Chapter Five
Etta entered the dining hall, only one of the two long tables cluttered at the end. All the Draytons, lanistae, and three fighters sat, all looking at her. Jason had managed to get another fighter after his died in the last munera, unlike her, who'd been stuck in isolation instead.
It was Margaux who had spoken.
She refrained from sticking her hands in her pockets, as she usually got told off for that kind of thing. Instead she made her way towards the table. She shrugged off her bow and quiver, pulled out a chair, and plonked herself down on it. The only spare seat was next to Drax, and Etta felt uncomfortable. Like her whole left side was on alert.
A servant came up to her and asked her what she wanted for breakfast, but she waved him away.
'Eat,' said Drax, staring across the table, not giving her the pleasure of his eye contact. She curled her left fist and told herself not to punch him in the throat.
She asked for some toast and honey,
'Good girl.' He lifted his hand and brought it down on her back, exactly where her lines were. He knew. To the others it would've looked like a friendly pat, but Drax knew it sent pain through her body. She winced.
Margaux was in deep conversation with Ruth and Daryl. Well, just Daryl while Ruth picked at her food. She didn't acknowledge Etta as she sat down, or her sharp intake of breath as Drax stroked her back.
'Get off me,' she said, her tone low and barely audible over the clatter of knives and forks.
Drax's hand stopped, his thumb over a sharp line. He pressed and she arched forwards.
He was looking at her that time, his dark, almost black eyes, boring into her own grey ones. She held the side of the table in front of her, her nails digging into it.
Drax leaned in. 'You will not tell me how to act.' He pressed his thumb down even harder.
Her breathing quickened, sick churning in her stomach, and she turned her head. Drax let a cruel smile creep across his face and Etta thought about her nails in the wood, and not the burning sensation in her back. Her nails bent but she kept them glued to the table.
'What do you think, Drax?' Margaux interrupted.
Drax's hand dropped. 'Hm?'
'About Ruth gaining her freedom if she wins her next two munera'
Etta's head snapped up. What? That was what they got told when they joined, but it had never actually happened. When she was on her eighteenth, she never got offered that, it was never discussed around a breakfast table.
'Oh,' replied Drax, taking a sip from his chalice. 'Well, of course. Those are the rules.'
Etta kept quiet, anger building inside her. They were never going to let her go, surely. Ruth knew far too much, she'd accomplished so much. Though did she know as much as Etta? Probably not. They'd always withheld her freedom for unknown reasons. They couldn't just let Ruth go, could they? Her following didn't seem as strong as Etta's own, although she must've been liked. There were always cheers for her. But if they kept her on, who would she replace? There'd never been five lanistae in the history of the establishment. It wouldn't happen, it couldn't happen.
It looked as though Ruth knew that too, her gaze holding somewhere over Etta's right shoulder. Tuning out.
Everyone appeared to be ignoring her throughout the entire conversation. She scraped the top wood from the table with her thumb nail.
She took a long time to butter her toast, covering every inch of it, before squeezing the sweet honey all over. It dripped off the sides of the toast and she half-smiled to herself.
'Etta.'
Her head shot up again, and Margaux was staring at her. In fact, they were all staring at her. 'You're in a bit of a mess aren't you?' Margaux peered over her spectacles, scrutinising Etta's face. Her eyes had darkened, much like her brother's. It was any easy way of telling when she was angry. 'You have no fighter.'
Etta didn't reply.
'Why is that?'
She chewed her answer before replying, 'Because Ruth killed him.' She pushed the plate away from herself, despite not touching any of the slathered toast.
Ruth's eyes swivelled, very slowly, towards her own. They connected. Etta sucked her cheeks in a very sour expression. Ruth's hatred rolled across the table top. Seething. Clutching at every part of her. She imagined that Ruth must've thought about killing her. She just knew. From the way she looked, the way she never said a word. There was far more going on Ruth's head than she could bare to think about.
'Then why have you not chosen another?'
