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31

A DRUID’S PRICE

I was the first to be collected from my cell. A guard I’d never seen before took me up the stairs, out of the Recovery, and across to the large amphitheater. The snow had melted, so most of my attention was spent on lifting my hem above the mud and watching my step, trying to keep to the tiny stones that lay slightly higher than the puddles.

Inside the building, we wove through a maze of hallways before we emerged in the arena midway between the center of the floor and the top that was open to the sky. I was taken to a large box with dry, cushioned seating with my back to the watery sun. Though the air had a slight chill, it was blessedly still. And though I might die before the day was out, at least I wouldn’t freeze to death.

I estimated there were two-hundred people making their way up the levels of seating and congregating before settling on the wide white benches. I was the subject of many conversations and much pointing. No one looked on me kindly, and I assumed they saw me as just another player in today’s DeNoy game. Not an object of pity, but someone to assess and wager against.

I tried to ignore them and lifted my gaze to the top of the structure where I was surprised to find familiar black heartstone running along the ridge of the massive bowl. The hum of discussions paused at the flap of dragon wings, and a large emerald green beast swooped above the edge and perched itself on the black rim.

The dragon then became the topic of conversation along with the tall, lean man with robes of the same emerald green, who dismounted his beast and took a seat halfway down, but directly below his dragon. Neither of them had flashy adornments, as other dragon and rider pairs I’d seen. But the color was rich enough to catch the eye.

This event repeated over and over until dragons encircled the entire arena, their scales a vibrant tapestry of greens, oranges, purples, and fiery crimson, reflecting the early morning sun. Their DeNoy counterparts ringed the arena like jewels in a necklace that matched the crown.

The dragon to take the last spot above me was Ciro’s black animal. His rider was missing. His sapphire accents were the only traces of blue among the beasts in the arena, except for an azure shimmer on a pale green dragon.

Ciro took his time making his entrance. The crowd grew impatient waiting, then stood to cheer him when he appeared on the landing behind the box. When the applause began to wane, he made his way down to sit beside me.

All I had to do was turn…

No. It was too soon for revenge. If I were removed from the building, I wouldn’t see what was to become of Tearloch and my friends. And if by some miracle there was a chance to escape, I had to be ready. So I practiced patience and held my fists so tightly that my fingernails broke the skin of my palms. The sting kept me focused.

Tearloch said I had to use my knowledge to survive. My duty, then, while I sat there, was to search my memory for something I might use as a weapon…as if I hadn’t been doing the same every waking minute of my confinement…

But he wouldn’t want me to give up hope.

The audience now consisted of the original two hundred with another fifty DeNoy added. The structure could have held twice as much. Perhaps it would have if Ciro hadn’t imposed a limit on the population. Though surely, Hestia wouldn’t benefit from even more cold-hearted, blood-thirsty people.

Another possibility occurred to me—maybe they were this excited because this time, none of them had to participate. None of them would die today. That might be enough reason to celebrate. Maybe they simply wanted life, not just the spilling of someone else’s blood.

Of course, there were those who all but drooled with bloodlust. I could see it in their eyes. They were here for the show.

There was another group among the crowd, and when I recognized them, my heart jumped with hope. The Ard Draoi , the servants in colorless robes who looked as miserable as I felt. The sight of them reminded me that there were others, out there, who were eager to help. Zelan’s friends.

Anticipation grew palpable. I wasn’t sure what we were waiting for, but the crowd seemed eager for a surprise.

Suddenly, conversations died on tongues as all eyes turned to the arena floor. A procession, led by one guard, started its slow march around the perimeter of the ring. Nine of my friends, all but Lennon, followed him, and my heart jumped into my throat. Morrow’s body jerked and tensed as he walked. He was obviously in pain, though his expression remained stoic. Lears and Poole had no problems, though they looked concerned for their leader.

