Chapter 27: Terra

I’m more aware of my movements than I ever have been, every step, every stair, another chunk of distance that separates me from Kahn. Another increment of space nearer to my brother.

I can do this. I can do this—ignore my soulmate. Fight my family. Not because I don’t have a choice—we always have a choice.

No, I can do this precisely because I have a choice.

All we are in this world is a sequence of choices. Mother Terra may have made me who I am. I may even be this Warden. I may be marching down a path she set me upon in a body she gave me. I may be hurtling like an arrow toward a target she set in place.

But I can choose.

I have to believe that. Whatever comes, I won’t destroy the world or end things.

Just like, when the flag drops, I can fight my brother. I can Lift him and slam him to the mat as I have with every warrior before him. I can punch him in the nose, and kick him in the stomach. I can scratch his eyes and scream defiance in his face.

But I won’t.

Again, like with Kahn, I choose not to do this thing I’ve been told I must.

Before I can explain, before I can protest, before I can refuse to participate in this exercise, the very second the flag drops, Jesse lies down on the dusty, blood-spattered floor of the raised arena and crosses his arms over his chest. His voice is loud and clear when he counts. “One, two, three.” He stands up and looks out at the gathered crowd. “I won’t fight my sister, not now, not ever. But I will lay down my life for her, because I love her, and because it’s the right thing to do. Mother Terra set us on this path, and it’s our job to see it through.”

He looks from one end of the audience to the other. “But even if she hadn’t, I trust Alora. She’s the Warden for a reason. We have already defended the weak and helpless, the disenfranchised. I know it’s scary to think of another all-out war against Amun. And I bet it’s scarier to contemplate what the existence of the Warden signifies, but we’re not stronger hiding, acting like cowards. We’re stronger united, swords in hands, our purpose clear.”

What just happened?

People around me murmur, but I can't make out any words clearly.

I walk down the steps.

Jesse joins me at the bottom.

“I thought we were trying to intimidate them,” I say.

Jesse’s half smile is already familiar to me. “Maybe some siblings fight, but I'll never stand in your way. More than anything else, we need to get them on your side.” He bumps my arm. “On our side.”

When we hug, the gathered crowd goes wild.

I sit by my brother on one side of the ring. “Not to pressure you, but I can only rise if you keep defeating the guys ahead of me, which means I need you to pummel Pratt.”

“I hear you.” I unwind the bandage on my leg and slide my pants up above my knees. The purple has already faded into green.

“Are you sure you aren't a Healer?” Jesse asks. “Or did you pick up some tricks while you lived with them, maybe?”

I shake my head. “Does it matter?”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen anyone heal that fast.”

“Eh, it wasn't so bad to begin with.” Now that he mentions it, my shoulder barely twinges when I roll it. “My shoulder feels better, too. Just in time.”

Jesse looks concerned. “What do you mean, just in time?”

“I'd welcome any advice you have on beating Pratt. I’m not sure how many more times I can use my winning strategy—it’s a little exhausting with people fighting against me. But maybe I can try some new tricks now that I can move my arm.”

Jesse looks nervous. “I'd stick with what works as long as you can. Pratt's the strongest Lifter we have, other than maybe Kahn. He could Lift you easily, for instance.”

“And he's been watching me for the past eight fights, so he knows my strategy.”

Jesse smirks. “I think most of Sterling has figured out your complicated and confusing strategy. The Followers of Amun will have it tattooed on their shoulders by tomorrow.”

I shove him. “Shut up. What I mean is, he's going to have been thinking of ways to counter me if I just do the same thing.”

“It's going to come down to who's stronger, or at least, what you’ve got left in you.”

I hadn't counted on how hard it would be to hold someone down when he’s both physically fighting it and shoving against my Bindings with any significant strength. There’s a definite difference between the work involved in assembling an inanimate set for the troupe and fighting trained Lifters.

Jesse points out Pratt to me. He's big, which is nothing new. He’s muscular, but it’s lean. Long. Almost understated. His dark brown skin and eyes are nearly the exact same color.

He never takes those intense eyes off me. Not on our climb into the ring, and not while Duncan counts us off. When the flag waves, he flexes, defined muscles rippling. It's distracting, but that's not why I stand still, doing nothing. I have a plan, albeit a rough one. If he's strong and I've been wearing myself out all day, I should let him be the one who’s struggling and straining, at least for a bit.

He Lifts me in the air and shoves downward, releasing me so that he can conserve his strength, I presume. After all, gravity should slam me against the mat well enough. Jesse says it's harder to break a Binding than to create one, so instead of allowing myself to drop downward, I Bind some dust into two handholds. I grab both and pull myself up. Now I'm dangling from the air and. . . I'm out of ideas.

