Page 14 of The Sun God’s Prize (Child of Scale and Fire #3)

I clean myself up before heading out, examining the interior of my small bathing chamber to allow my mistresse time to depart before I go exploring.

There’s a strange wooden handle that turns next to the basin under a polished steel mirror, and when I fiddle with it, water emerges from a small gap in the wall, tumbling out over a wooden protrusion that creates a tiny waterfall.

It’s lukewarm but refreshing when I splash it on my face and over the back of my neck, the soft blanket hung beside the basin drying my skin quickly after.

The tall tub works the same way, and while I’m tempted to fill it, to climb inside and soak in water until I fall asleep, I have far too much to do just yet for such an indulgence.

I leave the room instead, pacing the small space that is my bedchamber, test the mattress on the low, stone base that elevates it a foot or so from the floor. It’s firm but smooth, stuffed with some kind of fluffy material instead of straw or feathers, and now I have to fight the urge to lie down.

Later, all of this later.

There’s a short tunic hanging in the cupboard, a thick, leather belt coiled on a shelf and what looks like footwear I’ve seen others using, flat soles of thick hide cut in the shape of a foot, with straps looped through the edges, meant to crisscross the calves and ankles, from what I’ve seen but haven’t attempted.

I’ll observe the others and sort out the process in the morning.

For now, my bare feet will carry me as they have all along.

The central area has lured in more of the fighting women, no men in sight, I note, though I avoid them as I circle toward the exit, counting eleven other archways.

Are they all small quarters like mine? They must be, though only six women sit on the cushions and observe me as I leave without comment.

It’s fully dark now, the ring empty, too dark to admire the paintings I pass beneath.

I’ll take a moment tomorrow to do so. The lanterns lighting it still glow, casting golden illumination over the already yellow sand.

I step inside, a small gap in the wall an invitation I accept, and I’m slowly stalking the circle, taking its measure, the depth of the footing, the feel of this place.

It’s not as humid here, some trick of construction, perhaps, though that will change when the sun rises.

I stop in the middle and look up at the twinkling stars just emerging into the carpet of velvet black overhead, exhaling, relaxing myself into the moment.

I can do this. Of any challenge I’ve been presented with, I know this I can accomplish.

Confidence buoyed, I carry on, crossing to the other side and stepping over the wall, poking my nose into the kitchen doorway where a small woman in a leather apron and a short tunic stirs a giant pot over a fire.

She grunts at me when she sees me, not speaking as she pivots and grabs a bowl from a shelf, ladling some sort of stew into it before turning and extending it toward me.

“Thank you,” I say, stepping in and taking it from her, while she immediately spins and reaches beneath the counter where a variety of vegetables and meats are spread out, a large knife set to one side.

Of course, I eye its presence, but she’s already straightening and thrusting a chunk of flat bread at me, forcing me to juggle the quickly heating bowl to the palm of one hand so I can hold the warm and fragrant slice in the other.

She shoos me out then with both hands waving, silent as she does, her wrinkled face twisting into an irritated frown when I hesitate. I do as I’m told, ending up in the eating area a moment later, finding a seat at the periphery, away from two women who linger over large cups they sip from.

There’s no spoon, but I don’t need it, the thick, heavy sauce scooped on the bread I’ve grown to love thanks to Vunoshe’s feedings, the arena’s kurrie even more flavorful, though it’s hot enough in spice that I’m gasping a little even as I lick the bowl clean.

I feel the two women approaching, but don’t acknowledge their presence until something thuds down in front of me, a bit of liquid splashing my hand.

When I do look up, the two fighters are already sitting down like I invited them to, one across from me, the other right next, though giving me enough space that she’s not meant the decision to bring me discomfort.

The cup that’s been brought brims with what they’re drinking as my new seatmates salute me.

“You’ll be needing that,” the first says, winking at me as she smiles.

Her teeth are short and blunt, as though filed down to stubs, and she’s had her ear lobes pierced and stretched out, a narrow oval of wood filling the gaps on both sides.

