Rise (Roam Series, Book Three) (10 page)

The numbers.

“
Our dream… the old man gave you numbers.” Logan traced his fingers over my arm, cringing at the long cuts between the digits. “Who was he?”

“West’s father… the one who created the spell… the prophecy.”

“
Really
. I have a few choice words for
him
.”

“Logan, he said
find me
.” I cleared my throat, still groggy from sleep. “But these aren’t coordinates…”

Knocking interrupted us. He moved with me,
slipping between the door and the wall as I turned the heavy lock. My maids hurried in, and the guards that stood on either side of my door stared at me.

Will
stood between them.

“
I have come to take you for breakfast and your first fencing lesson, your majesty.” He bowed, gesturing to my body. “But I see that you’re still in your sleeping gown.”

The long, white, silken nightgown with an empire waist and cap sleeves did little to cover my skin. I held my finger up, meeting his eyes. “One minute, just let me throw on my jeans. I’m not wearing
a gown for this.”

“I can ask your maids to provide you with fencing attire,” he suggested. I glanced pointedly at the heavy door where Logan hid
behind.

“Could you… take over as guard here, and send these guys?” I pointed at each of the soldiers
with my thumb.

Will
gave a lazy smile, nodding once. “Guards, fetch me two maids from apparel.”

As they bowed and walked away, I smirked.
“Apparel? It sounds like you have a
Macy’s
in the dungeon.”

The reference was lost on him, and Logan rounded the door at that moment, saluting
Will tersely before hurrying down the hallway.

“While the cat’s away…,” he raised his eyebrows, and I protested his Machiavellian smile.

“Knock it off. I was afraid last night. Logan only comforted me… stayed with me,” I clarified defensively. “Historically, I was quite the slut, but that’s not
me
.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge the ‘historical you.’ Consider spending a lifetime with my father. Would you not turn to someone else for comfort?”

“Probably, but I can’t even consider spending a lifetime with Troy without fashioning a noose.”

He lowered his eyes to my body, and I moved to cover myself as he spoke.
“You have… numbers on your arm.”

All of my blood rushed from my head, and I slapped my hand over my forearm. “I…,”

“8.24, 12.00. Those are prison numbers.”

“Prison numbers?”

“May I?” He reached for my arm, and I held it out to him tentatively. “
Eight
- eighth floor down.
Twenty-four
- twenty-fourth room.
Twelve
- prisoner number.
Zero-zero
… years to parole.” He lifted his eyes to mine. “Twelfth prisoner, life in prison, no parole. Where did you get this?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, sliding my fingertip over my arm. “Do you… stamp them? Tattoo your prisoners?”

Will nodded. “Yes- just like this. Across their left, inner forearm.” He touched the cuts on my arm, and I winced. “You need to have these treated,” he added, meeting my eyes with a severe expression.

The guards returned with two maids carrying freshly pressed, sleek white clothing. I ushered them in, moving to close the door. “Wait right here,” I told
Will, not giving him a chance to answer.

A prison number… a prisoner…

Asher.

I was dressed in minutes, shooing the maids away from my hair as I twisted
the locks into a messy bun and pinned them to my head. The fencing uniform had a mock turtle neck, long pants, tall white, flat-soled boots, and a padded chest. Even with the layering, the outfit still felt lighter than the cumbersome gowns I’d been subjected to for weeks.

When I opened the door again,
Will leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “That was the fastest I have ever known a female to get dressed.”

“Let’s go,” I walked with him down the long corridor and stairwell, pausing as he gestured to the great hall.
Get a sword, find Asher.
My mind ran on a singular track, and I could barely focus on walking instead of breaking into a full-on run.

“Breakfast.”

“Later,” I said quickly, impatient as he stopped.

“Your majesty,” he ticked his tongue, chastising. “You need energy to fence, and you have a child to care for.”

Taking a deep breath, I hurried to a plate of blueberry muffins. “Okay, I can eat and walk.”

He surveyed the food, shrugging and taking a muffin as well. “Let’s go then.”

Leading me to a round atrium with several hallways extending from the point in the circle, he pointed toward one in particular. “Now, what you need to know about the basics of fencing. First, do not tell my father that I’ve given you a sword.”

I nodded.
“Of course not.” I took a small bite of the muffin, and then tossed the remainder in a large, marble vase. He watched me, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“We’ll need to find the right weapon for you… In here,” he turned sharply to the right,
pressing four numbers on a keypad to open a heavy door.

F
loor-to-ceiling windows doused the gymnasium-like room in warmth and light. Against the wall, in a long, locked cabinet, more than thirty swords hung from the walls in a display. “Now, this vest is called a lame,” he gathered a metallic vest from a cabinet near the swords, gesturing me toward him. “It covers the target area. It’s made of a material called Kevlar, from your world. In competition, it will register a touch from your opponent’s sword on a scoring machine.”

“I’m not wearing that,” I
scoffed, moving toward the case filled with swords. He dropped the vest, lifting his hand to another keypad next to the glass.

“My queen-…,”

“Roam.”

“Roam,” he corrected
, punching in a code. “A sword is a deadly weapon, even in competition. This type, for example, is called a foil. It weighs less than a pound. This is an epee, a descendant of the dueling sword, and I believe you should begin with…,”

“Give me the saber,” I pointed at one well above both of our heads.
“That one.”

“You know about swords?”