I swing back and forth and then flip over the holds and fling myself into Pratt. He tumbles to the mat, too surprised to do much else, I think. I Bind his wrists to the ground. “One,” I hear someone count.

My eyes fly wide when Pratt lifts his shoulders off the ground, and shoves against the Binding. I hold it, barely. The counting stops. At the same time, I feel him push against the Binding, harder this time. This pushing isn't pitiful. It's like a fist to the face, but I hold. His next slam is a kick from an angry horse, but I hold again, barely. Finally, he slumps. After they reach three, I breathe a sigh of relief. I've moved up another place.

Three to go.

I turn to face Jesse. “What happens if I defeat Kahn?”

He jabs Duncan in the side, looking for all the world like a naughty toddler. “If you beat Kahn, then you fight Dad.”

“Seriously?” I ask.

“Yep, that's how you become Unit Leader. Then you’d be eligible to take over the entire thing. Dad rules Isis because he defeated every other Unit Leader in a kind of boss of the bosses Ascension. So if you defeat Dad, then you could fight in the Gathering to take over for all of it.”

“You're saying the entire government is run by whoever fights the best in one-on-one combat?”

Jesse nods.

“What a stupid way to pick a leader.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence,” Duncan says. “I don’t just make unilateral decisions, however. I work with each Unit Leader to build a consensus. And we do train every member of the Unit on a broad range of topics that prepare them to rule competently. Strategy, politics, warfare, and diplomacy.”

I look pointedly at Flynn, my first defeat. “That guy's a diplomat?”

Duncan snorts, but before he can answer, someone pulls him away.

“No one excels in every subject,” Jesse says.

“Guess not,” I say.

“Think you'll make it to Kahn?”

I’ve been avoiding looking in his direction, but I can’t help it when Jesse mentions him. It’s like my eyes swing around to face him of their own accord. He’s standing on the edge of the crowd. A gorgeous redhead in a perfectly fitted sky blue dress is talking to him. He’s not looking at me, which is exactly what he promised.

But I wish he was.

As if he hears my thoughts, his head turns slowly toward me. The redhead scowls and puts one hand on her hip.

Kahn doesn’t notice, too intent on me. Heat rises in my cheeks.

He caught me staring. I offer a half smile. I wonder whether it looks like Jesse’s.

Who is still talking to me.

“What?” I ask.

“What distracted you?” He follows my gaze. “Uh, what’s going on with you? Are you trying to stare him into submission?”

I shake my head. “I need to use the restroom.”

“Oh,” Jesse says. “Okay, well, there are public restrooms installed for this type of event. They’re at the edge of the—I can just show you.”

I notice people streaming toward the edge of the squadron barracks. “There?” I point.

“Right.”

“It’s okay. I can make it.”

“Okay, but hurry,” Jesse says. “If you’re late—”

“I forfeit. I know.”

Kahn walks away from the redhead without an explanation when he sees me moving and falls into step beside me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I—” He swallows.

“You’re supposed to leave me alone.”

“I was.”

“You’re hounding me.”

“You were undressing me with your eyes. I can’t ignore you when you’re imagining me without my shirt on.”

My jaw drops. An image of Kahn without a shirt floods my brain, unbidden, and I can’t unsee it. Which is ridiculous, because I haven’t seen it.

I start walking again.

“You’re not even denying it.”

“I can’t control what this stupid, non-consensual exordium shoves onto me. I can’t stop my body from reacting, or whatever this is.” When I finally turn toward him, he’s smiling.

Double dimples. Perfect teeth. Full lips. And his eyes. Mother Terra, his eyes. “Can’t? Or don’t want to anymore?”

“Nothing has changed, okay?”

“So when you’re standing across from me?” He steps closer, too close.

He’s inside my personal space, and I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t even see straight. His face, his chest, his shoulders fill my entire world. Everything else drops away.

His lips lower toward me.

My heart sprints away, blood pounding in my ears. “What?”

“You’re telling me you don’t have any trouble?” His breath is warm on my face.

The hairs on my arms rise. My hands tremble, and I clench my fists to make them stop. “Trouble how?”

“You don’t want me to put my hands on you?”

I stifle a groan, because now that he says the words, I do. I absolutely do want his hands on me. Running up my forearms, his fingers closing on my upper arms and dragging me closer. Until there’s no space between us at all.

I’m sweating. I’m breathing heavily. I can’t do this. “I want you to treat me exactly like you’d treat Jesse.”