Empress Game: The Empress Game Trilogy Book 1 Read Free

fire.
    “Lady Phoenix!” the robotic voice announced, and the crowd hooted.
    Phoenix raised her arms, the sleeves of her robe entwining her limbs like pyro-serpents.
    “Not the most practical costume,” Hekkar commented over the crowd noise. Phoenix lifted a hand to the clasp at her shoulder. One deft movement swept the robe off, revealing scads of bare skin interrupted only briefly by two strips of red-orange cloth.
    The cheering increased tenfold.
    “Lady Phoenix, in whose honor do you fight this eve?” The words were tradition, asked of all who fought in the Blood Pit.
    “I fight for the glory of Fierenzos!” The God of Fire, how original. They’d heard many similar claims tonight. Only Shadow Panthe’s answer stood out in his mind. It possessed a sincerity no one else came close to matching.
    “Shadow Panthe, in whose honor do you fight this eve?”
    “I fight only for myself.”
    No doubt this had always been her only answer.
    Phoenix postured and preened, enjoying her entrance, but began to lose the crowd. From what Malkor had gathered she was a visiting challenger, champion of a rival pit come to fight the Blood Pit’s reigning queen. Any woman of beauty—and scant clothing—could gain a man’s attention, but it took something special to hold it against one such as Shadow Panthe. Phoenix didn’t stand a chance.
    The arena quieted to a hush.
    A heartbeat passed.
    Two.
    Then she was there, standing in the doorway.
    She needed no burst of flame, no flashy entrance. With only her presence, Shadow Panthe electrified the crowd. Malkor barely heard her name announced over the shouting.
    “Stars be damned,” Hekkar said.
    Malkor could only nod.
    She was painted from eyelash to hair-line, head to toe in black body paint cut through with a maze of red slashes, a stylized version of a shadow panthe’s hide. The pattern continued in scarlet thread across the black halter-top and bikini bottoms she wore. The red lines scrawled across her face even, what little of it was visible above the black
ashk
she wore.
    Completing the outfit were two kris daggers, one strapped to each thigh, and a gaze cold enough to burn. She strode across the pit, glaring at her admirers the whole way. They cheered her as if she were the Daughter of All.
    When the gaze that raked the gathered men with such scorn turned on him, Malkor froze. Instead of contempt he read curiosity there. She weighed his appearance, judging him. Much as he had been judging her. Why had she picked him out of the crowd? Malkor cursed himself for not choosing a more shadowy spot to sit in, feeling more the hunted than the hunter as she continued to stare at him.
    “Shadow Panthe,” came the robotic voice, “in whose honor do you fight this eve?”
    Though they all knew her reply, the crowd quieted, listening for her arrogant dismissal.
    She raised a black arm until her finger pointed straight at Malkor. “I fight for him.”
    Frutt!
    The crowd around him exploded—cheering, booing, grabbing, shouting. A dozen hands forced him from his seat and propelled him to the edge of the pit. He heard Hekkar cursing behind him, then Malkor was there, standing face to face with Shadow Panthe, who had ascended from the pit on a lift that had unfolded from the wall. A waist-high railing separated their bodies. She climbed on the barrier and crossed it slowly, one leg at a time, straddling it a moment while she checked her balance.
    Around them men whistled and jeered. She didn’t spare them a glance. Her eyes, a blue as bright as a flame’s hottest crescent, locked on him.
    Well, he
had
wanted to meet her. Somehow, though, he hadn’t imagined it going like this. He’d pictured himself with the upper hand, promising a desperate pit whore a fortune of credits to do his bidding, an offer she wouldn’t refuse. Instead he was caught up in the sway she held over the entire arena. Here she was not a woman to be forced or manipulated. Here, she ruled.
    The noise died down