He stood at the corner of the cabinet, reaching for the long, shining blade with a deep, red grip. The silver guard curved to just above the back of my hand, and I wrapped my fingers around the weapon.

“Choose one for
yourself,” I murmured, weighing the saber in my hand.

He watched me carefully, and then chose a saber similar to mine. “The saber is for thrusting- and cutting. Deadly.” He raised his sword to me, and I echoed his movement naturally. “You have fought with a sword before?”

“Not in this life,” I blocked his blade with mine as he attacked, confident I could use the saber to obstruct his every move. “I remember… my
soul
remembers.”

He lunged, and I blocked again, this time making a small circle with the tip of my blade to push his away.

Raising his eyebrows, he moved to attack, and I retaliated by blocking and then advancing myself. He scurried backward, lowering his voice to a command. “
Stop!
”

I stepped back and pointed my sword at the ground, staring at my hand in awe.

Me, the girl who faints and cries in fear, can wield a sword?

“I know what I’m doing,” I mused, turning toward the bright windows.
Five fencing dummies lined the alcove, each positioned with a dark, mesh mask similar to those that the guards wore. Metal arms jutted from just below the necks, attached to a spring-loaded sword. I advanced to one, lifting the arm with my sword, and the mechanical arm responded by flicking near my shoulder. Defending the move, I moved fluidly on my feet.

I sensed that he was behind me before I turned. Dropping, I curled into a roll before lunging forward to leverage my jump off the window ledge. In seconds, I was behind him, and he turned to me, his sword raised.

His grin turned to laughter. “You can roll with a sword. Hold on,” he turned and jogged back to the cabinet, pressing the code pad next to the glass. My jaw fell open as the entire cabinet began to shift inward, sliding to reveal an entryway to a secret room. He went inside, and I followed, taking in the array of weapons that lined the walls.

I knew nothing about the names of the swords, the history of their creation, or even the proper terminology for the weapon’s parts, but I knew immediately which sword belonged to me… or the
‘me’ of the past.

“The
Kenauri-Rak,” he gestured to the one that I reached for, retrieving it and holding his hands out carefully. “In legend, my father had this sword forged for you as a wedding gift, knowing you were a master swordswoman. Thirty-four inches long… two pounds, six ounces.”

“This is a
samurai sword.” I held the black case in my left hand, wrapping my fingers around the grip with my right.

“After the prophecy, my father brought this sword to your world, and made great profits selling the model to Japan
.”

“The
Iga and Koga clans were historical enemies in Japan. Their shinobi warriors are what we call ninjas today. Ninjas were mercenary assassins… Samurai were Japanese knights.” I unsheathed the sword, my eyes catching an inscription on the black case.

May we forever roam the world
and rule together.

“
He intended to take over the entire world. Icepond would rule all other kingdoms.”

“What was my name?” The sword’s handle was wrapped with rattan, and three small, gold ornaments adorned the grip.

Will watched me carefully, his own saber tight in his hand. “Roamina.”

My eyes
flashed to his, and I raised my eyebrows. “Really? Took him long enough to find me,” I breathed, thinking about my mother and the strange fate that had her give me my name.

Fate… or the B52’s.

“He called you Mina.”

I moved the sword slowly, the blade grabbing the sun streaming through the windows and scattering diagonal blasts of light over the walls and ceiling. Walking back to the dummy, I raised the sword over my shoulder and behind my neck with both hands. “I… remember… this sword.”

“Wait-…,”

Slicing through the air, the
Kenauri-Rak hit the dummy’s head with precision, simultaneously sending the plastic skull and the spring-operated arm to the ground. “It’s like cutting through butter,” I murmured, staring at the damaged dummy, satisfied.

“
Before you destroy another dummy, remember- my father doesn’t know I’m allowing you in here.”

“Oh,
Will, I’m sorry,” I spun the sword in the air twice before retrieving the case. Sheathing the blade swiftly, I moved to the dummy. “Can I fix it? Should we…,”

He stared at me and my hands, lowering his own sword. “Roam, in history, you
were deadly with the Kenauri-Rak. My father planned to execute both you- and the knight you fell in love with- using this sword.”

“But the prophecy saved us.” The warm sunlight revived my senses; I took a deep breath.

“Your soul, yes.”

“The books that I read here don’t detail the prophecy. What do you know about it?” I asked him, lowering to the floor to sit cross-legged. He watched me with a fleeting smile, mimicking my action and
laying his sword next to him.

“
What do you already know?” He asked, stretching his long legs out over the floor.

“That West and I have to have a baby, who will save our world. We have seven chances, and this is… was… our last,” I looked down at my lap, my fingers moving to my stomach.

“You have no idea how the child will save your world, and end ours?”

“All that I know… is that it’s not just her birth.
When… Eva… was born, nothing changed, and Troy was still immortal.”

He held out his hand, and I realized he was trying to help me up. I accepted his grasp, taking the
Kenauri-Rak with me as I stood. “The hidden safe,” he murmured, pulling me toward the room. Once we were inside, he reached for inner keypad, turning to me. “My life is in your hands if I close this door. Can I trust you?”

The iro
ny of his words left me staring at him defensively. “I won’t hurt you,” I said, gesturing to the sword in my hand. “I was that deadly?”

He punched in the key code. “You
are
that deadly. Even you have no idea what you are capable of.”

I
blew at a long strand of hair in front of my eye. “You will tell me about the prophecy?”