The Kiss of Deception (The Remnant Chronicles, #1)(57)

“When I’m in hell,” Rafe grunted, the strain of hanging muffling his words. Kaden looked from Rafe to me. I’m not sure what he saw on my face, but he turned back to Rafe, staring at him for a few long seconds, and then stepped back, giving Rafe plenty of room. “Swing up. Let’s end this properly. I want to see your face in the mud, not just your breeches.”

Even from where I stood, I could see sweat trickling down Rafe’s face. Why didn’t he just drop? If he landed right, he’d only be up to his knees in mud. I watched him take a deep breath and swing his legs up, hooking one over the log. He struggled to the top. Kaden stayed back, giving Rafe time to regain his footing.

How long could this go on? The crowd was cheering, shouting, applauding, and the gods knew what else—it all melted into a distant roar for me. Rafe’s skin glistened. He had been in the blazing sun through three opponents now. He wiped his upper lip with the back of his hand, and they advanced toward each other again. Kaden gained the upper hand one moment, and Rafe, the next. Finally, they both seemed to lean against each other, catching their breath.

“Concede?” Kaden asked again.

“In hell,” Rafe repeated.

They pushed apart, but as Rafe glanced back toward me, Kaden made his move, a last burst, his leg swinging wide, knocking Rafe clear of the log and into the air. Kaden landed on his stomach, clinging to the log as Rafe emerged from the mud below him. Rafe wiped the muck from his face and looked up.

“Concede?” Kaden asked.

Rafe saluted, graciously giving Kaden his due, but then smiled. “In hell.”

The crowd roared with laughter, and I took a deep breath, relieved that it was finally over.

At least I hoped it was over.

I wove my way through the crowd to meet them as they left the arena. Though Kaden had officially won the bout, Rafe took great pleasure in pointing out the mud sprayed across Kaden’s shirt. “I guess you should have taken it off after all,” he said.

“So I should have,” Kaden answered. “But I hadn’t expected such a spectacular fall from you.”

They both left to go back to the inn to bathe and change, promising to return soon. As I watched them walk off together, I hoped that would be the end of the dirty games.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR



I meandered down the main avenue alone, taking in the other events, comparing it all to the way it was done in Civica. Some things were unique to Terravin, like catching live fish bare-handed in the plaza fountain, but all the games had their roots in the survival of the chosen Remnant. Though Morrighan had eventually led them to a new land of abundance, the trek wasn’t easy. Many died, and only the most resourceful made it through, so the games were rooted in those survival skills—like catching fish when opportunity availed but a hook and line didn’t.

I came upon a large roped-off field with a variety of obstacles set within, mostly wooden barrels and a wagon or two. It commemorated Morrighan leading the Remnant through a blind pass when they had to rely on their faith in her gift. Contestants were blindfolded and spun, then had to make their way from one end of the field to the other. It had been one of my favorite events back in Civica from the time I was very young. I had always beaten my brothers, to the delight of everyone watching—except perhaps my mother. I was making my way toward the contestant line, when someone stepped into my path, and I slammed into a chest.

“Well, if it isn’t the haughty smart-mouthed tavern girl.”

I stumbled back several steps, stunned, and looked up. It was the soldier I had chastised weeks ago. It appeared the sting of my words was still fresh. He swaggered closer, prepared to deliver my comeuppance. My disgust was renewed. A soldier in my father’s own army. For the first time since leaving Civica, I wanted to reveal who I was. Reveal it loudly and boldly and watch him pale. Use my position to put him in his place once and for all—but I no longer had that position. Nor was I willing to sacrifice my new life for the likes of him.

He stepped closer. “If you seek to intimidate me,” I said, holding my ground, “I’ll warn you right now that belly-crawling vermin don’t frighten me.”

“You nasty little—”

His hand shot up to strike me, but I was faster. He stopped, staring at the knife already drawn in my hand. “If you were so foolish as to lay one of your lecherous fingers on me, I fear we’d both regret it. It would ruin the festivities for everyone here, because I’d slice away at the nearest thing to me, no matter how small.” I looked directly at his crotch, then turned the knife in my hands as if I was inspecting it. “Our encounter could turn into an ugly affair.”

His face seethed with fury. It only empowered me more. “But don’t fear,” I said, lifting my hem and returning my knife to the sheath secured at my thigh. “I’m sure our paths will cross again, and our differences will be settled once and for all. Walk carefully, because next time it will be I who will surprise you.”

My words were reckless and impulsive, driven by loathing, and fanned by the safety of hundreds of people around us. But reckless or not, it felt as right and fitting as a snug boot delivered to his backside.

Surprisingly, his rage curled to a smile. “Till we meet again, then.” He nodded a slow, deliberate good-bye and brushed past me.

I watched him walk away, fingering the comfort of my dagger beneath my shift. Even if my arms were pinned to my sides, I could reach it now, and on my thigh it was more easily concealed, at least in a thin summer dress. He disappeared into the crowds. I could only hope he’d be called up soon to return to his regiment, and if the gods be just, kicked in the head by a horse. I didn’t know his name, but I’d talk to Walther about him. Maybe he could do something about a snake in his ranks.