Page 16 of The Sun God’s Prize (Child of Scale and Fire #3)

Brem waits for me to join her before taking up her own arms, tilting her head, and waiting for me to choose.

I look down into the chest, spotting the long, curved blades waiting there, amid a few more short spears, a heavy mace with a nasty barbed head, another whip, and a coil of shining metal with two handles, one on either end.

I bend and take it, sliding it over the buckle of my belt before doing the obvious and taking up the curved swords.

While I’m versed in many weapons and can adapt to them when needed, this isn’t a chance to learn something new or perfect a technique.

I’m already at a disadvantage when it comes to physical condition—though how much so I haven’t fully tested yet—and I’m not here to see what I can do.

I’m here to prove what I can do. To myself as much as to Romouth and the others, like it or not.

Brem takes up a spear and a long dagger, thin and pointed like an arrowhead at the tip. She marches to the middle of the ring, the others waiting, and I join them, noting that Romouth has come out of her quarters and is watching from the doorway.

“You know the drill, lazy bitches,” Brem says in a saucy, cheerful tone.

“Pick a partner and fight like your fucking life depends on it.” She lifts the black cloth she’d draped over her shoulder and fastens it around her mouth, leaving only her dark eyes exposed.

I’m about to choose her to begin when the woman with the net steps into my path, her lip curling in a sneer.

Someone has replaced her two front teeth with silver, or capped them, at the very least, the scar that runs from her eyebrow to her cheek twisting at the end where whatever caught her tore instead of cut.

She’s my height, but carries more weight, and there’s an aggression about her that I can taste in the air between us.

I don’t wait for any formalities, though I’m sure they exist. I follow Brem’s orders to the letter.

Without a hint of warning, I hook my opponent’s foot behind her ankle with my own and pull, spinning sideways as I do.

Her eyes fly wide in surprise, but her gaze vanishes from my sight a moment later while she face-plants into the ground, her head under my foot as I push her squeals down into the already heating sand.

“ Ponitte ,” Brem says.

I step back and wait, the small fighter nodding, so I read her order correctly.

The other woman leaps to her feet, spluttering and spitting, enraged, but when she tries to lunge for me, I’m already somewhere else, stepping sideways and then turning, at her back when she stumbles into her ill-thought-out attack.

One foot to her ass sends her sprawling again. This time, Brem waits until I’m kneeling on the woman’s spine before she calls out.

“ Ponitte .”

No one moves or speaks when my opponent drags herself to her feet this time, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. Her narrowed eyes hate me, but I’m not opposed to hate.

I’m far too interested in her intent with the net she holds and am already tangling it in the blade of my left-hand sword before she can fully extend it, jerking it out of her grip.

How disappointing, and perhaps this is what Brem meant when she assured me my costume—because it’s that, not armor—won’t be an issue. I should take pity on the woman with the silver teeth, I supposed, except that’s not how I was trained, and I know if I’m soft with her, she will not learn or grow.

She groans as the heel of my hand takes her in the point of her chin, the impact lifting her from her feet and sending her backward. The thud as she hits the ground, her full body landing at the same time, makes the sand vibrate beneath me.

This time, she doesn’t move or try to rise, out cold.

“And matchette ,” Brem says without a hint of emotion. I turn to face her as she glares around her. “What the fuck are the rest of you doing then, hey? I said shake your ugly cunts!”

They pair up, but they glance my way as I approach her, noting that a pair of young women hurry across the arena to tend to the fallen fighter I just laid low.

Brem isn’t waiting for me to meet her, however, already sparring with a broad-chested and muscular woman whose use of the mace is more pure force than finesse.

She’s giving me room to observe them, and I’m grateful for it.

While doing my best not to feel derisive, to underestimate them.

They can fight, but their skills are more decorative and showy than precise, too carefully crafted for appeal than deadly.

It’s obvious to me now why the dragon who’s brought me south to find her believes this is the best course of action.

If this is the finest that the Kingdom of the Sun God has to offer, I’m going to be free in no time at all.

Romouth says nothing, continuing to observe, as I carefully make my way through her entire stable, more cautious with the rest than I was with my first challenger, though the result is often the same.

I finally face Brem only a short time later, the rest gathered to observe, no longer even trying to pretend they are bouting, mutters traveling among them, and I realize they expect the small fighter to give as good as she gets.

I’ve already agreed with that assessment, though I barely saw her fight. Still, I know better than to let my guard down and, even if she’s not up to my skills or experience, at the very least, she deserves my respect for her treatment of me.

Of course, she’s been gaining my measure, too, using the others to inform her, but that alone makes me cautious. And I’m grinning when she salutes me with her spear. Brem winks and grins back.

I see her move, but only just, because I’m ready for what she’s going to do.

She has a small motion that precedes her attack, one I spotted in her first bout before taking her on and confirmed to myself two fights later when I had a moment to watch her.

She drops her shoulder before she moves, likely an old injury that she’s compensating for, the adjustment giving her more power to her thighs.

But I’ll admit, that’s the only reason I’m able to spin out of her reach, to avoid the point of her spear, and I’m a little breathless when I pivot and drop low, sweeping out with one leg.

She’s ready for me, but not quite fast enough, grunting when I clip her heel. Her stumble might have been her end, but she tumbles and springs to her feet, hand rising with a fistful of sand that she throws at me.

That trick won’t work, not when I’ve swallowed mud and blood and worse on the battlefield, but it makes me laugh, and now I’m pushing harder, stretching out, feeling the places where my body is weak, where I need to focus to return to my previous condition.

This is a gift she gives me, whether she knows it or not, our dance that joy I most love to engage in.

She attacks again, this time in that tumble of hers, coming up with the discarded net that my first opponent lost, one of the hooks aimed for my armband’s strap.

I cackle back, because she’s fucking hilarious trying that shit on me.

This time, when she goes down it’s not of her own accord, my hands winding in the scarf around her hair, jerking back and dropping her on her ass, already twisting to flip her over on her stomach.

We’re not even using weapons now, my swords discarded as I grapple her.

She’s strong, very strong for her size, even for someone bigger than her, and her center of gravity is deep and grounded.

She manages to lift me from my feet and twists at the waist, tossing me with a grunt, my shoulder catching me as I roll, on my toes and lashing out with my leg behind me before I even hit the ground.

I catch her in the chest, sending her backward with the momentum she sacrificed in her throw, both of us thudding to the sand at the same moment, tumbling to the ground. She’s laughing, too, and I’m hysterical, delighted as I stare at the sky and breathe deeply.

My body is weary already, but I know my limits now, and how to fix what has been broken, misused, rubbed bare. When I face the task ahead, I will be ready.

“And matchette,” Brem says, collapsing next to me, dark eyes bright, giant smile on her face. “You fight like a fucking girl,” she says. And giggles.

An unlikely place for peals of laughter, a ring meant for death, but I can’t help it.

I just hope I don’t have to kill her to be free.

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