When We Were Kings (The Wolf of Oberhame Book 1) Page 6

  He declared her ready, then led her outside. The first hour became a lesson on weapons. From bashing weapons to pole arms, he explained them all, and how best to use them. Then he quizzed her. That led to questions, which brought more answers, and a few demonstrations. Leyli felt like her mind was filled to the brim.

  After the morning session they headed to the dining area. Dozens of men sat at long tables. The plates were cheap metal. The glasses were crude pottery. The wine was bitter and acidic. When she chose beer instead, her partner was amused. When she took a delicate helping of food, he doubled it. Only then did he let her sit. Leyli was all too aware that everyone in the room was male, and all of them were watching her closely.

  "So I'm going to make this clear," Tristan said, his voice pitched to carry over the room of fighters. "The Wolf is mine. You want to seek out her attention, you ask me first. If any of you plan to make her life rough, know that I will notice. If you think she's my weakness, know that she killed more men in her first games than I did."

  "I did?" she asked softly.

  He shoved a spoonful of eggs into his mouth and nodded. "I got twelve. You got sixteen your first day. Not sure how many the second." He pointed to her plate. "Eat."

  She made a point of taking a bite and chewing. "Why did you block for me when I fell down?" She took another bite.

  Tristan's eyes closed for a moment. "I don't know."

  "I think you do."

  With a sigh, he looked at her. "I just informed everyone in here that you're my bitch, and you’re going to let that slide but not a parry in a very hectic fight?"

  Leyli shrugged. "I've always been someone's bitch. I haven't always had someone risk their arm – or life – for me."

  Their eyes met and his face softened. Slowly, he turned away, busying his hands with the mug of beer. "They'd gang up on you. You realize that, right?"

  "Yes. Why did you save my life, Tristan?"

  "Why did you give me the sword and not keep it for yourself?" He took a long drink, glancing over at her from the corner of his eye.

  "It was more deadly in your hands than mine."

  "I could have killed you."

  She propped her elbows on the table and turned her head to him. "I know. I also know that I could have flailed around with it until someone else did the favor for you. It made sense. It was the best way to win."

  "That's why." His voice was soft, keeping the conversation private. "You were willing to work as a team. Not for glory, but to survive, and you trusted me enough to give me the damned sword. I trusted you enough to know you'd keep the shield up. Together we became more than we were alone."

  She took another bite. "The miller's daughter should have waited. You would have taken good care of her." Just like he was doing for her, and Leyli knew it.

  "Yeah," he breathed, understanding.

  "Yeah," she agreed.

  When they finished, he took her to a large, sandy training area. At the side was a selection of wooden weapons. In the sand was a group of young men warming up their muscles. On the far side was a grassy area.

  Unlike the Lion, the other fighters were watched by guards in real armor. They were armed but relaxed. Where the Lion was allowed to wander the compound as he wanted, the other gladiators had yet to prove they wouldn't try something. Leyli realized that controlling a group of fighters was probably easier to do through trust, but not everyone would be willing to work within the system.

  Instructors put the men through their paces. Small groups focused on specific weapons, but the Lion walked past them. Once they were alone in the grass, he stopped. Every fighter could see them easily, but they were far enough away that their words were their own.

  "You know how to dance?" Tristan asked.

  She bit her lower lip and her eyes narrowed. "Yes."

  "Good. Then dancing will be your first lesson. Figure out how to follow and you can use my bath again." He grabbed her upper arms and stood her up. "But unlike what you're used to, we're doing this backwards." Then he stepped around her. Back to back, he leaned into her, reaching behind him to grab her waist. "Understand?"

  "Yes. Learn to move with you, without needing to call it out where the enemy can hear." She lifted her head, pressing her shoulders into his muscles. "Do we get a song?"

  "I can sing if you'd like," he teased.

  Leyli giggled. "Please. I think that's a rare treat that I'll want to brag about in the future." Then she rested her hands on his wrists.