Why was she asking that? Margaux knew. Everyone must've known, but she definitely did. She'd authorised the punishment. She knew Etta didn't have time to pick and train anyone else.
'I was not given enough time.' She could feel Drax's eyes burning into her left ear and cheek.
Margaux tilted her head, her perfectly drawn eyebrows rising high on her forehead. Her lip curled.
'Make time,' she said, each letter jutting from her teeth like soldiers.
A shiver flitted down Etta's spine, her skin prickling.
'I have picked someone but they won't be ready for this munera.' She kept her face straight, not allowing any emotions influence her features.
Margaux drummed her fingers on the table. 'Then what do you suggest we do?'
She wasn't going to give Matilda's name up to them. No way. She wasn't even going to give away her gender.
The Drayton was angry, she could tell. She did a quick sweep of the rest of them, and saw that she wasn't the only one.
Margaux smiled, sweetly, her lips pulling over her teeth.
'You will go to the courtyard. You will find your fighter. You will bring them here. They will fight in two days time. Do you understand?' Margaux's steady voice punctured the silence, her jaw clenched, lips hardly moving. When Etta didn't respond she slammed her fist down on the table, the cups and plates clattering. 'Do you?'
'Yes.'
She shuffled in her seat. She didn't know what to do. They'd been over it and over it, it was her last chance. She had to start winning. She was only allowed to choose one more competitor or she was in the ring herself. It'd been said so many times. She had to win. Ruth had to lose. Two more wins and she'd be Etta's replacement.
Etta wanted Matilda. If she chose someone else and that person lost, she'd be screwed. She knew Matilda was good with a bow, didn't she? What if she was just saying that? She could be terrible. Her whole story could've been made up.
But what choice did she have? She hadn't observed the slaves in so long, she had no idea who was best.
Matilda was the only option.
She left the room, wanting to stamp her feet more than anything. The stone floor and her bare feet stopped her from being able to make any impressive banging though. Anger pulsed to the ends of her fingers and toes. She wanted to slam the sole of her foot into the wall, over and over again, pretending it was Drax's face.
She walked up to the courtyard, half hoping that Matilda was still in isolation. She felt like that way, she might be able to get out of making a conscious decision. But then she saw her, attacking a upright log with a sword.
Etta stopped, her hand on the bars, just to watch.
Everything about the way Matilda moved was beautiful. The way the sword sat in her palm, the way she curled it, the way it split into the log.
Beautiful. Even if she had been lying about the tavern, the girl was good with a sword.
'Matilda!' she shouted from across the yard. She wasn't going in there again so she'd wait for Matilda to come out. She gave the guard a nod, and he waited to open the door.
Matilda slammed the sword into the log, so it stuck out and balanced there. She turned her head, her blonde hair collected in a plait at the back of her head. Etta used the same straight expression she had in the hall. The whole yard was silent as Matilda crossed it.
The boy from the bars walked with her, but held back a few paces when she reached Etta. He was wide-eyed and angry, and Etta was very glad for the bars between the two of them. Her hand enclosed around the handle of her sword, anyway.
'Etta, isn't it?' Matilda beamed as she reached her.
Guilt twisted in the pit of Etta's stomach. She was sending her to her death.
Tell her to run, tell her to save herself. Anything.
The consequences were too big. If she released a slave, especially a prisoner, she would no doubt be executed. It was all money to them. Although they were allowed to carry weaponry incase trainees turned on them, if they ever had to kill a slave, they would most likely be punished for it. Not the same as if they'd done it off their own back, which would result in death, but at least enough to remind them who was in charge. Who had the money. Who could pick and choose who lived and who died.
Etta turned away from her and marched back towards the hall. Matilda followed, puzzled. She didn't ask any questions, just followed Etta. It wasn't until she saw the board sat there, all four of them, that her face changed to fear. She looked at Etta and back towards the Draytons.
Etta grabbed her hand before she could run.
'What's happening?' she asked Etta.
The lanista didn't reply, looked across at the Draytons, and said, 'This is my fighter.'
