The Arenas of Sunnaim

Sweat burns my eyes and trickles down my face in streams. My muscles ache as metal strikes metal, the yard ringing with the sounds of the blows. I hear nothing beyond that and the ringing in my ears.

Lunge. Pivot. Strike with the pommel, block with the blade. They never expect the hit with my anelace, always keeping their eyes on my falchion. Siranni is someone that I’ve faced before though, our skirmishes marking the stone encompassing us. He is prepared.

Retreating, he reassumes his stance, the hilt of his longsword held in both hands. Several deep breaths punch out of me as our eyes lock, both refusing to make a move. He is more patient than I am. We both know it. Moments pass with us circling each other. My leather gloves creak as my fingers tighten on the hilt. Left foot, followed by right, advancing quickly. I feign right, shifting my weight—

“Nelly!”

My right foot skids along the dirt, the sound of leather smacking into leather dull over two bodies crashing into the ground. A small cloud kicks up around us as we tumble. When we come to a stop, we’re both panting as we lie there on the dirt floor of the bailey. A groan escapes my mouth, more out of exasperation and embarrassment than any kind of pain. Chuckles from the chest below me make my head jerk–at least until the pommel of my anelace jabs into his ribs.

“That’s a little uncalled for,” he grunts.

“Shut up, Siranni,” I mumble into his cuirass.

Leather covered fingers roughly pat the back of my head, several reddish-brown strands escaping from my braids and leather cap before falling onto my sweat-soaked cheeks. “You can’t escape her at this point, you know. She’s coming down the steps now.”

Another groat rips from my throat and I bang my fist on his chest. A sputter slips from him as I push against his chest and rise to my feet. My glove covered hand grasps his and I wrench him to his feet, laughing at the shock that flashes through his brown eyes.

“I thought you were supposed to be packing,” Teya’s calm voice ghosts over my laughter, and I turn.

“I have,” I say, voice steady and eyes forward. She meets my gaze head-on, staring me down. “Okay, so I haven’t,” I cave.

She nods her head, her dark brown plait slipping forward off her shoulder. “That’s what I thought. Come on, let’s go,” she says, turning and tipping her head towards the stone stairway that leads up to one of the towers. The fabric of her dress brushes the ground as she walks away from me without even a glance back.

“Can I at least have a second to remove my weapons and leathers?” my voice rings out.

She halts, her steel blue eyes catching mine over her shoulder. Her eyes flicker down to the two empty scabbards hanging at my hips, the leather covering my body, finally landing on my sweat-soaked cap. I must be a sight to see. I have no idea how long Siranni and I have been out here, but from the shaking of my muscles, it must have been quite a while.

“Yes, alright,” her lips purse, but she concedes and heads to stand at the foot of the stairs.

My shoulders slump as I turn to face Siranni, who has already moved forward having overheard our conversation. His hands grip the hilts of the weapons I so carelessly dropped. Stupid mistake. His patience knowing no bounds, he waits until I unfasten the straps, belts, and buckles that make up my leather practice armor.

Once we trade, my leathers now piled in his arms and my weapons in their respective scabbards, he says, “I’ll wrap these up and place them in a box outside your barracks for you to take with you to Sunnaim.”

More sweat drips into my brow, my leather cap no longer blocking the flood. I place the final piece in his arms and move my hand to his shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze. With a nod of my head and a nod of his, I turn back to my sister. As always, she is standing patiently, hands folded in front of her blue dress. Unwavering, unmoving, and completely unbothered by the other men practicing in the yard, she watches me approach.

“Alright Teya, let’s go,” I say, stretching my arms above my head. Her face twists at the pops that emanate from my shoulders, but I ignore it and groan at the relief in my joints. “Oh, and don’t think I forgot about you calling me ‘Nelly.’ I told you, I’m too old for that now.”

Her gentle snickers bounce off the stones as we ascend. “Are you sure? It’s so cute!”

“That’s why I’m telling you not to call me that!” I groan. “Just call me Nell, I don’t need to be embarrassed in front of the other soldiers.”

Her snickers stop, replaced by a soft sigh. “Well, you won’t have to worry about that much longer. After all, you’re leaving for Sunnaim today.”

A silence falls over us, only broken by our footfalls. A guard, Ludan by the looks of it, opens the door to the Lord’s Tower when he catches sight of Teya. He nods to me as we pass, eyes filled with a spark of sadness and respect. I look away when I nod back. The door falls closed behind us, engulfing us in this seemingly unbreakable stillness. My nails cut into the skin of my palms. I can’t seem to force any words from the parchness of my throat, my tongue flicking out to wet my cracked lips. Teya stops before she slowly faces me. Her hands reach out for mine, gently coaxing them open.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” she murmurs to me.

