Page 22 of The Sun God’s Prize (Child of Scale and Fire #3)

I find myself in her private quarters, led rapidly and silently away from the tunnel to the animals’ housing, up two flights of stairs, and through a carved doorway that matches the one she has at the Dome of Women.

I barely have time to register the luxe interior, the young woman who bows her way out when Romouth shoos her away, how I’m led by my mistresse ’s firm grip on my wrist, through a wide, cushion-strewn room, and past another archway.

This is an office of some kind, with a large desk curving along the inner wall, heavy tapestries of purple and gold hanging from the tall ceilings to the matching rug on the floor.

She finally releases me when we hit the center of the room, though she carries on, leaning out the window overlooking the street below, inhaling a long breath while the breeze from this height cools my heated cheeks.

“Remalla,” she says. “You’re the fucking War Queen’s daughter.

” She turns to face me, eyes narrowed. “You do know she’s a legend here, Jhanette of Heald?

” She’s said as much to me, which is part of my reasoning for telling her now.

If I can leverage that bit of notoriety, lean into my foreign blood, perhaps it will be easier to gain notice for my skills.

“Do you know that she’s the only warrior to ever fight off the legion of the Sun God at the border?

” I shake my head, but Romouth doesn’t notice.

“She personally—her blades alone—kept a line of warriors from crossing the pass at Wernuth, held the bridge for a full day without flagging, so her army could reach her.” I’m speechless and still as she finishes, tossing her hands with a stunned expression.

“You’re the fucking War Queen’s daughter .

” She’s breathless and shaking her head, and laughing brokenly at the same time. “How are you here ?”

“You believe me,” I say. I’m surprised by that. I thought I’d have to convince her.

She exhales a long breath, hands shaking when she runs them through her long, dark hair, as silken as mine, as Mother’s was.

“I do,” she says. “I’ve known since the moment you took that girl down in the market, since your throw of a blade that killed the captain.

Not specifically, but I knew you were no ordinary gladatte .

” Romouth looks ill, vaguely green, but catches herself with a wave at me when I sway toward her in concern. “What do you want to do?”

“What can I do?” Is there a chance I don’t have to fight after all? Can I appeal, perhaps, to the Sun God himself? The thought never crossed my mind, but it does now.

She’s shaking her head, frowning now, staring at the carpet beneath her. “We need to make this a real show, an epic event. Daughter of War, Princess of Heald.” She spreads her hands in the air above her as though picturing the crowd chanting those words.

There will be no appeal to the ruler of this land, then. “I plan to win my freedom,” I tell her.

“Yes, of course,” she says like that’s not a surprise to her at all. Then her head snaps up and she flashes me a vicious grin that’s full of fire. “Leave it with me.”

“Yes, mistresse ,” I say, bowing to her.

She laughs, breathless again. “I should bow to you.”

“Never,” I say, and leave, wondering what this spark I’ve lit might set ablaze.

It’s only fair I warn Brem and the others, though when I finally find our quarters, they’re too wound up to listen, showing me the cupboards filled with new clothing and trinkets and already imbibing the alcohol offered to them, casks of it set out in the central seating room, the overstuffed cushions and pillows as extravagant as the rest of this place.

I take a moment to settle in the room I’ve been given, noting it’s exactly the same as my old one, if bigger, the mattress just as firm and made from the same spun fabric, the tall basin tub made of tile instead of wood.

I check into the bathing room, but there’s no pool, just our armor instead, set out and racked with Prenese puttering as she arranges everything just so.

“Bottom floor,” Brem says at my elbow when I tsk over the absent salt pool I’ve come to rely on and enjoy so much. “What happened?”

“Ask me tonight,” I tell her, letting her show me where the vast, underground soaking pool awaits, held in perpetual twilight with a few twinkling lanterns to show the way.

I find that once I adapt to the change, I approve of the echoing quiet, how whispers barely carry in the salt-filled air, and that the dimness is much more conducive to meditation in floating than the light.

Still, I realize I’m jealous of sharing it with strangers, and now that I note there are others the dark already using it, I’m irritated and out of sorts.

Yes, blame your unease on the pool, Remalla, and not on the pending reveal that is about to come out, in the grandest of ways if Romouth’s excitement is any indication.

What have I done? It won’t be the last time I’m hovering on the edge of regret that day, I’m sure of it.

Night has fallen and I’m still unsure of what my mistresse has in store, though I’ve not told Brem as of yet, and need to find the courage to do so.

Why it’s so hard, I’m not sure. Will she think differently of me?

Silly, since I’m in the same position as her, as I have been all along.

Nothing has changed. Then why this shyness, this reluctance to tell her who I really am when she’s shared so much of herself already?

We’ve eaten while I debate, the large dining area used in cycles by the hundreds of gladatte who have begun to fill the Dome of the Sun, some of the women lingering to meet with and talk to fellow fighters while I return to our quarters.

I’m about to just get it over with and blurt the truth to Brem when a commotion stirs near the doorway, and the rest of our stable returns in a rush.

“She’s here!” Morinthi’s excitement is mirrored by the rest.

“She’s coming!” Hloraine is just as gleeful, trembling when she hugs her partner.

I look down at Brem, who’s grinning.

“You’ll see,” she says with a wink, even as a woman sweeps through the entryway with a huge smile on her face.

I take in the middle-aged and yet still beautiful woman, her long hair trailing after her, woven into giant golden rings, dark eyes lined heavily in black, a single massive gold hoop hanging from one ear, a thin chain connecting it to a sparkling diamond gem in her nose.