A thin, black tattoo lines her eyes and nose, disappearing into her dark hair straight up her forehead.

But her eyes are blue, like Atlas’s, a startling color in contrast, and they smile at me as much as her full mouth does.

“Gerthi’s food can burn the gilt from a Rae’s pussy. ”

They both laugh at that, and I can’t help but grin back, nodding and accepting the drink, taking a sip.

It’s water, mostly, but with a hint of citrus, and when I swallow, it burns a little.

Alcohol, then, so I’ll be mindful of how much I drink.

And yet, it’s refreshing, far too much so.

Are they planning to get me drunk? It will serve me to be wary, no matter how kind the gesture appears on the surface.

“It’s delicious,” I say, not specifying which, and finish the last of the food with my final bite of bread.

“You were bought in Lenad,” the second woman says, voice quiet and high-pitched.

I’m surprised by how delicate it is, considering she’s taller than me, though she’s lean, long-faced, skin so dark that she fades into the shadows but for the whites of her eyes.

She’s shaved her head, a single steel ring piercing the center of her nose, hanging down to her upper lip.

“If that’s the name of the place I landed,” I nod. “I don’t know this country’s geography.” Perhaps I shouldn’t be honest about it, but they’ll find out soon enough, no doubt, that I’m not Sunnish.

“You’re from the north,” she says, nodding to her friend. “I told you so.”

“You look like one of us,” the other squints at me. “Never seen eyes like yours before.”

“I’ve seen yours,” I say, pointing at her face. “In the north.”

She shrugs, leaning back, though I can tell she’s pleased I noticed. “Makes the patrons generous,” she laughs. “They’ll love your eyes, too. And that hair.”

I haven’t bound it in braids yet, still long and loose. It’s tempting, the thought of shearing it like the woman beside me an option in the heat, but I’m far too vain, and braids will keep it from being used against me.

“Your first Dome?” The woman next to me asks, but answers for me. “We marked you. Don’t worry,” she says then, with haste. “We keep fighting for the ring, as we aught.”

Her friend is nodding in response. “The other women, they like their drama. We stay out of it.”

“No men?” I haven’t seen a single male since we passed the gate to the arena.

They both laugh like I just said something hilarious.

“No men,” they both say together.

“Too distracting,” the tattooed woman says with her eyes rolling to the sky.

“Too touchy,” the sweet-voiced one says with an edge to it.

“Just once,” her friend nods, taking a sip of her drink. “Then never again.”

That has me grinning because we share the same attitude for such things, it seems. “I’m Remi,” I say. Not trusting, not yet, but I might need allies here while I work toward freedom, and these two seem more than amenable to it.

“Hloraine,” the smaller, tattooed woman says, “of Benes.”

“Morinthi,” the other tells me with a little smile, “of the elder tribes of Dulun.”

“I hail from Heald,” I tell them. And salute them, the three of us raising our glasses together, though I only sip where they drink deep.

“If you have questions,” Hloraine says, “ask. And if you have doubts or squabbles…” she shrugs. “No killing, but you can stand your ground.”

“Good to know,” I say. “There are rules I must learn, no doubt.”

“Only a few,” Morinthi says, leaning forward, the lantern light shining on her bare scalp and the thin ring of silver she wears like a small cap.

I’ve only just noticed it and find the glittering fascinating.

“As long as you fight as you’re meant, keep your peace as much as you are able and bring wealth to the stable, you will do well here, Remi. ”

“To the glory of the Rae,” Hloraine says, the pair clinking cups.

“And the mistresse ,” Morinthi adds before drinking.

“She was one of us once,” I say, stabbing that notion without hesitation.

They both agree, Morinthi rising, taking her friend’s cup, going to the large cask at the far wall where she refills them from a spigot as the tattooed warrior confirms it.

“Romouth is legend ,” she says, voice low as if unwilling to be overheard. “It’s said she failed to earn her freedom by a single stroke.”

