The Kept

The Arena

Nerys stood at the edge of the arena, steeling herself against the shouts of the crowd and the pending skirmish. Her chances of putting up a decent fight completely dissolved as a great bear of a man lumbered out from the wings on the opposite side of the arena.

Boethius was famed throughout the four kingdoms for snapping the collar bones of eight Tiarmni Kept with his bare hands in his first real battle twenty years prior. He hadn't accidentally killed an initiate, yet, but those who faced him always required the longest stays in the infirmary afterward. Without exception. 

So much for Kalea's plans for tonight, Nerys thought.

She acknowledged him with a nod. He cracked his knuckles and flexed his biceps in response, and the crowd laughed at his show Then they both knelt before the Prince to await the signal to begin.

After several long moments, Nerys began to wonder what was taking so long. She chanced a quick glance up at Prince Gereon and found that he was looking directly at her. She looked away hastily, but her eyes were drawn back to him.

"It has come to my attention that we have a Cereban noble among us today. In honor of our guest, the first battle," Prince Gereon announced smiling brightly, "will be to the death!"

The spectators roared their approval and Boethius stood, offering Nerys his arm. Now that the terms had changed, he abandoned his gaudy showmanship. She stood, numbly clasping his forearm, and he gripped hers- acknowledging each other's pulses. She found it oddly comforting to know that he would treat her death with respect.

The cheers turned to murmurs and Boethius looked from Nerys, to the Prince, then back to Nerys- no, not Nerys, something behind Nerys. She  turned in confusion to see Kalea swaggering into the arena. Kalea bowed theatrically to the crowd, then to Prince Gereon.

"Pardon my intrusion, your highness, but I believe the people have come to see a contest of skill, not an execution! Please, allow me to offer myself as a more evenly matched opponent."

The stadium erupted in cheers once more

Prince Gereon leaned forward. His smile took on a dark edge. "So, you believe yourself to be the most worthy of this honor?"

"You know that I am," Kalea's tone was challenging. The Prince stopped smiling.

"Very well," he said with a shrug. "You may take your leave, Boethius."

Kalea's eyes widened and her mahogany tattoos appeared brighter against her suddenly blanched brow. Prince Gereon smiled once more. Whatever the reason he wanted Nerys to die, because Kalea had interfered, it would be at her hands. Nerys saw her own unbearable pain clearly mirrored in Kalea's face.

"It's okay," Nerys said.

Her voice was steady, unlike her hands, which trembled as she extended her hand to Kalea, who reached back and grasped her forearm. Nerys focused on the fast, gentle pulse beneath her fingers. Nothing gave her greater peace than the knowledge that this pulse might one day continue in the heart of a child who saw the world through Kalea's laughing eyes.

"Name one of your children after me, will you?" It was the only thing Nerys could offer her friend.

She was suddenly very aware of all of the little details of the moment. The fine dust, illuminated by shafts of light as it floated up from the arena floor, the sharp pattern of the weave of her tunic in contrast to silky red of her cloak. The world around her condensed to a single, shimmering image as it was reflected in the highly polished steel of the sword in her hands.

"Initiates," the prince called, "you may engage."

Rowdy cheers tore Nerys from her thoughts, and forced her to back to the wretched reality. She decided not to drag the match out and charged at Kalea, expecting the block and counter-attack her skilled friend executed with as much thought as she did breathing. It would make for a quick end.