Maybe word has spread that he fought me today? No, that doesn't seem right they are too comfortable with him, like this isn't the first time he has shared dinner with hall two.

Catching me staring the boy offers a cheerful smile and wave. Considering I probably look like a bloody monster dredged from a child’s nightmare and am definitely glaring daggers at him. It’s not the reaction I was expecting. It seems like I’m not the only one surprised as the table around him instantly quiets when they realise who he’s waving at. They don’t turn aggressive but it's clear the playful nature of the conversation has died off. My own table is still having a good time. They don’t care what I do or who I interact with. My boys are smart like that. If any of them are paying me attention at all I don’t notice it.

It’s just before the domestics return to collect our bowls that a loose alliance of my curiosity and frustration drives me to my feet. The hall two table returned to its former merriment in no time at all. The dark-haired boy made a few jokes and the slaves cursed and human both go back to eating out of the palm of his hand. Even Morean who rules hall two like I do three seems taken in. It's pretty obvious that I should just mind my own business. It's what I would tell someone else to do. And yet before I know it I'm looming over hall two's table. More specifically over Kalon and the foreigner.

The table has gone silent. Several boys, including Morean, start to get to their feet or at least into a crouch. No one wants to be sitting if things get violent. And for some reason, people assume when I show up things will. Ignoring Kalon I fix my gaze on the foreign boy. “What are you doing here?” I demand through swollen lips. Remaining seated he offers me a disarming smile. It doesn’t work. I am still very much armed.

“Atar is hosting my sister and me while I compete here” he replies.

“Why are you eating with slaves when you aren’t one?” comes my clench-jawed clarification.

“Ohhh,” He says with an exaggerated expression of understanding. “ all know BloodRock produces the best pitt slaves in Far Mantys. I had thought If I eat the same as all of you I might put on a little muscle.” He brings one of his thin arms up as he speaks, flexing his bicep and cupping it with his other hand. This elicits a laugh from the pitters around us. I narrow my eyes. Something about his tone makes me think I’m being mocked. Even though the joke seems to be at his own expense as the clear smallest boy over the age of ten at this table. Maybe I admit to myself I am just looking for reasons not to like him. Not sure how to respond to the joke but unwilling to just stand here awkwardly I push on. “Really?” My voice is thick with doubt.

“No of course not really” he says with a snort of what I think is genuine amusement. “Eating with my sister every night gets boring, and I wanted to get to know you all better.”

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. Rich people often have a strange fascination with us. It manifests in lots of different ways and I am suddenly concerned for the boys of hall two. If this boy has demands or desires involving them BloodRock will not only allow it, he will facilitate it.

I’m about to ask why he wants to know pit slaves better when Morean Interposes himself between me and the Foreign boy. Or maybe between me and Kalon. It’s not exactly a secret that I can’t stand the blonde slave. I had hoped Morean and I would be on relatively good terms after chatting in the Saffron cages. But of course, the blessed boy sees himself as some sort of shield or protector for the slaves in his hall. He almost stabs one of his little stone horns into my eye. Taking an awkward step back I let out a low growl. “You looking for a rematch Morean?”

The dark-skinned boy shakes his head. Face calm as a stone wall. “ I just want everyone to relax after a nice meal.” That draws a sneer from me. “ You have a funny way of showing it. I am just talking. What’s not relaxed about that?” His expression doesn't shift at all.

“Then there isn’t a problem. I’ll just take my ease here” My instincts scream to fly at him. To maul him, challenge him, send him to the tower. I ignore them. It would be a terrible idea. Not only would I be risking BloodRock’s displeasure so soon after I already defied him and ignoring Muraab’s advice. Hurt as I am beating Morean might be beyond me. So I let him be. If the blessed kid wants to play guardsman. What do I care anyway?

The dark-haired boy gains his feet. Arms spread wide in front of him in what I guess is supposed to be a disarming gesture.

"Now now sirs. You are putting the women off." He inclines his head at the group of domestic slaves. Who are standing impatiently waiting to finish their tasks "They have been so kind to serve us the least we can do is not get in the way."

It's not so much that we are in the way and more that they don't want to be nearby if a fight breaks out. I grunt in annoyance but he’s right. We are making a scene. I am making a scene.

I'm about to start calling Morean whatever insults I can think of when Kalon slowly pushes himself to his feet. Brushing some of his stupid golden hair out of his face the human boy speaks up.

"Xael," he says, addressing the pale foreigner.

"I'm worn out. Could you help me back to the tower?" The foreigner. Xael looks to me and then to Morean with consideration. If he really is trying to defuse things he should do it. Leaving means I can back down from Morean without losing face. Of course, Xael might not understand the way pit slave politics work or might be worried about not having control of the situation if he goes with Kalon. Thankfully he seems to understand as after a few tense heartbeats the dark-haired boy smiles and offers Kalon his arm to lean on. " Of course". The way he says it is strange. Somehow the listless nature of his accent makes the word really pop.

The pair leave but Morean and I don't move. Neither one of us is quite willing to back off just yet. "Why are you putting up with a rich kid in the mix?" I ask eventually. " Who knows what he wants?"

The stone-blessed is slow to reply but he seems to understand the nature of my concern. He shakes his head. "I don't think he is going to hurt any of my boys, and he is more than a tourist. You saw that yourself."

Gods above and below did I ever. Skinny or not Xael was one of the highest-level opponents I had ever faced. That had been obvious almost instantly. Still.

"He's not a slave. You can't trust him." Morean blinks at me.

" and what exactly do you expect me to do about it? " he asks with minor annoyance showing in his voice though not his face. I'm starting to think he actually can't make many expressions. Some side effect of his blessing. "BloodRock says he has free reign. Doesn't matter what I think. He can do what he wants." I spit at that. Sometimes I forget that the blessed are still human. And humans are either all cowards or obsessed with hierarchy. Every single one. Granted I'm on my best behaviour at the moment. But I didn't get to this point by being an obedient little hound. If there was some weird rich guy hanging around my hall. I would make sure he knew to keep his hands to himself. Even if he hadn't actually done anything yet.

“Fine! But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I mutter as I turn away from the dark-skinned boy.