Minkin was next, her green gown clean. No signs of the wound still healing, no hint at what she was feeling at that moment. Sweetie followed as closely as he could, his fingers twitching. Others might believe he was nervous, but I’d watched that twitching before as he fought the urge to reach out to the woman he loved.

The crowd found his horns intriguing. Things were exchanged—people placing wagers.

After Sweetie came Griffon. His stance was defiant, though the stiffness in his shoulders was probably more from pain than attitude. He wouldn’t want his opponent, whomever that might be, to know just how injured he was.

His gaze scanned the crowd quickly, looking for Lennon.

Distracting the masses from Griffon’s tall handsome form, Bain and Dower laughed and waved at the mob as if they’d all come to see the brothers out of pure adoration. They shared radiant smiles and pursed their lips, clutched their hearts and waved again. The audience loved them.

Nogel watched the pair with his face pinched in confusion. His face was tearstained, his shoulders hanging. Tearloch followed on his heels, and after he muttered something, the younger man straightened and forced his chin up. With his sleeve, he dried his eyes, then tucked his emotions away.

Poor Nogel.

And poor Tearloch!

The right side of his face was swollen, along with half his lip. A black smudge darkened his left cheek, just under the eye, and he walked with one elbow tucked against his ribs. Just when had he been beaten?

I didn’t remember coming to my feet, but so did Ciro, and when he looked me in the eye, he didn’t try to hide his smirk.

“It’s only fair we leveled the playing field. Now, please, sit. You’ll want to pace your indignation.” He sat again only after I did.

I smiled sweetly. “I hope I can be patient enough…so I can make you suffer horribly before I take your head.”

He barked with laughter, then patted my leg and winked. When I found Tearloch again, I realized the reason for the attention, because the man to whom I was heartbound had found me and was watching.

I hoped to read his expression, but seated on the far side of the arena, he was too far away. All I could do was hold his gaze for as long as he would allow. There was no use hiding my feelings. Ciro already knew how to use us against each other for maximum pain.

When the devil stood again, he stepped forward to the front of the box and lifted his arms. Immediately the arena quieted except for a low hum. After turning my head back and forth, I realized the sound came from the dragons. The rim of heartstone had to connect into the ground somewhere, because the beasts were drawing power from it. The Moonless Quarter was days ago, but the rush of energy shouldn’t have waned already.

Fates help us, were they gathering excess strength for the fight?

A fresh wave of fear rolled through my stomach. I really would die today. But since Ciro wanted nothing as badly as to see me panic, I looked away as if distracted by something to my right.

Even though we weren’t DeNoy, would we truly be pitted against dragons with more than usual power?

Surely not. Ciro said it would be a long day. But if we fought those beasts, even individually, we’d all be dead within an hour. Ciro had to have something else in mind.

“First things first,” he shouted, then signaled to someone behind us. The heavy groan of metal against metal forced me to cover my ears. A shadow passed overhead. A huge steel grid slowly extended up and over the arena, creating yet another dome from which we could not escape on dragonback!

Even if we all managed to climb onto Kivi together, we would get nowhere!

Ciro glanced at me over his shoulder, signaled again for silence, and cleared his throat. “People of The Soundless! Thousands of years ago, when Moire and her daughters returned to Hestia, she delivered her prophecy of the blue dragon. Since then, sadly, we have been tasked with destroying our own. But no more! The prophecy is fulfilled! And once again, we will see blue dragons in this arena and allow them to live. Beginning with…Kivi!”

A large wooden panel at the left end of the structure lifted, tilted, and out of the dusty darkness beyond it, an irritated, familiar blue dragon came forward, prodded and directed by men with whips until she stood at the edge of the arena floor. The sun brought out the green luminescence on Kivi’s head, underbelly, and tail. Light glinted off the sharp points of her gold talons.

Except for the dragon riders, the crowd lost its collective mind. People jumped up and down, screamed with fear and excitement, and made me wonder if the DeNoy had kept Kivi a complete secret until now. Their shock was so profound I thought they might never calm down.

