Colton

I can't let her see me like this. She'll only worry. A few scrapes and bruises litter my face, but they are not too bad. I wash up with water in hand, and a stinging sensation runs along my face. Slapping myself, I stare at my warped reflection in the barrel water. Satisfied, I dust myself off and enter the tavern.  

I'm barely inside, and the stench of pipe smoke burns my eyes. Boastful mercenaries clack their mugs together, ogling the girls. Their antics are only kept in check by the wet chopping of the owner's hog-splitter—severed hands displaying their grizzly purpose on the bar's back mantle.

The pain in my gut flares up, but the scent of pomegranate soothes me. I look for the source, and the owner's wife meets me. Her lean and withered features hide what was once a great beauty. However, those stern but brilliant eyes reveal a kind soul. Ushering me to follow, she leads me to an adjacent room that reeks of oil and sweat. Inside, four souls gather around a table; among them are three war-weathered men bearing the sigil of the Grey Hawk. Across from them, my Aunt sits, sipping wine.

I thank her, getting a firm slap on the ass as she leaves. One of the men waves me away, focusing solely on his parchment. "This is a private meeting, boy." I refuse to go, and his comrades move for a more direct approach.

"He's my nephew, captain," those piercing green eyes matching my own. Though a twinge of worry escapes, she quickly hides it behind a stoic expression. "He won't bother us, I promise." The tension leaves the room, for the moment at least. "Now, you require experienced combatants. Those recommendations should speak for themselves."

"You cannot be serious, Iona," the Captain drops the parchment on the table. "You're a fucking arena fighter with a chip on your shoulders. I need seasoned men." His condescending words irk me, but I hold my tongue. "Not entertainers."

"I've served in three expeditions from here to the frontier. How many of your boys say the same?"

The Captain gestures to his men. "There's a difference between protecting caravans from bandits and fighting real soldiers, Iona." Her composure is unfazed even as they surround her; I know she is not some weak wallflower. But worry chips away at me. "But you're a fool if you believe I would allow a woman in my ranks." One tries to grab her, but the wet snap of his finger and a broken nose set him straight. Furious at her defiance, the Captain flips the table, distracting her long enough for the Captain's man to grab her from behind. Held aloft, she still keeps her composer, unfazed by her predicament.  

"Let me be clear." The Captain draws his sword, stabbing it into one of the tables, then pulls her by the hair, forcing her to look at him. "We have no use for some northern." He spots the tattoo on her wrist. "Especially an heir of those traitorous Averni."-punching her in the gut-"Fighting in the arena is not battle, Iona; there are no Umpires. You glorified bitch." His blow sends a spatter of blood from her lips.

I bolt towards them, fueled by rage, freezing at the cackle coming from my Aunt's crimson smile. "Is that supposed to scare me?" She strikes the shin of her restrainer, elbowing his throat the second she's free. "I was one of the condemned, Captain,"- ducking under a chair turned weapon- "I fought every day for five years." Then, like a dance, the two begin to trade blows.

He has the advantage, and he knows it. Every chance he gets, he throws something to keep her at a distance. If he manages to get one good hit, she's done. But he gets cocky, and my Aunt slips past his defenses. Jumping on his back, she uses his cloak like a noose. 

The man with the broken nose stands, pulling a knife. Panic taking over, I rush him, planting my knee on his back as I use my size to pin him, knocking the blade across the room. His compatriot tries to rip me off, but I get my arm around his throat. "Don't get involved," I growl, trying to keep them out of this fight.   

"Get off me, you northern bitch!" The Captain tries smashing her into a pillar to knock her off, but she coils her legs around his chest, pulling them both to the ground with all her strength. "Wait." He squirms, frantically trying to free himself. "Kill me, and my men will hunt you down." He looks at me, baring his teeth like a feral dog. "All of you!"

With a bloody smile, "Oh, I won't kill you." She tightens his noose, and his face turns red like a tomato. "But Captain, if you ever threaten my family, I'll kill every last one of you." The Captain goes limp, panic gripping me. I race to free her.

Letting go of my prey, I rush over to my Aunt. "Are you okay?" I pull him off, checking if she has anything other than that oozing cut on her lip. When she pushes me away, I know she's okay. I make a rag from the Captain's cloak. "Here," she cleans herself off. "They could've killed you." He's breathing, but barely. The storm of emotions recedes, but like the tide, they'll return.

"I had it under control, Colton. Stop fussing." She trades the mercenary's badge for her bloody rag. "I'll be taking this." Ignoring the moans, we leave, bribing the other Hawks with a round.

Many eyes follow us out of the streets, unsure if it's Iron Iona. Some try to approach, but with a flick of my wrist, they scurry off. "How many companies is that now? Five?" Seven, she corrects me. "Why are you trying so hard to join them? There are other ways to make money."

"I'm a fighter, Colton. It's all I know how to do." She traces a well-healed scar by her eye. Could you honestly see me doing anything else? I don't have Triana's looks or Mago's trading skills." I wish I had comforting words, but my mind is blank.

"But, none of these imperial Mercs hire women." I try to be honest. "Yes, they pay better than most, but aren't you worried they'll retaliate?" My eyes patrol our surroundings, looking for any threat in the sea of people.

"They won't," she reassures, "Men like the Grey Hawks take pride in their skills. If it was known, they were bested by a woman. Their company would lose all their credibility."    

"But you're not just a fighter. What about teaching? Why not become Lanista?" She pins me in a side alley, her forearm against my throat. Those eyes are barring into me, and fear grips my heart while my neck feels every angry twitch coursing through her body. 

"Let me be clear, Colton, I will never force what they did to me onto another," her barbed words, hiding her past. She releases me, crossing her arms, and she looks away, flushed at what she had done. The fire in her eyes fading.

"I'm sorry," I said, clenching my throat for air. "I didn't mean to open that old wound."

She hugs me. "It's okay," the tough exterior cracks and a flicker of the actual Iona shows. Our eyes meet. "We'll save every coin we can, and we'll get that land they promised. But we won't become imperials to do it. Come on. I need to meet someone before we head back."

We enter the market, losing ourselves in the colored fabric that creates an ever-changing street labyrinth. The fog of grilled fish and spices tempts me from my ration, but I force it down to ease my hunger. The taste of sawdust remains with me. We push through the sea of flesh, our ears bombarded with every known language. A few vendors spot us asking for an endorsement from Iron Iona, but their offers don't interest her.

We find shelter in one of the indoor stalls, hidden by large rugs. The flicking of torches is our only light, illuminating walls filled with powders and dried herbs. I couldn't even guess what they were. Like thieves, we step carefully over mousers, paroling the floors until we reach the counter in the back.

An elderly man sits at the counter, opening his eyes when we approach. "I'm here for," my Aunt says. He tosses a coin purse at my Aunt and then gestures toward the back door. "Thanks," she says. With our task finished, we leave for the estate.