She spreads her arms, the white, gossamer fabric of her open sleeves billowing out to the gleaming cuffs at her wrists, full pantaloon legs caught at her ankles with delicate bands of gold.

I swear she has gemstones embedded in her finger and toenails, and even her dusky skin sparkles as though brushed with crushed diamonds.

“My darling ones,” she says in a high-pitched voice, “welcome back to the Dome of the Sun!”

“Rae!” They call out that title as if in one voice, all of the women sweeping into deep bows that I quickly mimic, caught off guard but hoping she didn’t notice. This then, is our patroness, the owner of our Dome and stable. How had I failed to realize she would, of course, be making an appearance?

I’m a little distracted, I suppose.

“Yiratille Rae.” Romouth enters behind her, towering over her but visibly deferential. “We are honored and delighted by your visit before the fighting begins. Your presence ensures our victory.”

“Roma,” she says in a sweet voice, turning to reach up and cup the big warrior’s face in her small hands.

“You do me no favors puffing up my ego like that.” She laughs again, clapping her hands under her chin and taking in each and every one of us, singularly, seeing us, until she reaches me.

“A new fighter!” She squeals and comes to me, grasping my hands, turning me this way and that.

There are lines around her eyes, and my guess at her age wasn’t accurate because distance and the makeup she wears softened the truth, but she’s well over forty, though without a single silver strand in her dark hair.

But her deep, brown eyes are kind, and she’s truly adorable when she beams at me as though she’s a child. “Roma, you held out on me.”

“I have, beloved Rae,” the big warrior says. “May I introduce to you, Princess Remalla of Heald, the War Queen’s daughter.”

And that wasn’t how I wanted Brem to find out, was it? Too late to do anything about it, now, not with Yiratille Rae squealing all over again, ending in a gasp and a half-step back, eyes huge as she stares at me in a mix of horror and awe.

“Surely not ,” she says.

“I attest to it personally,” Romouth says. “Jhanette of Heald’s only child, in your stable, fighting for your glory.”

“How did I get so lucky?” Yiratille shakes her head and exhales a little heaving breath, both hands falling to her chest while she pants a little.

“You were right to keep this a secret, my darling Roma.” Her laughter peals like a set of bells through the silence in the room.

No one speaks, but they all stare like they’ve never seen me before, like nothing we’ve come through in the last few weeks happened at all.

And now I do regret not telling them, because the connection is broken, snapped in two by the truth I chose to keep to myself.

“I had thought you would like to reveal it yourself, Rae,” Romouth says with a faint smile.

“You were absolutely right.” Yiratille twirls in place, then cups my face again and kisses me on the lips, her mouth lingering. “Delivered right into my hands, after all other efforts failed.” Wait. She’s not surprised, not really. “How perfect.”

What does that mean? I catch my frown because I have to maintain her approval, if I can. But now I know that she’s somehow part of this. Did the dragon trigger some other plan that included this stranger?

“Well then,” the Rae says, turning to her stable mistresse , “let us leave our ladies to get settled while you and I discuss what this will mean for us.” She hooks her arm through Romouth’s, leading her toward the archway exit, though she glances back over her shoulder at me with a wicked smile.

And then, they are gone, and I’m alone in the silence to endure their stares.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. Toss my hands. “Does it matter?”

“Of course not,” Brem says in a firm voice.

“Fucking princess, my arse.” She snorts as the rest of them start and flinch.

“I wonder if Romouth would let me bill as a Rae.” She prances in a little circle, sticking one hip out while the rest of them giggle, shocked and still shaken, but amused nonetheless.

Does she not believe me, then? Brem meets my eyes, hers bright but guarded even as she goes on.

“Maybe I could get one of those stupid fucking sun beam hats the crowds wear.” Now they are laughing, though it’s not really funny, I don’t think.

They just need the means to shake off this discomfort.

“Princess,” Brem says, scoffing even as her dark eyes tighten. “If you say so.”

Things settle then, the lot of them poking fun at me, teasing me relentlessly until I retreat to bed. But no one comes to join me, and I’m alone well into the night, needing to sleep but unable to close my eyes for long.

When she finally creeps in and curls up next to me, it’s with a tentativeness that makes me want to weep.

“I knew you were special,” Brem whispers in the dark. “Are you really…?”

“I am,” I say. And tell her everything. The whole story, not just how I got here, either, but right from the beginning.

Being traded for power to a prince who didn’t love me, finding out about the other princesses, and that I had been manipulated.

How I’d met Zenthris and Atlas and come through my mother’s betrayal of the Overking, of my father’s heritage, my mother’s death.

I recount Vivenne’s betrayal and my flight after my escape from the cells under the Citadel with the Overprince and my rebel love, about the kinspark and meeting my father, the truth about Neem, even, and the magic of the dragons.

I tell her about the kidnapping, my capture and loss to the drug that laid me low, until I stop at last, at the moment I killed Captain Lhanin, that Romouth purchased me from Vunoshe, the man I swear I’ll find again someday.

She gasps and murmurs and squeezes my hand through the story, but doesn’t interrupt aside from rather satisfying reactions. It takes a long time after I go silent for her to speak, but she does at last, soft and no longer tentative.

“I had hoped to keep you,” she says. “I knew I never could. I love you, Remi of Heald. Fucking princess or not.”

I laugh at that, choke on grief, and let her hold me when I can’t stop the tears that come.

I had no idea how freeing it would be to simply be held while I cry myself to sleep.

***