‘You remembered me. I’m touched.’ Nona couldn’t help but smile back. ‘I won’t go easy on you though.’
Regol nodded, grave for a moment. He stepped to the centre of the ring, muttering through a fixed smile his voice so low it barely reached her. ‘You’re remembered. Don’t ever think otherwise. Children have short memories, adults long ones.’ His eyes flicked to the left and following his gaze Nona saw, out at the back of the crowd, behind Partnis, behind the rich in their furs and jewels, Raymel Tacsis, his nine-foot frame wrapped in a mole-dark cape that couldn’t hide the broadness of him. A silver circlet held his golden hair back from his brow, and the face beneath had changed. The veins on the right side of his neck stood black against his flesh, like tendrils of night rising from his cape, and something was amiss with his left eye, though at such a distance Nona couldn’t tell what exactly. Perhaps it was just full of blood.
Nona moved to face Regol at the centre. ‘He came to see me fight?’ Something in that two-tone stare had caught at Nona’s guts like a cold hand, waking an old emotion, one she had never had much use for. Fear.
‘He came to see you hurt,’ Regol said, shaking out his arms and rolling his head.
‘You’re going to hurt me?’ A snarl twisted at Nona’s lip, fire rising in her belly to drive out the unease.
‘No. I’m going to beat you. Make sure you submit clearly and quickly so I’ve a good excuse for stopping. Next—’
‘Fight!’ The fight-master’s bark cut through the chanting.
‘Next up is Denam. Do not let him get hold of you.’
Regol struck as his lips closed on his last word. A swivelling kick aimed directly at Nona’s chest. She slowed the world, stretching each second into an age, but however deep she dug Regol’s foot refused to slow. Nona both blocked and deflected but against a grown man neither made much difference, her blocking arm was simply driven against her chest, transmitting the force of the kick. Nona felt her feet lift from the ground, watched the frozen faces of the crowd as she flew, and bent as the ropes caught her in a rough embrace. The rebound took her to the floor where she pushed herself quickly to her feet, fighting for breath, her body a mass of hurt.
Regol didn’t press his attack. He stood relaxed, wearing his old smile as the cheers rose around him.
‘You’re quicker than me …’ The words came out in a pained wheeze. The fact hurt Nona more than her lungs did.
‘I am.’ Regol nodded. ‘But you’ll likely grow faster, and I’m as good as I’ll get.’
Nona adopted the blade stance. Few hunska reached their full potential before fourteen, but even so it shocked her to find someone so obviously swifter than herself. ‘Fight!’
Nona advanced, snapping jump-kicks at Regol, testing his defence with jabs, but hitting only air. His longer reach kept her at bay and combined with his speed left her at a loss for how to proceed. Regol made the decision for her with a lightning-fast leg sweep. Nona leapt above it by the narrowest of margins, throwing herself not just up but forward towards Regol’s shoulder as the rotation turned him from her.
It was a trap. Regol had lured her in and his elbow rose to meet her. In mid-air Nona was a slave to events already set in motion. She twisted and raised her arms to block. Regol’s elbow knocked her arms aside and hit the side of her head.
Nona found herself on the boards, the roaring of the crowd faint against a ringing in her ears as if Bitel were being hammered in warning. She lifted her head and the world spun around her, the looming shape of her opponent revolving with it.
‘… surrender.’ A harsh whisper as Regol approached.
Nona lifted her hand, fingers splayed. The blood-roar of the crowd missed a beat then fractured into both cheers and jeers. Nona rolled to her back, panting, fighting nausea, watching Regol’s back as he returned to his corner.
Nona didn’t see Clera or Zole’s fights. She heard the crowd howling, she heard laughter, hooting, gasps, but all that time she lay on a table in what looked to be the apprentice hall, her head ringing, exhaustion running through her though her fight had lasted only moments. Sister Flint gave her sugar in water and told her to rest. Sister Rock leaned over her, a frown on her brutal face, hands surprisingly tender as she pulled Nona’s eyes wide and waved a finger before them.
‘You’ll be all right, child. No more fighting today, though.’
Perhaps an hour later, though it seemed both far longer and far less, Clera came limping to sit on the table. ‘We’re both done.’
‘You look awful.’ Nona sat up. She felt much better. Certainly better than Clera looked, her eye blackening, lip split.
‘You should see the other girl.’ Clera grinned, teeth red.
‘You beat an apprentice?’
‘What? No. Are you mad? She pounded me. I meant Zole.’
Nona looked around. She was in the apprentice hall, on the dining table to which she had delivered dozens of meals from the Caltess kitchens during her time there. ‘Where is she?’
‘Sister Flint’s taking her back to the convent.’ Clera grinned again. ‘On a mule!’ She touched her lip, wincing. ‘That girl doesn’t know when to quit! She did manage to hurt one of them though. Talitha, the tall hunska with the braids, remember?’
Nona didn’t but she nodded.
‘She had Zole in a lock. No way she could escape. But Zole kicked her in the face anyway.’ Clera mimed the impact. ‘Brilliant.’
‘And then?’ Nona asked.
‘I think she broke Zole’s arm.’ Clera shrugged.
Sister Tallow appeared at the doorway, glimpses of the throng behind her, the rumble of them filling the hall. Someone caught her attention before she could turn into the room.
‘No. We’re returning to the convent.’
Nona couldn’t hear the other party above the noise outside.
‘That’s really not my concern, Reeve.’
‘…’
‘I don’t care what he wants.’ Sister Tallow made to turn away but a tall figure closed on her. Partnis Reeve, reaching out for her arm before thinking better of it and withdrawing his hand as she stared at it.
‘I don’t know what you’ve heard, sister, but he’s not some street-show villain! He’s the heir to one of Empire’s oldest families, for Ancestor’s sake! A refined young man of considerable education …’
‘…’ Now Sister Tallow’s voice fell to a mutter.
And Partnis’s rose in response. ‘Many young men have … appetites. Such lapses are unfortunate but—’
Sister Tallow stepped backwards into the room and shut the door in Partnis’s face.
‘Are you fit to travel, Nona? We’re going back.’
Nona slipped from the table. The sound, the smell of the place, both of them filled her head with images – Raymel Tacsis in the ring, seen through an attic slit, bathed in the many-tongued voice of the crowd, Raymel Tacsis on his knees, blood spurting from the lacerations to his neck, Saida on the ground, her arm at broken angles, Raymel Tacsis watching from a crimson eye, black fingers running beneath the skin of his neck. She shook her head to clear the visions. ‘I want to fight.’
‘Sister Rock says you took quite a blow to the head. There’s no shame in leaving now.’ Sister Tallow crossed the room to stand above Nona. She took Nona’s chin and angled her face, eyes narrowed in inspection.
‘I feel better.’ It wasn’t a lie. She did feel better. Not good, but better.
‘Your opponent is ready,’ Sister Tallow said. ‘There’s much you could learn from him, but they would be rough lessons and perhaps you’ve been taught enough today.’
‘I’ll fight.’
Sister Tallow chewed her cheek, frowned, then released Nona’s chin. ‘The world is a dangerous place. We do you no favours if we hide your weakness from you. You can fight.’ She turned and walked towards the doorway.
Nona followed.