He walked into the hall doing the head cook. Hunched shoulders, flour-dusted hands, muttering about salt portions and the absolute gall of people who wanted food to taste fancy. The kitchen staff in the back lost it
. The warmth hit Chris immediately, almost staggering after two days of Erosion racked recovery. His knee stopped throbbing. Maren watched from the high seat. Flat, assessing. he didn't laugh. Just his eyes kept tracking Chris across the room.
Mid-performance, Chris caught something. A girl near the high table , maybe sixteen, wearing noble clothes, sitting below the warlords inner circle. more like a hostage than a guest .
She wasnt laughing. and when he met her eyes she mouthed "You're trying too hard."
It hit him wrong. He'd been building momentum, the crowd was with him, the warmth was flowing, everything was working. And this girl with the clean clothes just cut his legs out from under him with four words. He stumbled for real. not performing this time.
The court laughed harder than they had at any of his jokes. at least the warmth was still there even it didn't feel good as usual.
After the show, Chris was heading for the slave corridor when she intercepted him. Up close she looked tired "Youre not funny," she said. "Youre desperate. trying too hard and all"
"And you are? a guest?"
"Im Sera. My father hasnt paid the ransom in two years. Hostages with expired value dont stay guests long."
"What do you want?"
"Nothing from you. Just telling you what I see." She stepped past him. and said over her shoulder "Try less."
He stood in the corridor for a while after she left.
Day six. New duty: jester for the morning training sessions. Chris stood in the corner of the fighting yard, expected to mock the fighters for the officers amusement.
He was learning the rhythm of this place laugh on command, eat when allowed, sleep when the guards werent looking. ' it's not that hard'
Voss was there, drilling Iron Face techniques. When he flexed, his skin turned metallic gray along the forearms and jaw. Gunmetal. Chris had seen it up close ,much more up close than he'd wanted.
"Very shiny," Chris muttered. "Do you buff?" A few fighters laughed.
Voss's eyes cut to him.
"Keep testing, jester. Iron doesn't bend."
Chris shut his mouth immediately.
Another exhibition match that afternoon. Chris faced a Whisper Depth fighter with a Razor Face . the man could sharpen anything he held.
He drew a wooden training sword and the edge gleamed steel-bright, throwing off light. A wooden sword that could cut. "Compensating for something?" Chris said.
The crowd laughed.
The fighter lunged. The blade cut air with a whine , a sound wooden swords should not make , Chris barely twisted clear. It shaved a strip off his sleeve. The fabric drifted.
The laughter was feeding him. But this man was fast and genuinely dangerous. Not like Durm , this is a trained Face user with a weapon that got sharper every second.
The Razor Face slashed again. Chris tripped over his own feet on purpose this time and the blade whistled over his head. He rolled, grabbed a bucket from ringside and shoved it onto his head.
"Safety first!"
The pit howled. The warmth surged. He charged blind, the bucket blocking the worst of it, he crashed into the fighters legs. They went down together.
Chris pinned the bucket on the fighters face and sat on his chest. "surrender , you can't win this"
The fighter admitted defeat after few resists.
The pit erupted. Chris got up and walked out.
For about ten minutes.
Voss caught him in the corridor. No one else around. No audience. The backhand came without warning .Iron Fist into stone beside Chris's head, close enough to chip his ear. The dent in the wall was fist shaped.
"That was for the buffing comment." Voss hit him in the stomach. He leaned close. "The next time you mock me, I wont stop at two." Chris, bleeding from the mouth, whispered, "You hit like my grandmo-." Voss hit him again. Then walked away.
Chris stayed on the floor for a while. His vision was doing something creative with the torchlight.
He counted his ribs by touch and found one moving .
That was stupid. That was so stupid.
Pre dawn. Chris woke up and couldnt move. The beating was worse than hed let himself register , cracked rib, split lip, kidney that screamed whenever he breathed.
He lay on his mat and stared at the ceiling and tried to figure out which part of his body hurt the most. It was a tough competition.
Harsk found him. The old man raised his hand and the torchlight at the far end of the corridor dimmed.
shadows given permission to grow. The darkness eased something in Chris's body.
"Audience Dependency," Harsk said. "Your power only works when people are watching. Alone, youre mortal." He sat beside Chriss mat. "Always have an audience." Chris spat blood onto the stone floor.
He helped Chris sit up, which was worse than lying down in every possible way.
Morning. Chris limped through the noble wing because the slave corridor was being used to move supplies and the guards didnt care where he walked so long as he wasnt dead.
Sera found him there. She looked at his face. the split lip, the way he held his ribs and she didn't offer pity. "you look like shit."
"i know"
"Voss kills a slave every month to keep the rest scared. You made it to his list , congratulations."
Chris leaned against the wall. "Why are you telling me this?" "Because youre the only person in this fortress who doesnt treat me like glass who's about to shattered" she gave him a small smile. "I like that."
She walked away. Chris watched her go.
'hell, like i know her'
at the evening . on the great hall again. Chris walked out with bruised ribs and a split lip still visible. The court looked at him. He looked back.
"Id like to thank Commander Voss for the makeover. Ive never looked more fashion forward."
The court erupted. mostly nervous laughter.
But it was loud and the warmth flooded Chris stronger than ever. Strong enough that his ribs stopped aching mid show. Strong enough that he could breathe without wincing.
Voss's face was stoic.
His hands were flat on the table and not moving.
On the high seat, Maren leaned forward. For the first time since Chris had been shoved into this hall, the warlord looked interested.
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A/N: I hope you enjoy this novel. Support by adding to your library and giving a power stone or two. Thank you.