Several strands of hair brush my face as I shake my head. “I know. It’s okay, you don’t have to say sorry.”

Her fingers squeeze mine, and she breathes in, wet and unsteady. “I’m just—I’m going to miss you.”

Me too, I think to myself, unable to give voice to these words. I simply grab her hand harder, then harder still, until I’m worried I’ll break her fingers. She never once complains.

“Right,” she says to break the spell, “let’s go pack your things.”

“You know I don’t have that much stuff, right?” I answer, falling back in step behind her as she leads the way through towards the Stockhouse tower, where my unit’s barracks lie. Though I may be Lord Valenmor’s daughter, I chose to be a soldier, a warrior, and that doesn’t excuse me from living like one.

“I’m aware, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have items to pack, am I right?”

A sigh escapes my lips. I find that more sighs escape me when talking with Teya than anyone else. “You know you are.”

She hums, to herself or in satisfaction, I am unsure. “You may need some more items than what you currently have. Sunnaim has a warmer climate than Vaelor.”

“I know, Teya. I’ve saved up some coin. I was planning on buying some shirts and breeches from merchants in Sunnaim when I got there. Cheaper than what I would be able to buy here, anyway.”

“Did you know that there are deserts across the lands of Sunnaim? You’ll have to write me letters about them. I’ve never seen one myself,” she continues, bowling right over me.

Another conversation with Teya, another sigh. Just a normal day. Her calm, strong voice echoes down the halls of stone as we walk. The sound of her voice and our feet lull me into a trance. I’m jerked out of it, though, when her words cut off mid sentence and she steps to the side of the hallway.

My face pinches before I glance over her head and catch a glimpse of pale, fair skin wrapped in deep emerald silk with golden thread embroidery, matching the golden curls cascading from her head. Just behind her follows one of her friends, a fellow lady-in-waiting. My brows furrow automatically. I shouldn’t be surprised that we ran into her. The Lord’s Tower is for people like Tyrelia, or Teya as I call her, a scribe-in-training, or the lord’s daughters, like the one before us.

Teya barely breathes as she walks stiffly forward, inclining her head. “Your Ladyship,” her voice sounded flat to my ears.

Her golden hair sways as she looks down her nose at Teya. A sharp breath escapes through her nose. Not very ladylike of her, but for the future Lady of Vaelor, she’s free to do what she wishes. No one gets a rise out of her like Teya, though. Around Teya, green truly is Iveniya’s color.

Even as knives and daggers are thrown from the green eyes before us, Teya simply ignores it and walks on. As we pass, I meet her eyes with acid metaphorically spewing from my own, but the fire is gone from Iveniya’s own. Now she looks at me as if she’s bored. She never did care much about me—at least, not in the way that hates Teya. The air coils around the three of us as we walk on our own respective paths, the humidity and animosity both equally stifling.

Her slippers slowly shuffled along the stones, until both she and her lady-in-waiting were out of sight. Still, no word was uttered until we could no longer hear her, passing other guards and a few scullions on their way to the Lord’s Tower. By the time we returned to my barrack, most of the tension had flowed out of Teya’s body, but mine still felt coiled and ready for anything. Part of the habit of being a soldier, I assume.

Teya halts right before the door, and slowly inhales, giving herself a moment. I’m not quite ready for that, so I nudge past her and wrench the door open.

“Nell, it’s okay—”

“Don’t, Teya, just don’t, okay? Let’s just…pack,” I say through the grinding of my teeth and jaw, looking at her over my shoulder.

She meets my amber brown eyes and clasps her hands together before finally nodding. She clears her throat, as if to clear the air itself, and says, “Where is your trunk? We should start putting in there what we can.”

My fists clench and unclench, anger circulating through my body like a poison. The things simply seeing Iveniya does to me.

“Let it go, Nell,” her voice cuts through the fog of fury that encases my entire being.

“I just hate her, Teya, I really—” “I know you do, but just let it go. She didn’t do anything this time,” Teya continues.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Nell, it’s fine. I promise, truly I do,” she interrupts me again, her voice softening with exasperation and exhaustion.

I swallow down my retort and simply move to sit on the edge of my cot. The palms of my hands rub against my closed eyes so hard that stars burst behind my eyelids. Deep breaths fill my lungs and push my chest out. Deep breaths, just like Teya taught me.