To compound the problem, someone screamed and pointed. Out of the opposite end of the arena came a woman dressed in gowns to match Kivi’s. Sapphire blue with a green sheen that moved with each step. I might have been offended on Lennon’s behalf, but the woman’s dark, uniquely cut hair meant Ciro hadn’t given the dragon to a new rider—the rider was Lennon herself.

Trailing closely behind her were four guards.

She ignored the shrieking mob and strode across the arena floor and directly to Kivi, to stand beside her and stroke her snout. The moment she noticed the thatched metal dome, her mouth fell open.

Ciro tittered with glee, earning him another hour of pain if I had anything to do with it.

The four guards tried to get her to come away from Kivi, but she refused. One man tried to drag her away. Lennon flipped him in the air and he landed on his backside for his trouble, winning him the mocking laughter from the crowd. When he stood, he looked to Ciro, who waved him off. The four then moved to the side and guarded Lennon from a distance.

The mob laughed again.

To the alarm of all guards in the vicinity, Griffon rose to his feet. I thought he might fight to get to Lennon, but he just stood there, ignoring the men pulling on him while the couple’s gazes locked and held. A long minute later, he sat, but only because he was ready to do so.

Ciro signaled once again, then resumed his seat.

A gaunt man with a booming voice spoke through a wide-mouthed horn that sent his words throughout the arena. “Today, people of The Soundless and honored DeNoy…we will witness valor. We will witness cowardice... Condemnation and execution…vindication and reprieve.” The word execution got wholehearted approval. “Criminals sit before you awaiting their punishment. Trial by blood. They will fight to their last breath, to the last beat of their hearts. But whom shall they fight? And what will become of the victors?” He allowed plenty of time for anticipation to build. “These are the questions that will be answered by blade, by tooth and by talon…and by the unyielding will to survive!"

We will be fighting dragons!

I could feel Ciro watching me from the corner of his eye. I fought to stay calm, feigned boredom, and looked up at the dragons to avoid watching my friends. If they could be stoic, so could I.

“But before we start their judgment by trial…we have discovered a traitor in our midst. A traitor who must be dealt with forthwith. He must be allowed no chance of vindication. So, good people of The Soundless, call down your dragon!”

The mob roared, calling out names in such a jumble they were impossible to discern them fully. I only caught portions; Storm, Fang, Night, Claw, Blood, Wing…and Crusher. Crusher, Crusher… Skullcrusher! Eventually, the chant became unanimous. Skullcrusher it was.

The door on the left opened again, and out from behind Kivi stumbled a guard, coughing and spitting blood. I hid my recognition when Ciro turned to watch my face. It was Zelan, the druid who said he’d try to help us. They’d discovered his affiliation. His mouth probably bled from his tongue being cut out.

And there was nothing I could do to help him!

My awareness of the dragon key made it feel hot against my chest. If I had given it to Zelan, would it have made a difference now?

The crowd howled when Zelan fell to his knees and bent forward as if praying. And again, the fiends called for Skullcrusher.

Giant wings fluttered over my head. A dragon shot toward the arena floor, then hovered before the cowed Ard Draoi. Of course, it was Ciro’s dragon, and he beamed like a proud parent.

The mob stilled. The dragon inhaled all the way to its bowels, then exhaled. Fire poured from its mouth, drowning the accused in flame.

Zelan never so much as whimpered. The mound of his black clad body turned blacker still, then diminished in size as it burned, and burned. Eventually, Skullcrusher extended one foot and smashed the still-flaming remains--and our last hope--before returning to his perch.

Those sitting nearest covered their faces with cloths—cloths they’d brought along, knowing what they’d be witnessing that day. And they’d come anyway.

Monsters, all.

Their bloodlust was finally sated, if only for the moment. A team of men came out to collect Zelan’s remains and take them away, but there wasn’t much left, and a wide black stain remained in the dirt.

Again, I had to hide my panic. But inside, I was whimpering in a corner, sure that when it was my turn, I would plead and whimper and make Ciro very happy.