She was right. Audra was cutting a path through them, but that wouldn't keep them from closing back up around Sibba. She trotted behind Audra. The crowd spit out the same two girls who had joined Isgerd in the pit, and they fell into step on either side of her. They made her long for Tola and Estrid, for her own friends that she had foolishly left behind. Her hands curled into fists as she tried and failed not to remember the feel of Tola's face between them.
The fighting pit spread out in front of her and the excited crowd moved around it, everyone vying for a spot. One of Isgerd's friends unfurled a rope ladder and gestured at Sibba. Before descending, Sibba surveyed the situation. Jary was alone, chained to his wall with his back against it, his knees drawn up to his chest. Someone had bandaged his eye and given him a sword. On the other side of the pit, just beneath Sibba, her ax leaned against the dirt wall.
“No,” Sibba said. No, she would not do this. She saw what Isgerd meant to do.
Isgerd the Younger chuckled. “You think you have a choice?”
Sibba whirled on her, her hands going for the girl's throat. They were on the ground in an instant, Sibba on top, her thumbs pressing into Isgerd's windpipe. The people around them stepped back, no one moving to help their chief's daughter, but no one cheering Sibba on, either. It was a stunned silence. Isgerd bucked beneath her, clawing at Sibba until she wrapped one of her hands in Sibba's short hair and yanked her sideways. Sibba fell but held on, screaming with the pain and the effort. Isgerd's mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water. She was so close, almost there—
Until Isgerd's friends, each of them grabbing one of Sibba's arms, pulled her off and threw her to the ground at the edge of the pit. Isgerd scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide with shock, her hands around her tender neck. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. Sibba smiled in spite of everything, the rage inside of her awake and satisfied. One of the girls kicked her in the stomach and suddenly she was falling, the ground disappearing beneath her and the rope ladder zooming past her.
Sibba landed on her side, her shoulder crunching beneath her. She groaned and rolled onto her back, looking up at the expansive blue sky.
“On your feet,” came a voice from above. Her eyes found the tent from the day before, and beneath it, Chief Isgerd, and behind her, Audra with her brass staff. Isgerd the Younger was nowhere to be seen. Sibba struggled to sit, her shoulder barely holding her weight and her ribs protesting every movement. But once she was there, it was easier to get to her knees and then push herself to standing, not because they told her to, but because she would meet whatever it was standing up.
Across the pit, Jary was also on his feet, his eyes darting between his sister and the chief. The sword was limp in his hand, but Sibba recognized it at once as the crow sword that she had been carrying around. She wondered if he had known about their mother's past. If he knew that he could be the king of some distant land instead of a Fielding chief. Her ax still leaned against the wall not far away, but she didn't pick it up. Isgerd had said she didn't have a choice, but she always had a choice. She wouldn't play into their hands, not if she could help it.
“Jary Hallowtide,” Isgerd yelled. Jary didn't respond, just stared blankly at the woman who had tortured him for months. “For all who have said I am not merciful, I give you this—a chance at freedom. A chance to return home and prepare your clan for the war that is coming. The price is her death.” Isgerd pointed a finger at Sibba, who took an involuntary step back as if it had been a physical blow.
Her brother dropped his one-eyed gaze to her just as another figure jumped into the pit: Isgerd the Younger, carrying an iron ring, at the end of which dangled a massive key. Sibba braced herself for another onslaught, but Isgerd ignored her, heading instead toward Jary. How foolish was she, going near him when he had a weapon? He had defeated countless men in this pit; surely she would be no match for him. But there was no fear, no hesitation in her step as she approached.
Kill her, Sibba urged with her eyes. She considered picking up her own ax and charging the girl but didn't want Jary to think she was coming for him. She wasn't going to start this fight.
Isgerd the Younger walked up to Jary and took one wrist in her hand. The key slid into the iron ring, and with a click, it fell away. She did the same to the other hand, and when she was done, Jary rubbed his wrists, his eyes on the chief’s daughter. But he didn’t look at her with anger. There was affection there, a tenderness in the way his eyes raked over her face before she moved away. He was free, and still, he didn't turn on the girl.
“A fight to the death,” Isgerd said as her daughter vacated the pit, the spectators helping her up the rope ladder. “Winner goes free, you have my word.” And she sat, nearly disappearing from view.
The murmuring and shouts from the excited crowd died down as everyone waited to see what would happen next. Jary watched Isgerd the Younger until she was out of the pit, and then turned back to his sister.
“Jary.” Sibba held up her hands. “Don't—”
He yelled, a scream that brought her up short in its fierce agony. She recognized it, though, knew it for what it was. How often had she felt that same hopelessness? Then he charged. He may have been chained for weeks, but he was no slower for it. Sibba took a step back, then another, then turned, racing for her ax. It was in her hand just in time and she raised it against the blow from the Crowheart sword. The power of it rang up through her sore shoulder but she tossed him back. The crowd roared and Jary yelled again as Sibba shuffled away, her ax in front of her, her eyes on her brother.
“Jary,” she tried again. “Jary, don't. It's me.”
The sword came at her with a swiftness she could only just match. An ax was barely any use against a longsword. After a rapid series of blows and blocks, he stepped away from her, leaving her panting and sore.
“Jary.” Maybe if she said his name enough, he would come back to himself. “Father sent me to bring you back. Please.”
When they were children, Jary had never had time for her. She was his annoying little sister, even though they weren't even a year apart in age. But there was nothing he had loved more than beating her during sparring. It was his excuse to bloody her up, knock her down, and not get in trouble for it, as much as Darcey hated it. But Sibba had learned from it, modeled her own fighting style after his and grown into a formidable opponent. It was not so different now. Yes, he was stronger and bigger, but so was she.
“Just stop fighting,” Jary growledapu. They were circling each other, Sibba with her ax gripped tightly in two fists, Jary relaxed with the sword in his hand.
“What?” Sibba asked, disbelieving her own ears.