My breathing exercises are interrupted by gentle fingers loosening the leather hair wraps that hold my braids. Whenever I practice, I make sure that the upper half of my shoulder length hair is braided. Her fingers are soothing as they undo the sections, rubbing my scalp as they fall loose to my chin and neck, parts sticking to the still-cooling sweat. The soothing feeling helps the tension spill down my shoulders to my hands, fingers finally unclenching and laying open in my lap. My eyes flit down to them as I breathe in.

“Thank you,” I whisper, the silence swallowing my words instead of shattering.

Teya hums in response, giving me a moment to gather myself. Several minutes pass before she moves to rinse her hands in the water basin by the door. When she comes back, she moves to the trunk at the foot of my cot, the hinges groaning in protest as she lifts the lid. She stares at the mess of clothes that I know sits in there. I meet her gaze, before suddenly finding interest in the bedding of another soldier’s cot. I should’ve known that Teya would make sure I was packed, even if she had to pack everything herself. A deep sigh escapes from her before she grabs an armful of clothes and dumps them next to me, her hands darting forward to grab a tunic and begin folding. I stand and follow her lead, defeat coursing through me.

We work in silence, slowly making our way through to the bottom of my trunk and refilling it with neatly folded articles of clothing. It becomes a sort of rhythm, with the shuffling of garments playing the melody. Other soldiers have talked to me about my relationship with Teya. They’ve said that they can’t see why Teya and I get along so well, when most of the time everything is quiet. I told them her presence is just comforting, and that we don’t always have to talk. Sometimes we are just happy to get to spend time together. It’s not often that a soldier-in-training and a scribe-in-training get time to just be together. They had just laughed, saying that Teya never seemed comforting to them. That she always seemed stiff, preferring to be alone or surrounded by the smell of paper and ink over food, laughter, and friends. Even though other people may not understand it, it doesn’t matter to me. Teya may only be my half sister, but she means more to me than anyone else in the world, and no one gets to talk on that or make that decision except for me.

Teya huffs out a laugh, splitting the quiet of the barracks. I glance at her, my brows furrowing and my head tilting. Warmth spills from her eyes as they meet mine once more and a small smile lights up her face. I grin back at her as a laugh erupts from my chest. A knock and the creaking of the door interrupt our moment. Siranni and Aevan stomp in, a small wooden box held in the former’s arms. Gone is his leather cap, and his ashy brown hair is now tied back with a leather strap. “There’s our girl! Exciting day, huh?” Aevan booms out, voice bouncing off the stone walls of the barracks. Broad strides carry him across the room until he hooks his saddle-brown arm around my shoulder. His huge paw of a hand follows to ruffle my hair and he flashes me a giant grin. I yell in protest, but the smile on my face does little to convince him to stop.

A thunk followed by the sound of flesh slapping flesh reverberates around the room. “Give her a break, Aevan. It’s a big day for her. She doesn’t need to deal with you on top of it,” Siranni scolds him.

“I was just giving her a friendly goodbye,” Aevan pouts, but nonetheless releases me to rub the bump likely growing beneath his tight curly black hair.

“I’ve got your leathers here in this box for you. Make sure to take it with you when you leave,” Siranni instructs as he takes Aevan’s place, laying his tanned hand on my shoulder and squeezing. Eyes as warm as a fire meet mine. My arms wrap around his torso and I hide my head in his shoulder to get away from his gaze. Tremors run through my body, but are hidden when he returns my embrace. Even though today is meant to be exciting, leaving my friends and family is the hardest part. I have yet to be strong enough to face it head-on, but of course Siranni knows that.

I can’t tell how long we stand there before I release him and turn to Aevan to do the same. The tightness in my chest and throat doesn’t seem to want to go away. As I pull back and hold the tears in with sheer tenacity, I nod to both of them. “Thank you, both. It’s been an honor.”

“Aw, come now Nell, don’t get soft on us,” Aevan jokes, but I can see melancholy hidden in the depths of his black-brown eyes.

“Just promise us you’ll write occasionally,” Siranni says, as serious as he always is.

Wet laughter spills from my mouth. The tears are getting harder to hold back. “I don’t think I could get away without doing that. I’m sure you’d travel down to Sunnaim just to yell at me.”

Siranni chuckles while Aevan wholeheartedly agrees that he would. With one final group hug and another ruffle from Aevan, they head towards the door, throwing me grim smiles before it shuts behind them. They leave me with Teya, a wooden box full of my practice leathers, and a bittersweet feeling swallowing my heart.

