Thorns of Fate Read online

  Thorns of Fate

  ◆◆◆

  Hayley Todd

  To a dear friend who never lived to see the day. You were never less than supportive on any given day. You’d heard my story ramblings since high school. The anniversary of your death drove me to write once more and for once, the words flowed.

  William A. Butler

  February 3 1993 – July 28 2016

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Epilogue

  Divine Destiny: Sneak Peak

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Prologue

  I didn’t lose many fights, but boy, did I lose my first.

  The Mediterranean heat choked me as I shuffled through the dust of the arena. It was a humid, consuming weight in the air, making each breath a challenge. Facing me was a lean woman who was as under-dressed as myself. She hefted a sword the length of her arm, moonlight twinkling over its blade. Its sharp edge was already coated in thick crimson blood.

  I could stand, though my legs struggled to hold my weight. I sported a dozen shallow wounds across my body where her blade had cut through my skin like tissue paper. It was my blood that garnished her sword. She was breathing hard with a thin red line across one cheek but was otherwise unharmed.

  She let her sword droop, its tip digging into the earth at her feet. She stalked closer, the weapon leaving welts across the ground in its wake. My wounds knit closed, slower than I would have liked.

  The crowd in the stands erupted in irate cries, impatient for the fight to come to an end. “Kill her! Kill her!” they screamed, wanting more blood spilled.

  The woman glanced up at them, then narrowed her violet gaze back on me. My weapon had been discarded, tossed away after a flurry of blows I’d been unable to block. It rested on the ground, out of reach.

  My opponent glared at it, sneered, and whipped her hand to the side. Her sword soared across the arena and slammed to its hilt in the outer wall. There was a cry of dismay that rippled through the crowd.

  She slammed her foot forward, her lower leg crashing into my torso and sending me reeling back. The onlookers roared, pushing my opponent to a swift finishing blow. I forced myself to my feet, waiting for the next shot to come.

  She raised her fist, lunging forward.

  I swung to the side, her blow missing me altogether. I leaped at her exposed back, but she batted me away as though I were but an insect.

  My body screamed in agony as I collided with the ground again, immediately forcing my way back to my feet. She strolled closer again, taking her time, drawing out the end, and watching me.

  The spectators knew what was coming and they were eager for it. The night roared with the volume of their cheers. The air was taught, a vibration of excitement making it thick.

  She neared again, coming within reach when I flung myself at her. I barraged her with my fists but she shrugged them off, in much better physical condition than myself.

  I saw the final blow coming, looming over me like the axe of an executioner. Her arm lifted high in the air above but I had nowhere to go. I flailed desperately, trying to gather power into my limbs when her fist came down. It crashed into my chin and sent my world skittering into darkness.

  I leaned against a damp wall, surrounded by prisoners who shied away from me. They may not have known what I was but they didn’t want to find out either and left a wide gap between us in the cell. They didn't know exactly why, but they knew there was something about me that wasn’t normal.

  I’d been dragged away and left here after my defeat. My opponent earned her misplaced freedom after our bout while I laid in my own blood in captivity. The emperor had plans for me, which I was certain were his mistress's ideas. Cassandra was an enigma, hating me with a passion that I didn't think I deserved.

  She was a witch, with power unknown and devastating spells. We had crossed paths more times than I should’ve survived, but here I was still, much to her displeasure.

  My arrest had come quickly, on the coattails of a surging rebellion. I was certain that it had all been a cover, orchestrated to leave me as the villain, though I didn’t lead the fight.

  My involvement had been brief in the overall course of the warring between classes. I had joined their cause, always a bleeding heart for the poor, underprivileged, and abused. They had been desperate for food and planned an attack on a local grain silo. I had aided them, breaking in when their soldiers were unable to.

  Unfortunately, Cassandra possessed the ability of foresight and had advised the emperor of our plans. The emperor had barely hesitated. He sent legions of better fed and trained soldiers to apprehend us. They had laid in wait within the silo. Once the doors had been blown, they had met us with full force, and arrested us all. Some were thrown into jail cells, others were executed, and some were sold into slavery. The rest of us were sent to the Flavian Amphitheater to be used as entertainment until our inevitable deaths.

  I, of course, was part of the latter group. I was not human and what I was turned out to be of great interest to the emperor. He was highly entertained by watching my kind fight to the death. It tended to be a long, arduous process, making for great excitement for his audience.

  I didn't handle captivity well. I stayed cramped, huddled in the farthest corner of my cell. If I'd been healthy, I could've overcome these prisoners with ease. As it was, I was terrified that in their fear, they would band together and I would stand no chance. I was weak, exhausted, and malnourished. The emperor liked it that way so I would stand no chance of escape.

