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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

TZAIN

T HE L ? MINAS.

Emperor Jorah’s personal guard. Their very steps thunder in unison. I feel like a prisoner as I march among them.

The Laminas occupy the quartet of temples surrounding the imperial palace. Each temple sports the symbol of an ivory barong. The leaf-shaped blade matches the ones inked onto every Lamina’s arm.

Warriors stand at attention as Koa approaches the stone gate. At the sight of me, they bristle. One eyes the curved blade inked into his skin. But when Koa gives the order, they have no choice but to open the gate and let me in.

Beyond the gate, young boys train in painted squares. The temples ring with the sounds of their matches. Unlike the graduated warriors, each trainee sports a shaved head and plain brown pants. No weapons mark their brown skin.

I stare as Koa marches me through. The boys spar with no regard, faces scrunched and teeth bared. Bones break. Blood spills. But no matter what, the boys don’t stop.

They fight to kill.

In one square, the young warriors wield throwing knives made from black glass. They stand in a row across from a line of targets. When an overseeing Lamina gives a call, they release. Each weapon lands with precision, hitting the exact mark.

In another square, a member of the Laminas inspects the different trainees. A thick scar runs through the right side of the warrior’s head. Unlike the young boys, his bare chest is covered with weapons. I take in the inked swords crossed over his abdomen.

When one of the young warriors fails to land an attack, the Lamina steps in. He grabs the trainee at the knees, showing him how to throw an enemy onto his back.

In the central court, a Lamina and a trainee face off. The Lamina sports a boomerang around his neck and heavy clubs on his muscular arms. A circle of boys gathers as the Lamina’s fingers glow green. Bones crack as he pulls one of the clubs free.

He winds up the ivory weapon to strike. Though weaponless, the trainee dives forward, giving everything he has to the fight. The way their trainees battle, I don’t know who to fear more—them, or the Skulls.

Behind the training squares, the warriors’ barracks stand. Crafted from hardened vines, each woven structure rises almost fifteen levels high. Winding ladders run from the bottom floors all the way to the top. I have no choice but to follow Koa as he climbs.

When we reach the third floor, two dozen men rise from their cots. Most are double my age; all but one are twice my size. The warriors protest at my presence, and Koa shouts back in their tongue.

My pulse spikes when the path to the ladders is blocked off. The warriors’ startling green eyes dig into me like knives. It’s like being trapped in another cage.

I need to get out of here.

I stiffen as the men close in like dogs. I feel naked among them. But as they corner me against the back wall, I don’t back down.

I don’t allow the warriors to see the sweat that gathers at my brow.

Each of the Laminas sports an armory on his skin: uniquely shaped swords, bone whips, throwing knives. My fingers itch for the hilt of my axe.

Without it, I don’t stand a chance.

“My axe,” I say.

Koa blinks at me. The breeze from the window blows in our silence. I point to the blade on his arm and make a swinging motion.

“My axe. I want it back.”

Koa cracks his neck. He nods to one of his men. The warrior disappears to another room. After a moment he returns with the only weapon I have. They’ve wrapped the hilt in an animal skin to keep it from burning their hands.

The warrior gives the axe to Koa, and I reach for it, but Koa holds it out of my grasp. His taunt brings me back to being a child, all alone on the agbon court. I was a lowly fisherman’s son against the sons of Or?sha’s guard. They said I’d lose every match.

“Give it to me,” I growl.

My eyes widen when Koa speaks my tongue in a broken cadence.

“Or—what?” He arches his brow. “What—are you—going to do?”

With a hard shove, he throws me back. I tumble out of the window of the barracks. Air rushes past me as I fall. Shouts ring as I land on the hard rock.

Pain shoots through every part of my being. Sharp spasms travel up my spine. Koa practically glides down the vines, cornering me as I writhe.

“You want—your axe?” Koa dangles the weapon over my head. Unlike the other warriors, his hand doesn’t burn in contact with the metal. All around us the Laminas gather.

“Take it.”

My jaw sets as Koa hands the axe to one of his men. The monster that awoke in the Skulls’ cage rises in my abdomen. I think of all I’ve had to endure. What it took to make it to these foreign shores.

With a grunt, I rise to my feet. I don’t care about all the eyes on me. I shake through the pain and attack, launching myself at Koa’s hips.

In the span of a breath, Koa beats me to the ground. He slides, hooking his knee between my legs. With a twist, the world spins. My head smacks against the hard stone.

The other men laugh at my fall. They cheer Koa on in their tongue. Their leader stares at me like I am an ant.

Like I’m not worth the rock I lie on.

I scramble back to my feet. A trail of blood drips from my right ear. It falls from my neck, adding to the bloodstains on the emerald rock.

Do better. Be better. I push myself on. I won’t let Koa defeat me.

I won’t let him win.

I swing my leg at his ribs. Koa doesn’t even shift to hook my heel. With a sweep of his foot, he catches my ankle. I stifle my shouts as I hit the ground again.

I don’t know how many times I charge.

How many times I’m thrown to the ground.

My fury builds with every failed attack. I strike with everything I have.

But when I can’t bring myself to rise, Koa bends down. The warrior barely sweats. He stares like he can see straight through me.

Like he can feel how powerless I really am.

“Your axe—does not—make you strong.” Koa pushes through every word. “It shows—how weak—you really are.”

Koa takes the axe back from his men.

Shame rips through me as he drops the weapon by my head.