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She had to win this.
Sweat burned in her eyes but she didn’t dare stop to wipe them. She gripped her daggers tighter as the man shifted his grip on his sword and thrust at her. She dodged to the side and stabbed at him, but he stepped back.
She could feel the magister’s eyes burning into them.
She hated him. Hated him more than she’d hated anyone, hated that she was fighting to become a slave to someone else but what choice did she have? Bethany and Carver couldn’t be allowed to grow up in slavery. Father had tried to forbid her to compete, to risk herself for them but she’d won the right already. She knew what was important.
She thrust with her left dagger and the man dodged, grinned lazily- dodged right into her other blade. He let out a shocked intake of breath as she pressed her advantage, forcing the blade in deeper and slamming her whole body weight into his chest to force him to the ground.
If she hadn’t already stabbed him it would never have worked, but the element of surprise was on her side. He went down like a rock. Yanking her dagger from his side she kicked his sword away from him and held the bloodied dagger at his throat.
“Yield,” she said.
“I yield, I yield,” he croaked, holding his hands up. Hatred burned in her- for the magister, for the man, for herself. They were just slaves, competing for the favour of a master who would hardly be better than the one they already had. She looked up. Danarius looked her up and down and liked what he saw.
“Kill him,” he ordered.
She turned back to the other slave, who didn’t even try to protest. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. She slashed his throat, quick and clean. She could not give him life but could give him a quick death, at least.
They’d both known that this fight would end with one of them bleeding into the sand.
Mother would be horrified.
She kept the daggers in her hands as she rose, faced the man who might become her new master, who she had just killed for. He smiled broadly as he beckoned her forward and she went, daggers dropping to the ground. He cupped her sweaty, bloody cheek in his hand and lifted her face so he could look her in the eye. She wanted to spit on him. She didn’t dare.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Marian Hawke, ser,” she said. He examined her for a long minute before letting go and stepping back.
“Clean her up,” he ordered one of his guards. The man escorted her to the washroom and she didn’t resist. She stripped when ordered to and didn’t protest at the rough scrub the attendant gave, nor his constant, watchful eye. Given a fresh robe she gladly pulled it on, barely getting it straight before being taken to her cell. She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, thought of Mother and Father and Bethany and Carver.
Maker, let me win this she prayed, falling asleep quickly.
XX
She was woken by Danarius himself.
Startled to see him she almost didn’t sink to her knees, hastily averting her gaze as her heart beat faster. His chuckle was warm but she wasn’t fooled.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked. She didn’t look up. “What boon do you hope to win?”
“I want to free my family, ser,” she said. “I will serve you with all my strength if you will let my family return to Ferelden.” She looked up, but didn’t meet his eyes. “I swear it.” He made a thoughtful noise.
“You fight well. Your master lets you train?” She nodded.
“I knew the daggers before, and he allows some of his slaves to serve on his guard,” she said. “Free labour,” she couldn’t help adding, “Why not?” Danarius laughed and she fell silent, unsettled, shifted on her knees.
“Can you pick locks?” the magister asked and she opened her mouth and closed it again. He held his hand out, a set of tools in them. She stared at him. “You will not get in trouble.” Hesitantly she took them and rose, glancing at the magister uncertainly. He made a shooing motion with his hands.
The door was open within seconds. She handed the tools back and he tucked them under his robe, looking at her thoughtfully.
“Where did you learn that?” he asked.
“Ferelden, ser,” she said. “We grew up on the move. I… refined my skills since coming here but I’ve never stolen from my master, not more than bread for the twins, I swear.”
“The twins.” It wasn’t phrased as a question but she knew an order when she heard one.
“Bethany and Carver, ser. They’re just kids and they don’t get enough to eat, I just want them to…” he held up a hand and she fell silent.
“You want them freed,” he said.
“I’ll do anything, I swear. Please ser.” He was silent for a long moment, looking contemplatively at her and she prayed hard. She had to get this, had to get them freed. It was all that mattered.
