Page 11 of A Blade of Blood and Shadow (The Ravaged Kingdom #1)
Chapter
Seven
A delaide’s words were still ringing in my ears as I drove out to the fairgrounds. I’d dropped Imogen off at her apartment — partly so she could get some sleep, and partly because I had no idea what I might encounter.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the look of horror in Adelaide’s eyes when I’d told her about the demons.
If someone was indeed working to destroy the protective wards the witches used to bolster the veil between realms, it had to be something that dwelled in the Otherworld — the realm of demons and faeries.
I shuddered as I parked the car, remembering how it had felt when that higher demon had invaded my mind. I’d been helpless — completely at his mercy. Had those demons managed to destroy the wards and slip through the veil? And if so, how many more of them were out there?
The scent of sweaty human bodies pressed in around me as I got out of Imogen’s car. The dirt parking lot was littered with trash, and the sound of drunken laughter and slamming car doors had my hands inching toward my nonexistent weapons.
I’d left my holster in the car, concealing a few slim daggers and the witchwood blade in the pockets of my jacket. I felt naked without my other weapons, but I couldn’t very well walk into a crowd of people armed to the teeth as I usually was.
Magic nipped unpleasantly at my skin as I followed the throng of spectators toward the huge black-and-purple tent that stood at the opposite edge of the field. Enchanted lights bobbed against the dark night sky, buffeted by the wind. The mortal voices around me swelled.
Gods , humans were always so loud and oblivious. With my superior hunter hearing, I’d had to train myself to tune them out, but tonight I allowed myself to follow bits of conversation, if only to soothe my own frayed nerves.
The buzz of fae magic grew stronger as I approached the entrance to the tent. It had a more distinctive bite than Imogen’s magic and left every inch of my skin feeling unpleasantly raw.
A female faerie wearing a plum velvet coat and oversized top hat greeted the crowd of spectators ahead of me. She’d dropped her glamour as part of the experience, which would have made her easy to identify as fae even if I hadn’t been able to feel her magic.
Enormous violet eyes tracked the mortals as if they were particularly delicious prey, and her fish-like lips puckered in what might have passed for a smile. Her blue-tinged skin was dusted with gold glitter, and as the crowd reached the tent flap, she doffed her hat and sketched a low bow.
The mortals gawked openly before dropping their money into the faerie’s drawstring purse. The fae ripped off tickets and doled them out to the humans, and a few of them seemed to hesitate before stepping inside the tent.
“Are you the Ringmaster?” I asked the faerie, pressing my palms against my thighs so I didn’t reach for my weapons.
Her huge purple eyes narrowed as she regarded me, her gaze drifting toward my ribcage and hovering there, as if she could see the daggers I’d concealed under my jacket.
Maybe she could. The fae were often gifted with unusual powers, and many of them kept those abilities hidden to maintain an extra advantage. I wouldn’t have been surprised if this one could see through solid objects or sense the cold iron in my blades.
Finally, she met my gaze, and her mouth twisted in a cruel smirk. “When you see the Ringmaster, you won’t have to ask.”
O-kay .
I tried not to roll my eyes as I followed the mortals into the tent. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting. It was impossible to get a straight answer from the fae.
The second I entered the big top, the scent of hay, manure, popcorn, and hundreds of bodies packed into a small space hit me.
Gods , I didn’t know how they could stand it.
The human spectators might have been dangerously sense-dead, but the fae weren’t.
Perhaps they were just used to it — just as they were used to the layers of plum, emerald, and turquoise silks that draped the inner walls of the tent, giving the place a cocoon-like feel and creating a maze of narrow passageways through which the performers could slip by unseen.
Faelights floated throughout the tent, casting shadows over the silks.
Unnervingly, it was impossible to tell which shadows came from the spectator side and which were from faeries passing behind the silks.
Otherworldly music drifted over the crowd, and I found myself pulled along by the strange melody even as it clashed against my frayed nerves.
The gaggle of humans in front of me stopped suddenly, and I had to stand on tiptoe to see what had caught their attention.
An enormous fae male stood off to one side of the ring — so tall he towered over the mortal spectators by at least six inches.
