“I demand you tell me where you are taking us,” Thanos said.
The soldiers remained silent and pushed them forward, and Ceres’s heart was racing the way it did when she was on her way to her execution.
Down the hallway they were shoved, and once they arrived at the staircase, the Empire soldiers stopped.
“Go,” one said.
Perplexed, Ceres looked to Thanos. He took her hand, and together they started to climb the stairs.
What would await them at the top? Ceres wondered, finding it impossible to believe or hope she truly was free to go. Was there a wagon standing there to take them to the scaffolding? Were a dozen Empire soldiers standing in wait, ready to shoot them down with flaming arrows?
Thanos squeezed her hand, his face appearing much calmer than the raging anxiety she felt inside, and she wondered how he could be calm at such a moment as this.
Arriving at the top of the steps, Ceres saw the queen standing in front of them, her hands clasped in front of her body.
The queen glanced down at Ceres’s and Thanos’s joined hands and frowned.
“I spoke some sense into the king and he agreed to set you free so long as you solemnly swear to wed Stephania,” she said.
“I swear it,” Thanos said, tightening his grip around Ceres’s hand.
“And with that, I expect you two to cease any and all contact other than when you are training for the Killings,” the queen said, her eyes narrowing into slivers.
“Understood,” Thanos said with a nod.
The queen stepped forward and locked cold eyes on Ceres.
“As for you, little girl,” she said, “I have plans for you, and you might think you are glad to keep your life, but soon you will regret that you weren’t beheaded on that scaffolding today.”
The queen turned on her heels and marched away, Ceres now realizing it was quite possibly even deadlier inside the castle walls than out.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ceres arrived extra early the next morning at the palace training grounds, her mind still reeling from the events of the night before, from how close she had come to death. And most of all, from thoughts of Thanos. She owed him her life. And yet she did not know if she loved or hated him. And knowing Rexus was out there, waiting for her, she hated feeling this way about anyone else.
Anxious to take her mind off of all this and resume training with Thanos, Ceres focused on her work. With great care, she laid out the weapons she thought he might use in today’s practice, and then she filled the drinking bucket with fresh water.
She was focusing when suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lucious walking straight toward her, his eyes filled with loathing, his muscles rigid with aggression. She tensed. Not a single other person was in sight, and now she wished she had not been so early.
And then, when she saw her sword in Lucious’s hand, her heart started to race.
She knew she couldn’t fight him – he might have her arrested and thrown in prison again. But she couldn’t not defend herself either, knowing he would have no qualms about killing her.
Then a thought popped into her mind. Had the queen set this up?
Alarmed, she glanced around to see if anyone else might be on their way, but she heard no voices and saw no one in the distance.
Approaching, Lucious scowled and took a threatening step in her direction, his hand squeezing the hilt, the blood vessels in his forehead protruding.
“Place the sword on the table!” Ceres heard a deep voice growl behind her.
She swiveled around and saw a stranger. He was dressed in the manner of the southern isles, his longer than usual tunic similar to those she had seen from those parts. His skin was golden, his shoulder-length black hair kept in a ponytail, and his posture was an erect board.
With dark, slanted eyes, he glared at Lucious with such intensity, Ceres was convinced the stranger could kill with his eyes alone.
Lucious pinched his lips together and laid her sword onto the weapon table.
“Now leave,” the man said.
Lucious gave him a disapproving look, but did as the stranger said and stomped off with a huff.
“I take it you are Ceres?” the man asked.
She hesitated to answer, wondering if this man could be trusted. Perhaps he was an assassin sent to kill her by the queen, the queen’s words bouncing around inside of her skull.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“You may call me Master Isel,” the man said. “I am your new fighting master.”
At first, she thought she had misheard him, especially when she considered the queen’s last comment to her. But the way Isel looked at her, with respect and dignity in his eyes, she almost dared to believe what he had said was true.
“From now on, for three hours a day, I will train you to become a combatlord,” he said. “I will instruct you like a man, so no man can ever touch you or triumph over you. Do you accept?”
Now she believed it was true, but why? And it surprised her that he even asked that question. Was not accepting an option? She knew even if it were, she would be a fool to decline.
“What is the purpose of this training?” she asked.
“Thanos sent me to you. A gift to make you strong. To give you what you so craved: a chance to learn to fight. To truly fight.”
A shrill of joy erupted in her chest, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.
“Do you accept, or do I need to tell him that you so respectfully declined?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
“I accept. I accept,” she said.
“Well then. If you are ready, let us begin.”
She nodded and turned toward her sword to pick it up.
“No!” Isel said.
Startled, Ceres swiveled around.
“First, you must learn how to die.”
Puzzled, Ceres squinted her eyes.
“Stand in the center of the practice arena,” he said, pointing his sword toward it.
Ceres followed his instructions, and once she had taken her place, he walked a slow circle around her.
“Royal combatlords are expected to behave a certain way,” he said. “When you represent the king, the Empire, a standard of excellence is required of you.”
She nodded.
“There are specific death rituals, and you are expected to die bravely, with no trace of fear, offering yourself to cold-blooded murder.”
“I understand,” she said.
He faced her, his hands clasped behind his back.
“I see a lot of fear in your eyes,” he said. “Your first lesson is to eradicate any traces of vulnerability, of gentleness, and most importantly, of fear from your countenance.”
He stepped closer.
“Your mind is on other things, in other places. When you are with me, no one and no thing else exists anywhere!” he yelled with passion in his voice.
“Yes, Master Isel.”
“To be a contender, as a girl, you must work twice as hard, three times as hard as the men, and if they sense any weakness in you, they will use it against you.”
She nodded, knowing he spoke the truth.
“Your second lesson starts right away, and it is a lesson in strength. You are skinny. You need more muscle,” he said. “Come.”
She followed Isel down to the ocean side and he stopped at the jutting cliffs.
For the first two hours, he had her lift heavy boulders, throw heavy rocks, and climb the steep cliff.
Just when her body begged for her to be done, for the last hour, he compelled her to performed sequences of sprints and push-ups across the sand.
By the end of Ceres’s lesson, her clothes were completely drenched with sweat and her muscles trembled from fatigue, and she could scarcely manage to walk back up to the palace where the other warriors were sparring.
At the top, Master Isel handed her a wooden cup.
“You will drink this every day,” he said. “It is a tonic of ashes – good for strong bones.”
She gulped the foul-tasting drink down, her arms so exhausted she could barely bring the cup to her lips.