“You were quick to kill on command,” Danarius finally said. “Was that your first kill?”
“No ser,” she said. “He was a thief- an elf. He made off with my master’s finest sword while I was on duty, a special present for his son. He wouldn’t give up.”
“So you killed him.” She nodded; it had become clear that it was the only course of action available that didn’t end in her being flogged- or worse. She could take a flogging, what she was scared of was that he’d take it out on the twins. She knew the responsibility that fell on her shoulders as a slave permitted to take up arms to defend the house- and the consequences for failing.
Danarius wanted a combat-capable bodyguard, that was clear, someone who could kill. How many skilled slaves had failed the final test? Or was this the test? “Can you use other weapons?”
“Only a little, ser,” she admitted. “I know a little archery and only enough swordplay to teach Carver the basics.”
“Hmm,” Danarius hummed. “Train. There is a final fight next week. If you win, I will grant your boon.” Relief spread through her and she bowed deeply.
“Thank you ser,” she croaked. “I will not squander this chance.” She couldn’t believe it. She had a real shot.
XX
She trained. Oh how she trained, day and night, stopping only to sleep and eat. The guards she sparred with were grudgingly impressed, though brutal. She appreciated it. She knew her final opponent had something worth fighting for as much as she did, and would go to the same lengths to earn it.
There was no choice here. Only one of them would walk out of that arena, and into a new master’s leash.
On the day she was bathed and fed before being brought to the arena. Put in a holding cell underneath she set herself, stretched and did her exercises. She had to be limber. She had to be fast. Being fast was her greatest asset.
When her daggers were brought to her she took them with a bowed head and murmur of “thank you, ser” to the overseer, who grunted. One of the men shadowing him unlocked the cell for her and led her to the arena, where across the way she could see a similar scene happening with the slave she was to fight.
He was a large man with a greataxe. A slow weapon. It was a good test for both of them. A good show of their capabilities. Would she be able to hit him enough times to bring him down? Could she dodge his axe? Would he be able to hit her swiftly enough to get her to stop moving?
She glanced to where Danarius was, watching them both intently as they were walked into the arena and able to lock eyes for the first time. The man met hers steadily, without apology. There was no apology here.
Here, there was only death for one and slavery for the other.
The signal was given. She charged. He roared and brought down his axe as she slid through the sand under it and slashed at his ankles, face grim.
“Father and Mother and Carver and Bethany,” she whispered to remind herself of why this was so very important.
XX
After the adrenaline and the triumph had worn off, when she was patched up with poultices and clean, she was terrified.
She’d won. Her family would go free. But she’d be a slave still, to a man who had made her kill twice and would certainly do so again. She stared at the ceiling of the cell and tried to stop her hands from shaking.
“Visitors,” the guard said and she sat up. There were Mother and Father, with Carver holding Mother’s hand and Bethany Father’s. She leapt to her feet and rushed to the door as the guard unlocked it and Bethany ran into her arms.
“Marian,” she cried, “I was so scared.” She pressed her lips to Bethany’s hair.
“I’m alright,” she said. “I’m alright, Bethy.” Carver came forward then and frowned seriously at her, looked her over.
“You was fighting,” he said. “You told me not to fight the other kids.” She couldn’t help her relieved laugh.
“It was different,” she told him. “I was fighting so you could be free.” Carver’s eyes went wide and Father looked so sad. He held Mother- she’d already been crying- close and she didn’t look at them.
“Free?” Bethany asked. “You mean it? We can stop being slaves?” It was worth it. She’d die before she let Bethany and Carver spend their whole lives slaves. It was bad enough they’d been them this long. She knew what happened to girls as pretty as Bethany, and she was a mage to boot. She wasn’t going to let that happen.
“You can be free,” she said softly. “I promise.”
“Not you?” Carver asked. She looked her little brother in the eye.
“No,” she said. “Not me. Listen to me, Carver. You need to protect your sister, okay?” He nodded solemnly. “Keep practising with your sword. You’re good.” She turned to Bethany, whose eyes were welling with tears. “Bethy, I love you very much. Keep learning magic from Father. Change the world.” Bethany threw herself into her arms.