He was naked apart from a gladiator-style kilt, and rather than skin, his body was covered in iridescent gray scales.
Several rows of sharp black spikes trailed from the center of his skull all the way down his back, and vertical irises stretched across bright-yellow eyes.
As the humans gawked, he drew his head back and spewed a jet of blue flames directly at a silver-skinned female who was swinging from an aerial loop.
The crowd gasped, but the female gave a seductive moan, and her skin began to glow everywhere the flames touched. Oohs and ahhs rose from the crowd, and the mortals burst into applause.
A moment later, the faelights flashed, and the spectators began picking their way up the rickety bleachers.
I found a seat between a group of young women like those who visited the vampire clubs in the Quarter and a man with heavy black eyeliner.
They all had food — stale popcorn, shriveled hot dogs, funnel cakes, and other greasy, unappealing fare that made my stomach turn sour.
The humans couldn’t seem to stop shoveling it in, though, and I wondered if it was enchanted the way faerie food was in the Otherworld.
Soon the female who’d handed us our tickets dropped the tent flap, and all the faelights winked out. The darkness threw itself around us — a glamour of blackness that snuffed out even my enhanced hunter sight.
My skin crawled at the thought of all those faeries skulking unseen behind the silks.
The eerie music swelled. It sounded like a violin, but higher-pitched and more demented.
With each note, a pinprick of silver light opened above the crowd — dozens upon dozens of artificial stars sparking into existence for our entertainment.
Just when every eye in the big top was fixated on the magical constellation above, a single spotlight crashed through the darkness. It illuminated a male clad in a shimmering gold vest, pinstriped pants, and a red velvet topcoat.
Though the male’s skin was unnaturally taut and youthful, his hair was such a brilliant shade of white that it seemed to glow as he removed his top hat.
Silvery eyes were set off by a pair of thick dark eyebrows that rose into sharp points at the ends.
An equally sharp goatee accentuated his angular features.
He moved with the sort of predatory feline grace that made the hairs along the back of my neck stand on end.
This, then, was the Ringmaster. The female at the entrance had said I wouldn’t have to ask when I saw him, and I knew instantly what she’d meant. The male hadn’t uttered a single word, and yet every set of eyes in the big top was trained on him .
“Ladies and gentlemen . . . harlots and scoundrels . . . mortals and immortals . . .” The Ringmaster cut a glance around the tent, and a round of nervous chuckles ensued.
“Allow me to offer my sincere condolences.” He made another graceful sweep with his hat, commanding the crowd’s attention so effortlessly, so completely, that I wondered if he held the humans in his thrall.
“Tonight, beneath these very lights, you shall witness spectacles so marvelous, so enthralling, so confounding that everything in your pitiful human existence shall pale in comparison. It is, ladies and gentlemen, no exaggeration to say that the things you will see tonight are not of this earth. Indeed, these inhuman feats would be impossible were it not for the magic thrashing beneath the skin of every male and female in this ring. Watch, if you dare, and bear witness to the atrocious cruelty of none other than the vicious knife thrower, Khalil, and his gorgeous captive, Lilith.”
The Ringmaster threw out one white-gloved hand, and the big top was thrust into darkness once again. When another spotlight illuminated a corner of the ring, the Ringmaster had vanished.
An enormous circular board stood in the center of the spotlight, splattered with what looked like molten silver.
Splayed across the board in little more than shimmering red underthings was a pale female with white-blond hair.
Her tiny feet were planted on a platform that protruded from the base of the board, and she held her arms out wide.
Opposite her stood a bald, golden-skinned male with slits for nostrils and a truly ruthless expression. He had to be nearly seven feet tall, dressed in tight black pants with no fewer than fifteen daggers strapped to his waist and thighs.
The muscles of his bare chest rippled as he drew his first blade, and the crowd seemed to hold its breath. I watched in stunned horror as he pulled his arm back and released the blade — hurtling it straight at the female.
The knife sank into her pale flesh, and a blood-curdling screech rent the air. The crowd gasped at the female’s apparent anguish, but then that scream turned into a trill of bone-chilling laughter.
I stared. Silvery blood oozed from where the blade was lodged in her arm, forming tiny droplets that floated into the air and glistened under the spotlight.