  He chose a country tune, the words crass but catchy. Only after the first phrase did he step, his hips bumping her into motion. Leyli relaxed and closed her eyes, trying to feel what he wanted.

  Over and over they stepped. Sometimes back, sometimes forward, sometimes to one side or the other. Some lines accompanied many steps, others just one. When she finally started to move with him, needing only the lightest brush of his body, he released her waist and caught her fingers.

  With their hands locked to the side, they danced. Tristan made it harder with each pass. He changed his songs from a jig to a ballad. He moved with the beat and against it. Finally, he let go of even her fingers.

  The staccato of wood weapons became their music when his voice tired. The rhythm of their breathing became the conversation. The muscles of her legs began to burn and her mind was growing weary of trying to predict his next move. Over and over, the Lion of Lenlochlien just stepped, expecting his partner to match him, and she tried as hard as she could.

  When she thought she couldn't keep up any longer, he pulled her to his side but kept moving. Able to see him, she did that much better. Then he turned, facing the opposite direction and placing her on the other hip. She kept going. Finally, he stepped to face her, never saying a word, and she matched him. Five steps back, two forward, a lurch to the side. The more weary her mind got, the easier she could keep up. Leyli realized it wasn't about thinking. The goal was for her to understand him and to feel where he wanted to be.

  Then she stumbled, her toe catching on the grass. He caught her by the waist and grinned. "Not bad, pup. Every day, we'll dance, until you feel wrong being without me."

  "Yes, sir."

  He ran a hand over her braids, petting her head like a little sister. "It's not 'sir'. Just Tristan."

  "In the army, they call the superior officer 'sir'. I think it applies."

  "I'm no soldier."

  "You could be." She shrugged. "I think you'd be good at it. You're a very confident leader."

  He led her to the side, gesturing to a low wood bench. With a groan, she took it. Who knew that dancing could be so hard? She'd spent hours in court with well-skilled partners, but this was different. She never knew what would come next and had to always be prepared. It wore on the body in a way nothing else had.

  Tristan claimed two mugs of water and carried them back. Passing her one, he dropped to the ground before her. He drained nearly half his glass, then set it aside to grab her leg. His fingers began kneading the muscle of her calf.

  "Maybe one day you can teach me to waltz." He smiled at his hands.

  She nodded. "I can do that."

  "Kinda thought so. Who knows, maybe we'll win so much the King will invite us to an audience. I hear it's happened before."

  She groaned as he found a sore spot. "That would be very nice."

  "Think you could keep me from embarrassing myself?"

  She offered him the other leg. "Yeah. And I know you're digging, but yes, I know enough to not make a fool of myself in a formal audience."

  "Think your father's looking for you?"

  She shrugged. "I'm betting my father thinks I'm dead. I'm not even sure if he's alive. I wish I could send him a letter."

  Tristan's hands paused. "You can write?"

  "You can't?"

  He laughed. "No, pup. Most people can't. More can read than write, and not that many can read. Besides Merino, you may be the only other person here."

  "Oh."

  He started kneading aga
in. "But we might be able to get a letter out. It'd take months to get to Oberhame, though."

  She sat up, her mouth falling open. "Really?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. Where would you send it?"

  Her mind was whirling. She didn't dare send a letter to the King. If her cousin had taken the throne, that was asking for him to find her and kill her. She wasn't sure what nobles would even be sympathetic. There was only one person she could think of who might be able to read the letter, and who would have the power to do something about her situation.

  "The Master of the King's horses. It's in the palace."

  "Your father?"

  She shook her head. "No, but a dear friend of my dad. Tristan, please?"

  With a pat on her knee, he stood. "I'll do my best. Write your letter tonight. I'll beg Merino to send it, but you'll owe me."

  "Yes, of course. Anything!"

  He offered her a hand up. "Be careful with your offers, little girl. What do you have that a respected gladiator could want?" He raked his eyes over her body to make the point.

  Leyli lifted her chin. "I'll teach you to read and write."

  His crass expression froze, then fell. "Really?"