I blink at the door and gather myself before I return to Teya, just to see her already staring at me. She sits perched on the closed lid of my trunk with her hands clutching each other. Her head tilts down until she is looking at the stone floor, her gulp loud enough for me to hear.

“Well, with your trunk packed and the box with your leathers, I guess it’s time for you to leave,” she murmurs and breathes in deeply, knuckles turning white. As I look closer, I can see her shoulders trembling.

“Oh, Teya,” I say before rushing forward. My knees hit the stone floor, but bruises are the least of my concerns. My fingers grip hers as I try to get her to meet my gaze, but her deep blue eyes stubbornly shift to our intertwined hands. The tears that I held at bay in front of my fellow soldiers, my friends, now spill from my eyes and cascade down my cheeks. I lunge forward and wrap my arms around her waist, burying my head in her stomach. Sobs fall uncontrollably from my mouth. I can no longer swallow them down, and truthfully, I no longer care. Right now, it’s just me and Teya.

Her hands run down my back in comforting patterns. I feel her bending over to rest her head on my shoulder, and I adjust to pull her closer to me. Wetness begins to soak through the cotton covering my shoulder. The sounds of our tears and sobs make a cacophony of heartache that coats the room. My teeth dig into my bottom lip until I swear I’m bleeding, just to get a handle on my weeping. Eventually it tapers out, but Teya’s hands never cease rubbing my back. Finally, I lift my head from its hiding space and pull back to look at her. Her eyes are red-rimmed, the blue of her irises glossy with unshed tears.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” I breathe out, my nose stuffy making me sound nasally. I was never a pretty crier.

“I know,” Teya says, a smile cracking through the tear tracks running down her face. She sniffs and wipes her eyes before gripping my hands. “Do you promise you’ll write to me when you can?”

“Of course I will. I’ll even send you books from Sunnaim when I can get my hands on them,” I reply as I get my feet back under me.

This time, a truly heartfelt smile lights up her face. “I would love that. Now,” she says as she claps her hands and rises from her perch, “let’s get your belongings onto the horses and let the groom know that you’re ready to start your journey to Sunnaim.”

My head automatically nods and I shoot her a small grin. Bending down, I grunt as I lift the trunk and make for the door when I hear another grunt behind me. I turn to see Teya struggling to hold my box of practice leathers. A laugh bursts out of me unbidden, too sudden for me to catch it.

“Teya, I can come back and get that. There’s no need to—”

“No, no, I can do it,” she groans, finally succeeding in getting a proper handle of the box. I watch her arms quiver as she walks ahead of me, chin jutted out as she moves as quickly as she can towards the door. My laughter fills the room and then the hallway as we make our way out of the Stockhouse tower. The guard of this door, Bredon, opens the door, allowing us to walk out into the outer wards.

My laughter dies on my lips as I glance around at my home. It hits me then that this is truly happening. My legs seem to have a mind of their own as my steps slow before coming to a complete stop. I take in the sounds of Vaelor one last time: the stablemaster talking with the grooms as they prepare horses for travel, the kitchen staff bringing in foods bought from the merchants and traders that visited the castle, the snorting of horses. The smell of food wafts out from the great hall to the left, barely covering the stench of the stables to our right. Soon, these sounds and smells will be behind me, as I make my way to the Arenas of Sunnaim, where I’ll train to become a contender. Fighting has always been my interest, and then sprouted into my dream. Unfortunately, Vaelor is far from the sea and difficult to get to. In comparison, Sunnaim is a bustling trade city, full of travelers, traders, and people starving for entertainment. The arenas were created to fill need, and it has birthed many famous contenders and gladiators. Stories carried on the lips of strangers filled my ears since I was a child. Now, I finally have the chance to take my first step towards these dreams.

“Nell?” a soft voice breaks through my thoughts.

I blink rapidly, taking in my surroundings once more. The groom and Teya are looking at me, one of the horses saddled while the other one has my trunk and box of leathers strapped to its sides. Her wide eyes are filled with worry, but a reassuring grin takes a hold of my face. My arms reach out and I give Teya one final squeeze before I turn towards the boy holding my horse. Gripping the reins he hands me, I hook my boot into the stirrup and swing my leg over to fully sit in the saddle. I check and make sure the other horse is attached by a rope. As I raise my head, the gatehouse passage leading out of Vaelor catches my eye and I know I’m ready. With one last glance at Teya, the heels of my boots kick into the side of the horse. It lurches forward, one step in front of the other, towards Sunnaim.