“I’ll free you,” she sobbed and Marian had to ease back before her own tears could spill over.
“I believe you,” she said. She rose and walked over to Father. She gave Mother a sad smile.
“Go home,” she said. “Take them back to Ferelden where they belong. Just… don’t forget me.” Her voice broke.
“Marian, no,” Mother protested. “Not without you.”
“Leandra,” Father said quietly.
“Malcolm, no, you can’t let her do this.” Mother’s voice was shrill but before Father could reply Marian did.
“I belong to Danarius,” she said. “I chose this so you could be free. Take the twins home.” She wrapped her arms around Mother and wished that she was anywhere but here, that she was twelve years old and home, that they’d never come here.
“I’m sorry,” Father said quietly. She remembered the screaming when he’d learned she’d signed up to compete for the honour and the horror in his eyes when he’d learned she’d won it. But what else could she do? He couldn’t fight as much as he wanted to, he was a mage. She was the only one who could. “I’m sorry you had to do this.” Her voice was bitterer than she’d thought it would be.
“Just keep her out of the damn Circle. Let all this be worth something.”
“That’s it,” the guard said. “Time’s up. You, back against the wall.” He pointed at her and she knelt to hug Bethany and Carver one last time before she held her hands in the air and pressed her back to the wall. Carver was crying now too. “You lot, out.” It was harder than you’d think to herd two crying children out of a small cell, but eventually Father took their arms and managed to pull them out. Mother was weeping but Father was dry eyed. He looked her in the eye.
“Keep them safe,” she said as the cell door shut and was locked again. “Make this worth it. Father…” she wanted to be clinging to him, to be a child. She wanted him to be the head of their family, not a magister. She wanted him to stop looking so old and guilty. “I love all of you so much.”
And then they were gone and she had an awful hollow pit in her stomach. She let herself cry. Just this once, she told herself. Just this once.
XX
Danarius came to fetch her the next day. She knelt as he gestured for the cell to be unlocked, bowed her head.
“Master,” she said.
“You saw your family?” he asked. She nodded.
“Thank you, Master,” she said. “Are they…” she hesitated and he nodded.
“They were taken to the boat this morning,” he told her and she sagged in relief. “You earned your boon, little bird.” He held out a pair of daggers and her eyes went wide. “You won’t stab me, will you?” His question was idle and utterly academic. Of course she wouldn’t. She had her family to think about, she knew that ship could be turned around, and he had two armed guards flanking him. She was his property; this is what she’d fought for.
She shook her head frantically.
“No Master,” she said, “No…” he handed the daggers to her and she took them uncertainly.
“Good,” he said. “You will train until the ritual is prepared. I want you in the best shape possible.” Ritual? Unease flickered to life in her gut even as she bowed her head.
“Of course, Master,” she said. She could hear his smile.
“You have earned this honour, mea avem,” he said and she knew she would never see her family again. “Be proud.”
XX
He had her train extensively with bows, long and short. They used muscles she wasn’t accustomed to using and she ached at the end of each day but was treated well; she had good quarters and was allowed to bathe herself with only supervision and fed to fullness each night.
She’d hunted with bows before and had a basic grasp on them. By the end of the first week, then the next, she was markedly better.
He had her train with a sword but her build proved too fine for such things and so her melee training focused on her daggers. He observed her at times and seemed satisfied with what he saw.
Her lockpicking was worked on extensively until she was presented with locks more formidable than she had ever had cause to see before and she questioned what would ever need locking this securely. This took more time and she felt he was less satisfied with her progress.
“In time,” was all he said.
But he seemed pleased with her shooting, as the targets were placed further and further away and then became moving ones as animals were brought in. As she executed a perfect shot on a buck in the near-dark he applauded.
“Well done, mea avem!” She laid her bow down and started off to fetch her arrows. He waved a hand. “No, let the others do that. Come with me.” She followed him obediently inside where a lavish meal had been prepared. She looked a little uncertainly at him.