Margaux beamed, clapping her hands together in a joyful manner. 'Fabulous. I was worried you'd pick some scrawny boy. You always seem to have those.'
Etta chewed her words, wanting to tell Margaux that the reason was because the Draytons had been picking her fighters. But she didn't, her mouth forming a hard line.
Matilda had turned pale, so much that Etta thought she could see all the way through her. Perhaps she could. Matilda's thoughts and feelings were portrayed to her as if they were written on her skin. Hatred and fear. Etta could feel Matilda's pulse quicken in the tips of her fingers.
Etta didn't look at her, knowing from the corner of her eye that Matilda shook. That her lip trembled as she looked ahead of her. Neither of them said anything.
Etta dropped her hand.
'Excellent,' said Drax, clapping his hands together once and laughing. 'What is your name, child?'
That word sent an uncomfortable spike through Etta's body. Sending her to her death yet still calling her a child. It was sick and wrong, and just then Etta felt like she could turn over the wooden table and enclose her fingers around Drax's neck.
'Marion, sir.' Matilda lifted her head, so her nose and chin were pointed upwards a bit. She must've wanted to seem in control. Etta's brow crinkled. That had to be a lie. But why? Why lie to a Drayton?
Drax halted. He looked the girl up and down, before crossing a look to Margaux, and back to her again. Etta couldn't make out his face, exactly, but whatever had stopped him seemed to slip his mind soon after.
'Ah, very well, Marion.' He stumbled over her new name. 'You will perform the task with the others here.' He opened his arms up to the fighters, and Etta's eyes fell upon the small boy. He was young, no older than ten. His eyes were glazed and his body shook. He couldn't have looked more terrified if he'd tried. Small. So small. Matilda saw him too, and her whole face fell.
'Leave us.' Drax was addressing the lanistae and fighters, and they filed out one by one. Daryl smirked at Etta but she ignored him, her eyes not leaving the back of Matilda's head. The Draytons had already started discussing the fight, their voices soft and casual.
The small boy was last to go and Etta noticed a wet patch on the front of his shorts. He'd tried to cover it up with his hands but she'd seen.
Etta didn't leave. When the door closed behind them, she felt a fresh wave of courage. 'I cannot allow this.'
Drax and Margaux stopped talking.
'I beg your pardon?' said Drax, his voice low and cold.
Etta glanced at Matilda. 'Wait outside.'
A rumble of anger burst from Drax's throat. 'Stay.' He stood, his fists balling. He pressed his knuckles against the cool wooden table. 'Continue with what you were saying.' His face was blank. Calm.
Etta swallowed. 'She hasn't had the same training as the others.' Her voice wobbled in her throat. She stopped herself from shaking it off, her brain realigning. 'To pitch her in a fight against any of them is unfair.'
Drax chuckled, a cold harsh laugh which went right through to her bones.
'You believe I am unfair?'
She needed to get her words straight. Any mistakes now would have colossal consequences. It was enough to risk herself but not Matilda too. She didn't say anything.
'Tell me, Etta, why you think you have any right to comment on the way I run my business?' He smiled. 'What is this, anyway? A conscience?'
Her jaw tightened, back teeth pressing together.
'You've never had a conscience before. You usually just send them to their deaths, no questions asked.' He crossed his arms over his chest, his brow crinkling with mock confusion. 'Why the sudden change of heart? That last lad couldn't have been older than twelve. Yet you had no problem pitting him against Ruth.'
He stepped closer, his eyes beaming with joy.
'And you have to win this one. This is your last chance.'
She didn't move from her frozen spot by the door. Anger pulsed through her body, reaching to her fingertips and toes. She wanted to take his face and slam it into her knee. Pull his hair from his head. Stab him in the chest with her sword over and over again until she could watch his heart stop beating.
He glanced across at Matilda, who was huddled by the wall, watching the both of them. Her lips apart. Her eyes glazed with tears.
'Though I suspect.' He gave Matilda a cold smile. 'That this one won't enjoy killing children as much as you do.'
