Page 29 of On Broken Bonds

But they were also the first real chance I’d been given.

The moment that truth settled over me, the shape of my future had become painfully clear. I would enter the trials, and if I wanted any real hope of surviving them, I would need a partner strong enough to keep us alive.

That was how Osric and I went from unlikely companions on the road to unlikely teammates.

Now we stand side by side awaiting presentation before the very same divines who laughed me out of their chamber when I denounced the slavery of my kind and begged for justice.

The weight of that irony sits bitterly on my tongue.

Beside me, Osric settles one broad hand over the hilt of his war ax, his expression unreadable beneath the thick black beard shadowing his face. The motion draws my attention to him fully, and once again I find myself taking stock of the man my future has become tethered to.

There are, admittedly, several things about my teammate that give me pause.

For one, I still have no idea what he did to get himself cast out of the village. For another, his indifference toward bathing remains deeply unsettling. A patch of grease clings stubbornly to his beard even now, and I have long since given up wondering how a man can carry so much soot on his person when we’ve spent days nowhere near a forge.

Still, his poor hygiene has its advantages. The other teams give us a notably wide berth. The shifters wrinkle their noses but don't seem inclined to retreat. If anything, they appear more amused than offended.

Then again, perhaps the distance has less to do with his smell and more to do with what we are. The berserker team. No doubt the vampires, warlocks, and shifters surrounding us are sneering down their noses in our direction.

It doesn’t matter. I’m here for only one reason. To win the money and status I need to buy my family’s freedom. Permanently.

As we wait, my gaze shifts over to the woman, Lady Nyx Nocturne, I met at the buffet tables. She stands silently next to her companion, a tall, broad, mountain of a man that I have an instant distrust for, her chin raised primly.

She’s a lady, and one can tell that even without her official title. She stands with a stiff back, her skin fine and fair, never having seen a day of work in the sun. Her dark hair circles her head in an intricate braid, and for a moment I wish I could free it, watch it tumble over her chest and down her back.

This Lady Nocturne is kind.

And she definitely should not be competing in the Trials.

Perhaps I haven’t had as much training, but I am at least strong from farming and have my berserker abilities. She won’t last long in the competition, unless her companion is double the strength and skill of an average man.

And even then, I’ve been told that the Trials are tricky. Many of the games rely on luck, force contestants to draw on skills they never knew they would need. I’ve heard of widowers being lured by the ghosts of their dead loves, parents seeing phantoms of their children in danger, only to plummet to their own deaths and leave those children orphans in an unforgiving world.

Valtor laughs suddenly from his throne, waving his chalice and interrupting the court squire, who is still reading from his scroll, announcing the rules of the presentation. “We grow bored of this! Bring out the teams!”

It’s only when a servant near me ushers Osric and I out that I realize we’re going first.

When we walk out in front of the gods, the weight of all ten eyes before us is immense, and nearly brings me to my knees. Valtor sits in the middle, his massive frame like a mountain. Soryn shines with an inner light. Terranis looks like he wants to flatten us, and Aqualis seems mildly interested. Eryndor has his head bent over a tablet, onto which he scratches quick notes with his feather pen.

“Berserkers!” someone from the crowd shouts, and that makes Valtor laugh.

“You seem strong,” Aqualis says, her voice smooth and rhythmic as she looks at me. “Turn for us, let us examine you thoroughly.”

My face flames as we do as they say, reminding me far too much of the examinations performed on berserkers as the slave traders tried to determine how much they might fetch for each of them.

When I found the records, I discovered my father had sold for the highest price and had convinced his buyer to take my mother and siblings as well. My younger brother and sister fetched less, though I'm sure the buyer considered them a worthwhile investment. They would eventually grow up.

Bile climbs in my throat and I force it back down, reminding myself of my reason for being here. I can’t win this thing and save them if I’m constantly overwhelmed with the reality of their situation.

Quickly, the gods pepper us with questions, asking about our training and weaponry, which skills we think will be most useful to us. Then they ask us of our motivations for entering the trials. Rather than admitting the situation of my family, I only state that I’m there for the money.

Eryndor sighs, “As most of you are.”

The crowd behind, above, and around us is vast and diverse, composed of nymphs, shifters, vampires, and human nobles, all cheering, jeering, and placing their bets. Numbers fly through the room, bet-takers talking quickly and collecting coins and paper notes.

“We shall call you Iron Hearts,” Terranis says, leaning forward. “Now, move aside for the next team to present.”

And with that, we’re shuffled to the side of the space, watching as the next team comes out to the floor.