“Sit,” he said, and she did. “Eat.”
The food was incredible, the sort of which she’d served at his table, and she was quickly full. Being full was a unique sensation; she’d become accustomed to having enough to eat here but before being owned by Danarius it was not the case. He watched her. He did not eat.
“The ritual is ready, and I am satisfied with your efforts,” he said. “You should know, your family has safely arrived at Ferelden.” Relief blossomed through her and some of the tension leeched from her shoulders.
“Thank you, Master.”
He held out a hand and she rose to follow him deeper into the house, down into what seemed to be a basement. Here however was not storage by any means; there was a stone table with bindings on each corner and for the head, barrels lining the walls and a tray of what appear to be torture instruments. A frisson of fear whispered through her and she paused in the doorway.
“Come,” he repeated more firmly, and she followed him. “Strip.”
Her hands shook slightly as he did. He gestured to the table, and she climbed atop it. She knew to lie down. She did not want to, and it took him ordering her to do so. The stone was cold but utterly smooth except for the grooves in it that lead off the tapered edge and into basins. These, she knew, collected blood.
The bindings were sized perfectly to her.
He personally bound her. She knew she would never break them.
“Master?” she asked when he was done. He didn’t answer, selecting a tool she could not see and laying out a drawing beside her. She looked over as best as she can and saw it was a to-scale model of her with markings all over her body; a great tree, roots around her legs and branches up her arms and on her face.
He started tracing the designs on her body. She was too frightened to register they were beautiful.
Two of his mages entered and leaned over a barrel. She turned to watch as they opened it to reveal lyrium. She’d never seen so much in one place. Her eyes darted to the other barrels.
Danarius straightened her head to draw on her cheek, and it was like she wasn’t there apart from being the canvas. While she was accustomed to being little more than an object this was not a function she had served before.
It took a long time for him to work, he always had been a perfectionist, and the world had started to blur a little. The food must have had something in it. Her limbs were so heavy, even without the bindings she doubted she could move.
“You’ll be perfectly aware,” he told her as he worked on her arm. She knew this to be no mercy. She’d seen enough rituals. I chose this, she reminded herself through mounting panic. Mother and Father and Carver and Bethany were safe. He smiled at the look in her eyes, the sudden tension in her body. “But don’t worry. You won’t die.”
Mother and Father and Carver and Bethany were safe. She held to that thought as he finished his drawing and turned back to the table. This time he held himself so that she could see the tool he was selecting; a knife. He waved a hand to immobilise her as he started to cut the design.
She quickly learned she was still able to scream.
XX
The room had started to fill with mages. She hadn’t realised until there were three more and Danarius had finished one leg they were still coming. She was sobbing now, but he was far from done. He merely moved to the other leg. Her blood pooled on the table and into the channels, draining down the sloped sides into the waiting basins.
Mother. Father. Carver. Bethany. She was repeating it now, between her screams, whispering their names like a prayer.
She hadn’t thought the pain could get worse. She was wrong.
He was meticulous about carving the design exactly as he’d drawn it into her body and despite being held still magically she was shaking. The world was starting to flash before her eyes and she surrendered to the weakness seeping through her, eyes closing.
Someone touched her head and suddenly she was awake again.
Every time she was about to pass out the same happened, and she was forced to watch herself being carved into like marble. She wanted to throw up. She couldn’t. She could taste the bile and choked on the rising vomit but again someone touched her head and it passed.
She had forgotten in the agony about the lyrium.
As Danarius laid down his knife he looked over his handiwork and nodded, satisfied. The mages joined hands and started to chant. She could understand none of it, but even she could feel the rising magic in the air surrounding her.
The first barrel was brought over and she cried out “No, ple-” but her voice abruptly died. Another tool was selected that looked like a pen, but larger and heavier. It was dipped into the lyrium barrel and Danarius started to fill out the lines with it.
She had thought she knew pain. She was wrong.
Not even blood magic could keep her conscious for this.
Marian Hawke never woke up again.