  At some point, I had fallen asleep despite the constant noise in the bowels of the Coliseum and the stench of bodily fluids that permeated the room. It seemed though that my peace would be short lived as I was awoken by the thunderous clanking of the cell door.

  I peered to the side through hooded eyes, keeping my consciousness hidden until I was certain it would no longer be useful. I slowed my startled breathing, maintaining the illusion of slumber. It was dark in the cell with inadequate lighting, so they wouldn't see that my eyes were somewhat open.

  Three men entered the room, followed by six guards that halted outside, lining the hall. That level of security could only mean one thing; it was time to throw me into the arena once more.

/>   My heart pounded in my chest. I was relieved that there would be none of my kind here. They would probably have heard its frantic thundering.

  There was no easy escape from the cell, which I well knew by now. Some of my company had tried in the year that I'd been there. Especially a woman who was labeled as a witch and had been locked in as well. She had been terrified of me, crawling to the very edge of the room and watching me at all times. I didn't think she'd ever slept. She sat hunched in her spot, casting symbols of protection and warding into the air.

  She hadn’t lasted long, her body withering to a shell of its former self within days. I was barely fed but the emperor cared enough for the entertainment I provided to make sure I got something. That woman held almost the same pariah status as myself and most of the prisoners devoured her share of food and water before she ever got a chance.

  I was fairly certain that she hadn’t been a witch. Perhaps she was a shaman or priestess--something incredibly superstitious, but not a witch. If she had been, I was confident that her vehemence towards me would have concluded with me cursed or injured; perhaps both. They had called her to the arena floor long ago, and she had never returned. Whether that marked her death or her freedom, I had never ascertained.

  Two of the men who entered forced back the inmates on the opposing side of the crowded room, hefting heavy shields and spears. They didn’t have to try so hard. The others cowered against the walls before the guards ever approached them.

  The third man approached me, his hair dark in the dim light. He leaned forward, unaffected by the terror my presence inspired in others. He shook my shoulder which I ignored. I tried to keep myself limp, as I would be in sleep.

  “Achillia,” he whispered, not loud enough for a human to hear over the roar of noise eclipsing us. Did he know what I was? It wasn’t common knowledge. The only individuals that I knew to be aware of my species were the emperor, Cassandra, and their most trusted guards.

  He shook me again when I didn’t respond. “Achillia, it is time,” he said. His voice was kind and his touch was gentle.

  I blinked hard, feigning exhaustion that I had already shed, peering up at him. He smiled and the expression made my heart skip a beat. He seemed familiar, like a face I had known many lifetimes ago. He had dark hair and green eyes like the first growth of spring, a color that sang with comfort and joy. He sported a sharp jaw lined with stubble that accentuated his rugged features. He was attractive to say the least.

  He held a hand out, allowed me to place my palm tenderly in it, and hoisted me to my feet. The other prisoners skittered farther back, lurching away from me as I advanced toward the door. The dark haired man held himself between us like a shield but he ignored them. He kept a hand locked on my shoulder as we walked.

  For one idiotic second, I considered trying to run. The endless stretch of the stone hall sprawled out in front of me. But then I glanced from side to side. Three men stood, equipped with armor and spears, on either side of us. They shifted and were joined by the two men in the cell as the door clanged shut. A chorus of voices erupted from the prison, barely reaching me as we departed. I heard my name repeated in conversation but pointedly ignored them.

  We walked for several minutes, not a single soul speaking. It made for eerie company, one woman flanked on all sides by more than a half dozen stoic men. Truly, they had underestimated me. In peak physical condition, I could have dispatched them all with ease. Malnourished as I was, however, I was certain it wouldn’t take long for them to lock me down, and then I was done for.

  The man tightened his grip on my shoulder and stopped before a large set of wooden double doors. The men on either side pushed the doors open, letting him drag me within and swing them shut behind us. He left me standing there and rifled through dozens of fixtures of weaponry and armor. He was contemplative as he removed some things and returned others.

  “Disrobe,” he commanded, not turning to me.

  I sighed and pushed the itchy fabric from my shoulders. The poor excuse for a dress fell into a heap of material on the floor.

  He approached the center of the room with a long strip of leather over his arm, a sheathed sword in his hand, and a shield over his forearm. He dropped everything on the table and opened a drawer. He lifted out a belted skirt lined with metal plating and turned to me.

  His eyes flickered over my figure in a way that had my cheeks burning but he didn’t look away. His gaze was appraising, though whether out of intrigue or necessity, I wasn’t sure. He looked between the item in his hand and me, then stepped forward. He pulled the belt-like armor around my waist and his touch was electrifying.