  "And when you're free, you'll be able to apply to the Royal Guard. They require that all officers can read. Tristan, I'll trade you my survival for your future."

  "That's more than worth the sluts Merino will make me fuck to cover the expense. It's a deal, little Wolf."

  Chapter 9

  The next morning was no better than the first, and her muscles hurt even more. Petya's massage helped, but it couldn't keep up. When Tristan yelled at her, Leyli groaned, rolled over, and shoved her head into the pillow.

  Suddenly it vanished. Her nose crashed into the mattress beneath, sending flares of pain straight through her skull. "Oh!" she gasped, both hands flying to protect the barely healed injury.

  Tristan let out a grumbly sigh. "Sorry, but get up."

  "Gods, I just wanted a few more minutes."

  His head tilted, but the glare didn't leave. "This isn't the palace. You're a gladiator, and if you want to live through your next fight, you will get your ass out of bed."

  She moved. It wasn't the threat but rather his choice of comparisons. She certainly didn't want him to tie her to anything in the palace. If that idea got out, someone would make the connection, and enough citizens had seen her. Eventually, someone would say something.

  "I'm up," she assured him, pulling down her nightdress before swinging her legs out of the covers.

  That wasn't enough to make the brute move. Standing at the foot of her bed like a statue, he waited. Leyli groaned, but stood, looking for her training uniform. As if he was reading her mind, Tristan grabbed it and dropped it on the bed. The message was clear. She was going to learn to change with him around.

  "Can't you turn your back or something?"

  His stony face cracked right along the line of his mouth. Tristan struggled to hide the smirk, but was failing miserably. "No."

  "So do I get to watch you change?"

  Again his mouth betrayed him. "Sure. You wake up before me and you can stare all you want, pup. Now get dressed."

  "Fine."

  She grabbed the woolen trews and hiked them up under her nightdress. Her hands worked without her eyes needing to help. She could feel the fabric, could manage the laces. She didn't need to expose her entire body. Once her rump was covered, Leyli grabbed the tunic and turned. Wrenching the thin dress over her head, she quickly replaced it with the nearly white shirt. At most, he got a glimpse of her bare back. That wasn't too indecent. How enticing could her back be, right?

  She turned to find him staring at the floor. "Thought you were going to get your kicks?"

  The glare had faded, but the smile hadn't won. A distant, almost sad look claimed his face instead. "Not going for kicks, pup. Just trying to make sure that if some guy rips your shirt off in the arena, you won't die from the shock."

  "I'm not that weak."

  "I know. I'm just not sure if you're that cultured. All it takes is a second. One split second of panic, and a gladiator will put a sword in you. I'd rather not be chained to a corpse."

  Ok, so he had a point. "Would it make you feel better if I just stripped and let you get a good look?"

  Like a mouse, his eyes flicked to her, then scurried back to the ground. "No. Crushing your pride isn't my goal." He took a breath, then turned, walking out of the room. Just as he reached the doorway, he paused. "Nor is gawking at what I can't touch. Just so you know." Then he was gone.

  Those words were her second lesson, even if he hadn't intended them as such. For her entire life, Leyli had been taught that men would take advantage of her. If she dared to give them an inch, they would steal the mile. Too much skin meant she was asking for it. The wrong kind of smile was a promise she might not mean. Men couldn't help themselves, so it was up to her to protect her virtue.

  Wearing pants and a tunic was shameful. The fabric clung to her body, hinting at what was underneath. The fitted legs would remind men that she could spread them. So far, Leyli had ignored that, thankful to at least have something. Her pink nightdress had been ripped apart in the games to keep her alive. Thick cloth was better than the remnants that remained, and she wasn't foolish enough to think she'd get another dress. But Tristan had just given her something else.

  She didn't need layers of cloth to hide her body if she could use a sword and shield. She didn't need to worry about someone taking advantage of her if she could stop them. She also didn't need to worry about all men in the world, because Tristan wasn't like the rest. His words were a promise that she could trust him, even if he hadn't realized it. As Leyli laced up her sandals, she swore she was going to learn to be a real gladiator. She could do this, and he would help. All she had to do was forget everything she'd ever been taught. As if that would be easy.

