Master Sparro turned to Alva and smiled. “Now we’ll watch that champion of yours die. You’re not the only one who possesses a Knight of the Ruby Order.
We captured that one down there months ago, and unlike yours, he’s completely forgotten his vows. I guess that’s what proper training does.”
Shocked, Honey Wine stared at Torn and the other Knight below. They circled one another, and she heard them exchange words but was too far away to discern what they said.
Torn’s opponent attacked first. Beneath her cloak, Honey Wine clasped her manacled hands so tightly they ached.
The Knights attacked each other with such strength and swiftness that many of their movements were imperceptible. They seemed matched in skill, so Honey Wine knew eventually; Torn’s staff would fail against the other man’s sword.
The crowd had fallen silent, until Torn’s arm was slashed by the tip of his opponent’s sword. Several people cheered. Though Torn had slipped the brunt of the blow, blood still ran down his arm. He knew better than to pause to look at the wound.
For several more moments, the battle raged. Finally, Torn’s staff landed a powerful blow across his match’s face. As the man staggered, Torn struck him between the legs, then knocked the sword from his grasp.
The other Knight regained himself and kicked Torn in the mid-section, sending him sprawling onto his back. He lunged on top of Torn, the staff between them, the beast — for he truly was no longer a Knight — pressing the weapon down toward Torn’s chest. Torn’s wounded arm must have hindered him, still he managed to break the man’s hold.
“Amazing,” Alva murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s beautiful. Like a dance. They’re two perfectly matched partners.”
“Yes.” Master Sparro’s eyes remained fixed on the warriors. “But your Knight has never killed. Mine does so on a weekly basis.”
Alva turned to Honey Wine briefly and gloated. “I think that will be his downfall.”
Below, the Knights had drawn their daggers, since Torn’s staff had also been knocked out of the battle. They circled each other, eyes shining with battle-lust, bodies streaked with blood and sweat.
Torn shook his head and spoke. The other man shrieked in fury before he attacked.
They stabbed and slashed, dodged and ducked. The dirt flew under their feet, raising clouds of dust.
It happened so quickly Honey Wine thought she’d imagined it. The beast lashed out, Torn didn’t move quickly enough, and the dagger plunged into the upper left part of his chest. His bellow of pain sounded throughout the arena, and before his opponent landed the death blow, Torn’s own dagger drove deep into the man’s heart.
The crowd rose, and so did Honey Wine, however she didn’t cheer. She watched in horror as the Knight dropped to the dirt floor, Torn on his knees beside him. The fatally wounded man touched Torn’s hair, the motion gentle, almost grateful, before he dropped his hand and died.
Alva switched her gloating look to Master Sparro who dropped back into his chair, staring in disbelief at the scene below.
Guards were already walking into the arena, and Honey Wine said to Alva, “Let me go down.”
Alva glanced at Sparro. “Sweet child. She wants a closer look at the winner.”
Together Honey Wine and Alva descended the steps. They walked to the holding cells below the arena. Torn lay on a cot, Bron and Timus standing over him while another healer, an ancient, wrinkled old woman, examined the wound. Honey Wine shoved her way past the guards and looked at Torn with concern. His face was ashen, and blood soaked his woolen vest. By the unfocused look in his eyes, she thought he might lose consciousness.
“Is he salvageable?” Alva asked.
The healer was about to speak, but Honey Wine was quicker. “Yes. Let me out of these damn things!” She shook open her robe and held up her hands.
Alva glanced from Torn to Honey Wine and shrugged. “Untie her and let her help. It would be a pity to lose him now that he’s finally killed.”
Timus unlocked Honey Wine’s bonds and she didn’t even bother rubbing her sore wrists.
She set to work with the healer as Alva walked away.
Before they began, the old woman forced Torn to drink a foul-smelling mixture for pain. Still, Timus and Bron were required to hold Torn immobile while Honey Wine and the old woman removed the blade. The ancient one murmured to herself as she worked, and at first Honey Wine thought her mind had been ravaged by age, but her gnarled hands were deft. Honey Wine soon realized the woman knew more about healing than she did. While she cleaned and cauterized the wound, Honey Wine assisted.