  The belt snapped around my hips. It sported a thick piece of leather down my center on every side. It was much more ornate than what I had worn when fighting before, but it covered me. I had always been forced to fight topless before, as was fairly common for gladiatrices. I felt better now, wearing at least some semblance of armor.

  He reached to the counter, drawing the sword forth. “This is a gladius,” he said. “It has a short reach and with your stature, your opponent will most likely have better range than you. Use it carefully.” He dipped forward, slipping the blade back into the sheath.

  “Who are you?” I asked him.

  He speared me with a sharp gaze but didn't reply. He went for the leather strap next. He yanked my wrist forcing my arm straight and wrapped the leather around my forearm. “This is a manica, it is meant to protect you from light blows. Don’t expect it to defend against a sword’s blade, however.” He peered up at me with those crystalline green eyes, his gaze assessing.

  “Who are you?” I repeated, tilting my half-naked body towards him. I was much more intrigued by this familiarity I felt from him, than my upcoming battle. He flinched away, sending shock and hurt through my chest. I knew that I was attractive. I'd used my looks to achieve my goals my entire life. Was it not my type he was interested in?

  He glared, going for the shield next. “My name is Marcellus,” he grunted, pulling the shield’s strap loose and drawing it over my naked chest. He settled the strap between my breasts--though his skin never touched mine, to my dismay--and stepped back, looking me over.

  “Please to meet you, Marcellus,” I replied.

  He paused and for a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to respond, but then he echoed, “Pleased to meet you, Achillia. Are you ready?”

  I looked him over, gazing up into his forest green eyes. “As ready as I will be,” I replied, allowing Marcellus to lead me down a dozen identical halls, to what very well may be the beginning of the end of my life.

  Chapter One

  Will was fast, but I was faster.

  He launched at me, fists sailing through the air. I was quick to leap aside, dodging every blow. I had anticipated another flurry of attacks. What I hadn’t expected was for his muscled arms to lock over my head, clasping my limbs to my side. I shoved against him, his grip unrelenting. Though it was a friendly bout, I couldn’t help the pang of panic that shot through me when I couldn’t move.

  On a gut instinct, I hurled my head back, cracking my skull into his. The impact resounded and exploded through my head but his grip released and his body crumpled to the ground. I wriggled away, peering back at him and rubbing the back of my head with a wince.

  Will lifted himself into a sitting position, his elbows on his knees, head cradled in his hands. “Really, Ky? What happened to a fair fight?” he groaned, rubbing the tender skin at the center of his forehead.

  “Sorry, Will, you almost had me there. That was more than fair. You’re like six times my size,” I responded, straightening my posture and holding a hand out to him. He clasped his hand around my wrist and I did the same, heaving him to his feet.

  He chuckled, mussing his sweaty hair. “Get used to being smaller than your opponent, Ky. You seem to like to pick fights with those bigger and scarier than you. This gets you prepared. Next time, grapples and blows only.” He gazed down at me from his heigh
t, several inches taller than me.

  I rolled my eyes. “Will, I’ve been whooping your ass since we were like six. You can admit defeat at this point.”

  He laughed heartily this time, lightly punching me on the arm. He scooped his towel from a nearby bench, and walked with me to the locker rooms. I quickly showered. I scrubbed the sweat from my skin and hair, donned my street clothes, grabbed my belongings and headed toward the door.

  I pulled my phone out as I opened the door, scanning over emails and text messages I had received while sparring. Will exited at the same time. I could see him out of my peripheral vision, scanning the room for me. He located my hunched silhouette, and pressed his way through the post-workout crowd.

  He sighed, “You know, why we bother having all these meetings when you do so much of the work before you ever get to the building. Do you live, breathe, and sleep nightclubs?”

  I froze, guilt seeping down my spine. I dropped the phone into my bag and looked up at him. He stared down at me, his brown hair highlighted to a lighter blonde in the sun. His hazel eyes were lined with playful annoyance. His fingers gripped the outer edge of his square rimmed glasses and readjusted their fit on his face. And slowly, his signature grin made itself welcome on his lips.

  I shoved him gently, loving moments like these with him.

  Will was my best friend. We had an easy friendship. The kind where silences are recognized as a part of life not filled with incessant babble. Though our friendship was our most valuable relationship, he, his twin sister, Kellic, and myself were also cousins. We had been in various martial arts courses since we were very young. My mom and her sister had been raised learning to fight and passed the tradition down to us. These friendly fights became commonplace for us, since we often only found challenge in each other.

  My mom had been my best friend as a small child, but I barely remembered her. Then she died, and the story was laced with tragedy and shattered memories. My recollection of the events was spotty at best. I had been assured that this was some sort of self-defense mechanism to protect myself from the pain. I'd had nearly a decade to cope with it but there were still some doors better left closed.