“…Yes,” Palqeet admitted. “Yes, I did love him. In fact, we were meant to be wed, before the fateful fight with Wexxon that took him away from me. After that…the warrior I’d loved changed. He’d been sweet and kind before. He then became cold and cruel, with no love for me, no love for anyone, left in his eyes.”
Palqeet sighed again before she went on. “You’re lucky, Rachel. You happen to be married to the one warrior who has yet to let the arena change what’s inside his heart.”
“What happens if…” I barely wanted to ask the question, fear rising through my voice. “What happens if Wexxon dies? In battle?”
“He will be remembered as a great warrior—”
“What happens to me?” I clarified, my eyes shifting away from her own. “What happens to…what happens to our child?”
“I was wondering when you were going to get around to telling me that you were with child.” Palqeet lightly chuckled, her hand soon resting against my shoulder. She then looked over at me with a sympathetic expression. “And if anything were to happen to Wexxon, you would be well taken care of. By me. By Aldvirion. By those who’d wish to honor his memory and preserve his family line.”
“You’d take care of me?” I was surprised by her response. “But you barely know me.”
“It does not matter how well we know each other.” Palqeet smiled. “You have come into our lives as blood, and you will be treated as such, especially your little one. Wexxon would have it no other way.”
“…I don’t want to watch him die,” I murmured as I slightly shook my head. “Palqeet, I can’t.”
“Have you no faith in Wexxon the Great?” Palqeet beamed in my direction.
And I faked a smile in return, even though I didn’t say a word in response. A few moments later, I heard what sounded like a large horn, blasting out in rapid succession, one harsh note after the other. After that, I noticed the energy in the arena turning into even more of a frenzied state, with Xelxar citizens stomping their feet and clapping their hands, some even throwing what looked like flowers and coins down toward the arena itself, the whole of it soon littered with various objects and offerings.
And then, I saw Wexxon. He was walking from the other side of the arena, the side that’d been cut off and impossible to see from the gate, surrounded by a group of other warriors, too. They arranged themselves in a tight line, with each warrior taking a turn to look to their left and right, seemingly greeting each other as their swords hung down their sides. And when it seemed like the niceties were over, the warriors raised their swords toward the sky, the crowd erupting in yet another round of cheers and excitement.
But almost as soon as the crowd had finished with their round of cheering, an eerie silence fell over the arena. I then watched as one of the warriors on the very end of the line-up pointed his sword over at Wexxon, the tip of it resting against his shoulder. He looked almost identical to Wexxon’s muscular build, but there weren’t as many scars on his frame, and I briefly wondered if that meant that he was a few years younger than Wexxon, too.
“He is being challenged to go first,” Palqeet whispered down at me. “To challenge a warrior such as Wexxon to battle first? It is unheard of.”
“…He knows about the wound in his side.” It suddenly felt so hard for me to breathe, all the air in my lungs turning hard as stone.
God.
Oh my God.
I grabbed onto Palqeet’s hand, squeezing it in my own, as I continued to watch the scene unfold in the arena. Wexxon then raised his own sword over at the challenger, too, their blades crossing over one another’s, the action causing the sound of cheers to quickly return to the arena, the silence completely faded away.
“Wexxon has accepted the challenge,” Palqeet murmured.
And when I looked back down at the arena, the line of warriors had disappeared, with only Wexxon and his challenger remaining on the green sand that lined its ground. Wexxon then nodded over at his challenger before he set himself into a fighting stance, his sword held out from his waist as his feet were planted firmly underneath him.
And then the battle began. There was no warning before the challenger struck out toward Wexxon, no trumpeting sound to signal that the match was officially starting. And as Wexxon held him off with his sword, their blades coming down against each other hard as the warriors circled around each other, it felt like there was bile making its way right up my throat.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My fingers squeezed Palqeet’s even harder as I watched Wexxon duck away from his opponent, narrowly avoiding a sword slicing down his shoulder. Wexxon then took a quick step toward the young warrior, close enough to slice down his arm, the warrior crying out with pain soon after. The crowd erupted into yet another cheer at the first sign of the warrior’s blood, the sound of it causing the arena seating to shake with the vibration of their cries.
“Wexxon the Great! Wexxon the Great! Wexxon the Great!”
The chant felt like it was drowning out everything else, including my own fear for Wexxon’s life. And for a moment, as I watched Wexxon continue to hold his own against the young warrior, I was tempted to join in on the chants, too, to cheer on the destruction of any man who’d wished to challenge the father of my child to battle.
But before I had a chance to chant Wexxon’s name, the young warrior had caught up to Wexxon, slicing his blade right down the side of his waist, the warrior’s sword making contact with where I knew Wexxon’s earlier injury still remained. And in that same moment, Wexxon fell to his knees, his own sword still in his grip even as he seemed to close his eyes in great pain.
“Wexxon!” I called out for him, even though I knew that there was absolutely no chance that he’d be able to hear me from how far back I was sitting in the stands. “Wexxon! Please!”
Please. Please. Please.
Please don’t leave me all alone.
The young warrior then tried to bring down his sword against Wexxon’s neck, a move that even I understood would’ve meant my husband’s instant death. But Wexxon rolled away from the maneuver at the last second, his eyes going wide as he fell back against the sand. The young warrior then moved toward Wexxon again, his sword aimed right at Wexxon’s stomach, the young warrior’s intent clearly to drive it right through Wexxon’s frame.
But Wexxon’s next and final move came fast, faster than I’d ever seen anyone move before. As the young warrior moved toward Wexxon, he reached up with his own sword, too, soon slicing right through the young warrior’s neck. And then, with his sword still aimed at Wexxon’s stomach, the young warrior’s head rolled right past his own feet, his stance still in place against the sand.
And as the young warrior’s body crumpled toward the ground, the crowd was the loudest I’d ever heard it, the citizens with tattoos of Wexxon’s face now screaming and jumping in the stands, the younger children hugging each other with bright smiles on their expression.
“Wexxon the Great! Wexxon the Great! Wexxon the Great!”
Wexxon took a moment to lie against the sand, his chest slowly rising and falling as he did so. A few seconds later, though, Wexxon was back on his feet, his hand hovering over the wound at his side. He then grabbed for the young warrior’s head before he held it in front of his chest, soon raising it even higher toward the sky.