By then, the herbs and blood loss had rendered Torn unconscious. The guards left them alone and helped in moving the beasts who hadn’t been severely injured back into the wagons that would return them to their kingdoms.
Unhindered by the guard’s scrutiny, Honey Wine let her hand stray to Torn’s face. She was becoming desperate, and she knew they had to escape soon.
She dropped her hand suddenly when she realized the old woman had stopped her muttering to watch her.
“Don’t concern yourself,” the old one whispered. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Tell them what?” Honey Wine used her height advantage to glower down at the woman, disguising her fear of discovery behind a daunting facade.
“That you care for him.”
“He’s just a beast.”
“Not that one. Not yet. The Mistress banished me to this place years ago. I live here, healing the beasts after Entertainment. I’ve watched this one. There’s still a soul in him, and I might be old, but I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to care for a man.”
“You’re wrong,” Honey Wine stated. Torn moaned in his sleep, and she turned to him. When she looked back, the healer smiled, though not unkindly.
“I understand,” she continued, talking more to herself than to Honey Wine.
“I’ve kept secrets, and now that I’m nearing the end of my life, I look back and don’t like what I see. So much blood spilt, but no wars since I was a child. Her mother started it, you know.”
“Whose mother?”
“The Mistress’s.”
My mother
, thought Honey Wine.
“When I was a girl, younger than you, I was betrothed to a beautiful man.
He was so handsome. His eyes were so dark…so dark…”
She closed her eyes, and for a moment Honey Wine thought she’d fallen to dreaming.
“He was a brilliant architect. Designed palaces and walls, towers, entire villages. The Old Mistress, this one’s mother, asked him to build her palace.
There were passageways and dungeons with vast chambers and torture devices…I shudder to think of them. Of course, my betrothed had nothing to do with the tortures, or so he thought, but his design has enabled these games to be hidden so well.”
For the first time, Honey Wine felt genuine interest in the old woman’s story. “In the Mistress’s palace, were there hidden passages leading to and from the dungeon?”
She smiled again. “Yes. There was a single passage.”
Honey Wine glanced around to make certain no one was paying attention to them. She leaned closer to the woman. “Where is it?”
“The well. Swim deep then high, and it opens into a pool in the courtyard.”
Honey Wine’s heart pounded. Could she trust this old woman, or was she a spy commanded by the guards or Alva?
“You say your betrothed created the palace. Did you never marry him?”
“I would have, but The Old Mistress had him executed. If she knew he’d told me his secrets, I would be dead as well. By the life I’ve led in this horrid arena, I believe I would have been better off.”
“I’m sorry,” Honey Wine told her. She couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty since her own mother had caused this woman so much grief. Honey Wine often wondered why she’d never been able to love her mother. She believed it was because her mother had never loved her. For the first years of her life, Honey Wine had lived with her father on his farm, then her mother had sent for her and had her trained in the guard. She was to protect Alva. Protect Alva! It was the world which needed protection from her! Alva had questioned their mother’s decision to carry the child of a peasant. She’d told Honey Wine so when she was ten years old and sprained her arm in training. Their mother wanted someone of strong stock but of royal blood to defend Alva. That might have been partially true, but Honey Wine also saw the way her mother lusted after her peasant father’s rugged looks and rough ways.
Their mother was just like Alva: spoiled, vicious, and evil.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Honey Wine told the old woman.
She sighed. “Part of me almost wishes you’d tell the guards.”
“I’d never do that.”
“Then at least let me leave this life knowing you’ll use my secret well.”
Honey Wine knew better than to trust anyone with her plans for escape, but the old woman did look genuinely disturbed about all she’d known and seen.
Honey Wine said, “If there’s ever a chance some good will come of it, you have my word.”
That seemed to satisfy her.
