I scoff and kick my blade into the air, swatting Caben along his backside. “Then best put it to use.”
After a grueling two hours of teaching Caben the basics of sword technique, and nursing my wounded back, we follow Crew to a free running stream along the rock wall where the contenders fill canteens. We grab two of our own, then settled along the back wall to watch the other contenders practice.
The ultraviolet lights above illuminate the training ground walls in glowing patches of white and gray-blue, the rock minerals catching the black light at odd angles, making it look as if the night sky is boxing us in. If not for the intense feeling of being trapped, I might like it.
I’ve now studied the others long enough to know the alliances. Crew and Lena—both Colossals—are depending on each other to defeat Collar’s and Krewl’s contenders, helping each other get to the final round, where they will either be killed off or separate to fight each other. Of course that was before Caben and I showed up. Now they constantly peek over at me, whispering. I wonder what they’re planning.
The other three are Kaide, Orion, and Tobias. Two of which are brothers—the feather-tatted men I’ve dubbed the feather brothers—who are both ranked as Quicksilvers. They’re attempting to learn every skill and weapon to rise to the top. Once they’re in the final fight, they will refuse to battle each other. They’re relying on their family bond to turn the hearts of the gamblers, to allow them both to walk out of the Cage
alive.
If the Otherworlders have any sentimental values toward family, their tactic could work, and I admit it’s brilliant considering the given alternative. It makes my heart hurt thinking that two brothers would have to fight to the death against each other. But the reality is that neither one will make it that far. I believe that’s a mercy in itself.
Tobias keeps to himself, much like the feather brothers, and rarely shows his strengths. He’s ranked as a Dark Horse, which is the lowest. He’s not as large or as muscled as Crew, but he’s tall and leanly built. He’s not as advanced in weaponry as the feather brothers or Lena, but I believe he’s hiding a skillset from us. I’ll have to keep a close watch on him.
My eyes drift away from the contenders and wander to Caben sitting an arm’s length away. Something he said before has been worming around in my head.
Sanity.
Though he said it frivolously, as that’s his nature, it triggered something Carina once said: The Otherworlders’ manic worship of Bale imprisons their mind.
I thought she was referring to their devotion to their goddess. But now, as I stare at the guards with wide, glowing eyes flicking over us rapidly and manically, I consider her words more carefully.
What did she know?
“So what’s our plan?” Caben asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Try not to get killed,” I say, then take a swig from my canteen.
He humphs and turns to face me. “And so this matter calls for humor?” He widens his deep blues.
“I prefer sarcasm,” I say. “And I haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Who do you think will make it to the last round?”
I look at him, squint, and wonder how his brain hops from thing to thing. It’s as if he’s incapable of focusing on one subject for more than a minute. “I’m not sure. But I thought we were discussing escape tactics—”
“You admitted you had none,” he interjects. “No reason to flog a dead horse.”
“It would be nice if you offered suggestions, too, Caben. That is how plans are formed—individuals tossing ideas out and then breaking them down.”
Sitting forward, he rolls one of his shoulders, working out the tight muscle. “Kal,” he says, the lilt of his accent present in my name. “I have no false modesty in admitting I’m not good with tactics.” He peeks at me. “My father was a master when it came to plots and plans and council. I, on the other hand, was more of his token.” He pauses to think for a moment, then continues. “I was for putting on display. I believe he planned to live forever in order to rule the kingdom rather than entrust it to me.”
I furrow my brow. “How can you speak of your late father like that? His memory should be honored, regardless of the scruples between you.”
He grunts. “I can speak it because it’s true. He told me as much in his own words. I don’t know what his plans were for me, but they were not for me to inherit Perinya.” He bows his head, his dark bangs fall forward. “All he ever said was: ‘guard the crest with your life, Caben. Never let it fall into the hands of the enemy. You’re the crest’s protector.’” He shakes his head, and stares out over the training ground. “He only cared that I marry and give him an heir to carry on his legacy.”
Silence falls between us. My eyes roam over his hardened features as his gaze darts around the room. Avoiding me. For some reason, I wish I had the words to comfort him—to ban the idea that his father held no faith in him. But who am I to offer clarity on a father’s love? My own held me in so little regard that he pumped me full of stolen mercury in order to escape a prison sentence.
I have no reassurances when it comes to fathers.
The cell door clangs open, and a moment later Bax enters the training ground.
“Contenders,” he says, his gruff voice echoing off the rock walls. “Scrub up pretty and wear your finest.” He laughs, the rest of us clearly not sharing in his joke. Then he glares at us when no one moves. “Let’s go!”
Caben and I push off the side of the wall and follow the rest of the contenders into the master cell. The feather brothers put back on their tunics, and Lena and Crew wait patiently by the open door. I’m already scrubbed up as much as possible, but I eye the dirty blanket that hides my uniform. How angry would Bax be if I wore it?
Once everyone is standing in the center of the cell, Bax taps us into a line with his sword, swatting our arms. Then he goes down the line, removing the contenders’ cuffs and replacing them with a new one. He reaches me and takes my arm, his pale, cold fingers sending a chill skittering down my spine.