Etta spat at him. Her glob of spit landed on the floor, just in front of his shoes.
His hand flew to her neck, pinching at the nape, twisting a few strands of hair in his fingers as he did so. Her body went rigid at his touch.
He slammed her head into the table, squishing it in between his palm and the solid wood.
It felt like her head was breaking under his weight. He was pushing on her temple and in a minute he was going to crack her skull.
His hand pressed against the lines on her back.
'Obviously, two days in isolation was not good enough for you.' He breathed, his words feeling disgusting and wet in her ear. His mouth was inches away from it, his elbow dug into her wounds. 'Maybe we should skip your new friend and put you in the ring instead.' His fist got tighter and any moment, her hair would be ripped from her skull.
'We can't,' Margaux drawled, looking bored and uninterested. She didn't even seem affected by Etta's face, which had turned bright red. 'She has a fighter. That fighter must fight.'
Etta felt like her lungs were about to implode. Someone else had their hands around her throat, someone else was pumping her heart. Adrenaline pumped through her veins but she couldn't do anything except panic.
'She.' He brought her back up an inch or two before smacking her head down on the table again. Her vision blurred. 'Will show me nothing but respect'
'She'll never do anything again if you keep suffocating her like that.' Margaux checked her fingernails. 'And then you'll owe me a shed load of cash. She's worth a lot, that one.'
Etta kicked. She hated being referred to as a thing, even if it was in respect to saving her life. She thought about bringing her leg up to Drax's calf and hooking him around, but she knew she couldn't. She was powerless against him.
Drax let go and Etta shot up, taking a couple of stumbling backwards steps before breaking free for the door.
'If she survives this fight,' began Drax, stopping Etta from rushing fully from the room, 'she will be punished for your rudeness.'
Etta shook her head. 'No. No you can't do that.'
'One more word and I will do it right now.'
She stayed silent.
'Good. Now take your student and get out of my sight.' Etta grabbed hold of Matilda's wrist and pulled her from the room, scooping up her bow and quiver as she went. As soon as they were out of there, however, Matilda's wrists were dropped, and Etta concentrated on calming herself down. She needed to stop but her mind was racing.
The hand on her throat loosened.
It was subsiding.
The pain in her head wasn't though. She didn't want to have to prepare Matilda, she just wanted to curl up under the covers and forget everyone existed.
Two days. It wasn't enough. Matilda hadn't even had basic training. She wasn't willing to fight.
Etta entered her room, pulling off her bow and quiver and dropping them on the ground. Matilda followed her in, stopping at the doorway.
'My god.' Her eyes widened as she took in just how big Etta's room was. It must've been because the slaves' quarters were so small. Matilda had been sleeping top to tail with someone on a bunk. Then there was Etta, with her kingsized bed covered with furs and cotton sheets. It couldn't have looked good. 'You get all this?'
Etta pulled her hair out from its deformed ponytail, wincing at the squidgy parts of her head where the hair had almost come out. She saw herself in the mirror, pale and sickly looking, her hair all over the place. Her eyes were still glazed with tears. She didn't answer.
'So if I win twenty times, this is what I get?'
Etta didn't answer that either. The truth was she had no idea what would happen to Matilda if she won that much. She doubted they'd let her go, and they'd have to replace someone if Matilda became a trainer. Maybe she'd replace Daryl. That was too good to even wish.
'Answer me!' Matilda stamped her foot, which caused Etta's head to snap to the side. The teenagers glared at each other, Etta's face expressing more of a glower than anything.
'Stop asking stupid questions and I'll answer you.' Etta filled the sink again, ready to plunge her face into icy water. 'And don't raise your voice to me. We'll both be in the shit if they hear you.'
Matilda closed the door. 'Please don't make me do this.'
Etta looked down at the water and saw her reflection, rippled and distorted. She couldn't do anything, Matilda must've known that. She'd just had her head pressed into a table because of it. Surely Matilda had paid attention to that.
She looked over to the girl by the doorway.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I can't help you.'