Chapter 189
The bathing room is warmer than I expected, the water’s heat mingling with the faint tang of mineral oils and salt. Women lounge in the pools, their tails glinting in the low, ambient light. Soft murmurs and the occasional laugh echo off the walls, but I feel their eyes on me the moment I enter. I try not to let my discomfort show, focusing instead on blending in.
I loosen the ties of my headpiece and slip it off, letting my hair fall in dark waves over my shoulders. Carefully, I set the ornate crown-like adornment on a stone ledge in clear view of the doorway. If the guard checks on me, he’ll see it immediately and assume I’m just lounging. As if I could.
My heart pounds as I glance around the room. Thankfully, the novelty of my presence is fleeting. Most of the women are absorbed in their own conversations or the meticulous care of their hair and scales.
I find an attendant and silently nod for her to aid me in a far alcove. Her eyes go wide and fretful as she quickly moves to follow me. I pull the curtain over the alcove, secluding us.
“My name is Phoebe,” I say in greeting. “What is your name?”
The girl jumps and stutters, “M-my lady, your crown.”
“Please, don't worry about that, I want to know you. How long have you worked here?”
She stares at me blankly, “M…my lady?”
“Phoebe.”
“Phoe…be,” she says slowly. I give her an encouraging nod. “My name is Lia, my lad—Phoebe. I've been a waiting girl for only a few months now.”
“Long enough to know your way around the arena?” I ask.
“I…yes,” she replies with more certainty. “I've been sent all over the Pit.”
“Including down to the barracks?”
Now, she hesitates. I give her what I hope is a disarming smile. Slowly she relaxed, “Yes, yes, I know the way. But I can not imagine what you might want with that grim place.”
“Leave that to me. Will you please show me the way?” I ask and pull the gilded belt from around my waist. I hand it to her. “I don't have much of my own, but please take this for your trouble.”
I doubt Kota will notice a missing belt, and if it belongs to Rhea, she'd have me use it herself.
“My…Phoebe, I can't!” She exclaims, and I gesture for her to keep her voice down.
“You can, unless you believe that accepting it will put you in danger. I don't want to get you into trouble, I just need your help.”
Lia looks conflicted, staring down at the belt. Then, her expression settles into one of determination. “Follow me, please.”
No one seems to notice when we slip past the pools and toward a narrow corridor hidden behind a tapestry. A servant’s passage. Lia pulls the fabric aside and we duck into the dimly lit hallway, the sound of the bathing room fading behind me.
“My presence will be missed, but this is the way. Follow the passage down, as far as it will go. If anyone else comes along the passage, there are alcoves and side passages located all throughout.”
“Thank you, Lia,” I say, giving her a quick hug. “If anyone comes looking for me—”
“I will keep them away, Phoebe. Leave it to me.”
With a final look of appreciation, I duck away.
The passageway is cold, the smooth stone walls glistening with moisture. It twists and turns like a labyrinth, but I follow the faint hum of voices and the clang of metal, hoping it will lead me to the barracks.
The further I go, the rougher the stone becomes, the air thickening with the scent of brine and sweat. Finally, I hear it: Wake’s voice, low and steady, murmuring to someone.
I peek around a corner and see him hunched over Khale, who sits on a bench, his side wrapped in bloodied bandages. Wake’s hands move with practiced care as he secures the bindings.
I step closer, pressing myself against a pillar for cover. “Wake,” I whisper.
His head snaps up, eyes narrowing in irritation. He glances around, clearly thinking my voice is in his head again. He frowns and shakes his head, turning back to Khale.
“Wake,” I whisper again, more urgently.
Khale’s head jerks up, his eyes going wide when he sees me. “Phoebe?”
Wake’s eyes dart back to Khale, and realization dawns. He’s on his feet in an instant, crossing the space between us in a few powerful strides. He grabs my arm and pulls me deeper into the shadows, back into the servant’s passage.
“What are you doing here?” he demands, his voice low but harsh.
I don’t answer. Instead, I reach up and kiss him, pressing my body against his. For a moment, he stiffens, his hands gripping my arms as if to push me away.
But then he melts into me, his arms sliding around my waist, holding me close. His lips are warm and insistent, his touch grounding me in a way nothing else can.
When he finally pulls back, his face is a mixture of relief and frustration. “Phoebe, it’s not safe down here. There are men in these barracks who don’t deserve to see the light of day,” He exhales sharply.
“Kota said that there were criminals here who choose to fight over imprisonment,” I say.
He nods, his expression grim. “Yes, but they don’t concern me half as much as the ones who aren’t here for any other reason than their own love of carnage.”
I think of what Khale’s brothers said earlier, their reverence for these fights, their obsession with strength and honor. “So I’ve heard. Actually, I’ve haven’t heard much of anything else all day. Khale’s family won’t shut up about how important these fights are,” I say. “They practically worship the arena.”
Wake’s face darkens, his jaw tightening. “Did that bastard touch you again?” he growls, his hands balling into fists. “If he does, I’ll grind his spine between my fists.”
I place a hand on his cheek, stroking gently to calm him. “They’ve been too preoccupied with the games,” I say softly. “And with plotting for tomorrow.”
His eyes narrow. “What have they planned?”
“Something called The Menagerie,” I tell him. He frowns. “Do you know what that is?”
Wake’s expression hardens. “I have an idea,” he mutters.
I glance back toward the barracks. “How’s Khale? Will he be able to fight? Because it didn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t make the killing blow. People are talking.”
Wake grimaces. “His injury is inconvenient, but he’s strong. There are healers here who can help.”
“And you?” I ask, stepping closer. “How are you really, Wake?”
“I will survive,” he says, his tone dismissive.
I cross my arms, giving him a pointed look. “Would you accept that answer from me?”
He growls low in his throat. “You know the answer to that.”
“Then you know mine,” I reply, my voice firm.
I grab his hand and pull him deeper into the passageway, finding a small alcove with a stone bench. He sits reluctantly, watching me with a mix of curiosity and annoyance as I kneel in front of him.
Carefully, I begin examining his body, my fingers tracing over every scrape, cut, and bruise. They’re small, but there are so many of them, and I know they must hurt.
“You shouldn’t fight when you’re not at your best,” I say, my voice soft but insistent.
He growls again and hauls me to my feet, his hands gripping my arms. “I am never at less than my best,” he says fiercely.
Before I can respond, he kisses me hard, his lips claiming mine with a possessive urgency. I’m breathless when he finally pulls away, but I hold his gaze, refusing to back down.
“Even so,” I say, my voice steady despite my pounding heart, “as long as I’ve known you, you’ve taken care of me. Before you even knew me, before we could speak to one another, my well-being was your priority. Now, I want to prove that the same goes for me.”
His expression softens, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “Phoebe,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I’ve only ever done my duty as your mate.”
“And I want to do mine,” I say firmly. “When I was human, I couldn’t. But now I can. Let me.”
I find an angry-looking scrape across his abdomen and lean forward, giving it a long, slow lick. His muscles tremble beneath my touch, and the air fills with the scent of petrichor and brine. It’s as good as permission, so I do it again. And again.
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