Timus and Bron approached and lugged Torn’s unconscious body to the wagon. None of the beasts were ever left in the arena. Many died on the journey back to the dungeon, but Torn wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not when he and Honey Wine finally had a means of escape.
Back in the dungeon, guards dropped Torn on the bench in his cell.
Honey Wine retrieved a bucket of water, staring into the blackness of the well as she did so, unable to see the water, let alone the bottom. She brought the bucket and her supply box to Torn’s cell.
“Let me in,” she ordered Timus.
The guard raised an eyebrow. “What for?”
“He can’t be left alone tonight. His injury is too serious.”
“I can’t let you spend the night in a cell.”
“The Mistress wants him alive for Entertainment. If he dies, I’ll tell her that you were at fault for not allowing me to perform my duty.”
Bron, who had been listening to the entire conversation, nodded at Timus.
“Let her in.”
Timus shrugged and unlocked the cell.
Bron glanced at Honey Wine as she passed. “All dogs die eventually, Honey Wine.”
“Hold that thought, Bron. Your day will come.”
The cell door clanged shut behind her, and Timus turned the key.
She knelt beside the bench and examined Torn’s wound. She and the old healer had worked hard to get it clean, and Honey Wine hoped there would be no infection. To her relief, his skin was cool to the touch. She covered him with the tattered blanket at the foot of the bench.
His hand brushed hers, and she cast an anxious glance outside. Timus had his back to them, and no one else was paying attention.
She turned back to Torn and found herself staring into his dark blue eyes.
“I killed him,” he murmured.
“Just rest, Torn.”
“His name was Redly. I knew him for five years.”
“I’m sure he was no longer the man you knew.”
“I’m no longer the man I used to be. This place changes everything.”
“You’ve never killed before?”
“Never like that. In the heat of battle, as defense. Never for someone’s pleasure. Never one of my own.”
“You were fighting, Torn. It was an impulse. Self-preservation. Anyone would have done the same. I don’t know how you’ve repressed your own survival instincts for so long…in here.”
“I never thought it would be like this…” His voice trailed off, his eyelids drooping. He swallowed audibly. “He didn’t deserve to die like that.”
“Nor do you, but that didn’t stop him from trying to kill you.”
“He wanted to die.”
“Then you did him a favor.”
“I almost wish he’d killed me.”
“Almost.” She touched his forearm, wishing she could kiss him as they’d kissed that night in The Lady’s chamber, but she couldn’t risk being seen.
Maybe later, when the cells were dark with only a guard or two posted. “Almost, but not quite. You have the will to survive, Torn. I still plan on getting us out of here.”
“Once I’m recovered, we can try.” He used his fingertips to slide a blade from his bloodstained pants. “There’s a hollow space under the bench. Put it there for me.”
“Where did you get it?” She hid the blade against her palm and forearm as she slipped it discreetly under the bench.
“It’s the one you removed from my chest. I took it off the tray after the guards left, when your back was turned.”
Honey Wine marveled at his deftness, even in such a vulnerable state. “I thought you were unconscious.”
“I was for a while, then again in the wagon. Even now it’s a little hard to concentrate.”
“You lost a lot of blood.”
He nodded, closing his eyes. After a moment, she thought he’d fallen asleep, but he said, “You don’t have to stay here.”
But she did. She hadn’t exaggerated when she’d told Timus about the severity of Torn’s condition. Until she was satisfied that he was out of danger of infection, she planned on watching him closely.
He pushed himself onto his elbows and looked around the cell, dazed.
“Will you stay down!” She pushed him back onto the bench. “Or else the guards are likely to think you’re attacking me and come in here and do worse damage.”
“I just want some water.”
She filled a mug from the bucket, added several drops of an herbal mixture she knew would put him to sleep, and held it for him. He placed his hand over hers as he drank, then lay back down, murmuring, “I don’t want the guards to think you favor me. It could be bad for you.”
“Let me worry about that,” she said too loudly.
Timus glanced over his shoulder. “How’s that? Are you talking to yourself, Honey Wine? Or has that beast decided he’s not mute after all.”