“And only,” Morinthi goes on for her, sitting again, pushing her friend’s cup back to her, brimming once again, “because she refused to kill her opponent. Right in front of the Sun God Himself.”

They both shake their heads in wonder, then drink as deeply as before. Neither shows signs of inebriation, but I can’t risk it, sipping slowly, waiting for the kick.

“The Rae rewarded her anyway,” Hloraine says. “Had her create her own stable of only women warriors, only women serving them. She’s been shining the glory of our patron ever since.”

“To the glory,” Morinthi says, emptying her glass again. “I’m done,” she tells her friend, rising from the bench.

The smaller, stout woman joins her. “We’ll see you in the ring tomorrow, Remi.” She flexes her biceps, impressive in their size, then laughs as she straightens. “Rest well.”

The pair lean into one another, the taller Morinthi draping a long arm around Hloraine’s broad shoulders, their hips bumping as they cross the ring toward the sleeping quarters. I look down at my cup, still mostly full, and seek out the feeling I’m expecting from it, only to find nothing.

To the fire with it. I drain the glass, the coolness paired with the odd burn in the back of my throat satisfying. If I get drunk from it, so be it.

Before that can happen, I want to finish my tour. When I rise to clear my bowl and cup, the small cook appears, doing that hand flapping gesture at me again, rushing me away before she quickly takes the three cups and bowl in an expert pile that she carries off again.

We’re to be catered to, then, cared for. As long as we do as we’re told.

I hadn’t asked the pair I’ve just met what the consequences of attempted escape might be, though I can guess that death at the very least would follow. But since this plan seems to be working so far, I’ll remain and do as I’m bid.

For as long as it serves me.

I quickly pass the animal housing again, not bothering to explore it right now, instead carrying on past the main gate, looking down the tunnel toward the town on the other side. It’s locked and barred to the archway, and though I could probably break through it, I have no reason to, as yet.

The next entrance on the curve is the armory I was told to visit, though it’s dark and quiet. I breathe in the familiar scent of leather and oil and steel and feel at home instantly, planning a very early return the moment I wake.

Though there will be no useless armoring for me, if I have any say in the matter.

The next entry is barred and gilt in a sheen of gold, carved with the likeness of the mistresse .

This must be Romouth’s private quarters.

I carry on and reach the last before the archway to the warrior’s stable, inhaling the scent of moisture and flowers, stepping inside to find a large, shallow pool fills the bulk of the space, with narrow walkways of small, delicate tile surrounding it.

So, I can either bathe privately or soak in public with the others. I test the temperature with my toe and confirm it’s warm, though not hot, and pause to observe the sealed pots on a low table near the entrance.

When I finally return to my small room, the central space is empty and quiet, and my return unimpeded.

There’s no way to lock or bar the archway, wide-open to the others, just as they are to me.

That will take getting used to. As I debate finding some means to block it, my instincts demanding safety, I have to force down that impulse and accept.

This is what I have. I will make it work. And I’m well trained enough that, should someone enter my room, I’ll wake. I didn’t spend endless nights as a child being jarred from deep sleep by Vivenne or my mother or one of her soldiers until I adapted to be caught off guard now.

I’m just lying down, sinking into the soft yet firm mattress scented with some floral, fresh aroma, when I hear a soft moan. I stiffen instantly, but the next one that rises isn’t threatening.

I grin into the darkness. Someone on the other side of the wall is enjoying herself.

For the first time since I was taken from the shores of the Landlow Isles, I relax. My fingers seek out the small, hard nub of pleasure between my legs, the growing volume and speed of my neighbor’s moans as a counterpoint to my own sought-after bliss.

It takes only a few minutes to climax, to squirm with my fingers deep inside, plunging into me, while my thumb’s circling excites my clit to climax. I laugh into the dark when it’s done, cresting and releasing me through the lassitude that follows.

It makes me think of my loves, but not sadly this time. And, as I whisper their names while I close my eyes, I sleep like it’s their hands that cup my breast, their fingers still inside me.

A dreamless sleep for once.

***