  Tristan waited outside her front door. The rest of the compound was already moving. Across from their barracks, men stood in organized rows and stretched. At the side, servants – or maybe slaves – carried out armloads of weapons. In the distance, someone was yelling, and a group of men were running around the perimeter of the compound.

  This was her new life. With a nod to show she was ready, Leyli followed the Lion to a quiet grassy area. He gestured for her to sit, then did the same himself, directly across from her.

  "First, you need to learn to stretch. That will keep the muscles from aching so bad." He chuckled. "Eventually."

  Kicking his legs out in front of him, he leaned over, grabbing his feet. When she tried, it wasn't as easy. The tips of her fingers barely touched her toes. Tristan looked up at her, groaned, then climbed to his feet.

  "Ok, we're going to need to start from the basics." Then his hands touched her back, sliding up and down the muscles by her spine. "Breathe deep and relax."

  She did, and he pressed harder, urging her body to stop fighting. Over and over, he made her breathe, then reach, until her chest was only an inch from her legs. Then he moved her into another position. Straight legs, bent, open and closed, he made her flex and stretch. Her muscles rebelled. She'd never had to do anything more physical than riding her horses. For most of her day, Leyli had just sewed or gossiped. That was the life of a princess. This? Her entire body protested the idea.

  But when she was done, she felt elastic. Every joint in her body was ready to use. The aches from before had faded, but with the feeling that they'd be back soon enough. When Tristan returned to his place to go through his own warm-up, she joined him, pleased to find that she could reach just a hair farther than she had the first time.

  After that came breakfast. For the first time in her life, Leyli piled too much food onto her plate. The eggs smelled amazing. Her body was craving them. When she shoveled it into her face like she was starving, Tristan rewarded her with a tiny smile. It wasn't much, but it let her know that everything had changed.

  Her figure was no longer an asset, but her
muscles were. Not that she had any, yet. She would. In a week, she'd have at least enough strength to heft that shield for an entire fight without drooping. In a month, she'd either look like a farm hand or be dead.

  For a moment, she mourned the loss of the girl she'd been. Royalty was never pretty. They bred among themselves too often, and the worst always rose to the top. Her broken nose wasn't a problem, but she'd been proud of her curvy body and tiny waist. Even royal husbands valued some type of beauty in their wives. She might not be able to change her face, but she could make her form appealing. Well, back then. Now, she had to do something else. If she didn't have the strength of a man, she wouldn't live long enough to accept a marriage proposal.

  Not that she'd marry a prince, after this. Nor a king, emperor, or anything else. Nope, her virginity had been tainted with her absence. Even if most women weren't expected to keep themselves pure, noble daughters should. Her husband would want to know that his heirs were truly his. Not even a long betrothal could do that, since it was all too easy to sneak through the passages of any palace. If she wasn't a virgin, she would end up married off to someone desperate enough to not care. Maybe a widower? Someone with heirs from his first marriage. If she was lucky, she could still help the country, but her options had just gotten very slim.

  But they'd be worse if she was dead.

  "You hurt that bad?" Tristan asked softly.

  Only then did she realize how silent she'd been. Her plate was nearly empty and she hadn't said a word to him, lost in her own thoughts. Leyli shook her head, then shrugged, thinking better of it.

  "I'll be ok."

  "I know," he assured her. "That wasn't what I asked."

  Pressing her lips together, she nodded. "I've never done anything like this, so yes, my muscles ache."

  "And your heart." His big hand rubbed her shoulder gently, then he claimed her plate and stood.

  He carried it over to be cleaned before gesturing for her to join him. She had nothing to say. She certainly wasn't going to tell some man she barely knew about her past. He seemed nice enough, but selling her story might buy his freedom. Then again, it might not, but she wasn't willing to take the risk. She just had to keep going, to stay alive until someone found her. Either that, or she'd die in the games because the Aravatti line had truly been wiped out.