Page 166 of Loreblood

“To tail him and see what information we can procure from the coward.”

Skar is more diabolical than I even thought.

With some of the important and familiar members of Skar’s court identified, a man I knew better than most made his way into the room with an unsteady gait.

My body stiffened when he walked in, dressed in a fine tunic like the rest of the men but looking like a sickly jester in a court of kings by comparison.

“Antones,” I breathed.

Below our platform in the middle of the room, acolytes ushered vampires from the center and pulled back the floor to reveal the shallow, three-foot-deep fighting pit. My skin crawled at the sight of the thin floor slats, where blood would seep into the jailhouse below.

“Are you ready for the main event, little temptress?”

Antones swept into the room, gaining confidence as the voices of the attendees drowned away. He was unmasked because he was not a vampire and was not offered the same respect as the other nobles.

I feared for Ant, my old friend and the new leader of the Grimsons. He had big boots to fill with Lukain’s death, taking his role as battlemaster.

“Don’t look so scared, Sephania,” Skar murmured. “Own your schemes.”

Our source of “entertainment” to keep me safe could only be something I knew well: the fighting pit. Sure enough, the vampires in attendance moved their focus to the colorful human roaming the room, sliding between tables and cold bodies.

I had made a villainous turnaround, from hating this scene to embracing it, all for the sake of safety, power, and authority. Yet at the same time, I had an ulterior motive. I recalled the words of my Holdmates from the Firehold. Antones had sought freedom and I had offered it to him with this shadowgala.

There were two fighters I had specifically handpicked for tonight because I knew their prowess firsthand. I’d also chosen their opponents.

Antones gave a sweeping bow to the room, his arms spreading wide in a flourish. “Ladies and gentlemen of Manor Marquin, I am honored by this invitation from your eminence, Lord Skartovius Ashfen.” Ant’s eyes flicked to me as vampires around the room lightly clapped at mention of Skar. Ant’s gaze narrowed before he spun away to attend the court. “Tonight, I have two battles for you, pitting ragged humans against each other for the right to earn their freedom. Place your wagers, my friends!”

Antones lashed his arm out toward the back entrance of the room. A short man marched up the landing of the stairs from the jailhouse below. He was tailed by three white-robed servants.

Rirth hopped down into the pit, drawing his sword. He spun the handle in his hand, eyeing the dais and nodding to me and Skartovius. His face was a mask of concentration and discipline.

Please show the same expertise you always did in the Firehold, my friend. A third victory here means freedom for you.

Antones kept talking to introduce Rirth’s challenger in a much more subdued tone, and this was where my true wickedness shone brightest. Because the man who took position opposite Rirth was a slight, disheveled, scared sack of a man. He hardly knew how to hold a sword. His arms shook with fright as he faced off against the shorter but much more composed Grimson.

“I give you the Coward Koylen of the Diplomats!” Antones yelled.

Murmurs swept through the crowd as gold coins were exchanged for betting purposes. The odds were clearly in Rirth’s favor.

Koylen pissing himself—a dark stain pooling between his legs—didn’t help his cause. “I-I’m not a coward, you bastard bloodies!” To his credit, he held his sword high, punching his fist at the people watching him and laughing.

In trying to find a reasonable opponent for Rirth to earn his freedom and respect, I had ordered Garroway to return to the Diplomats after he’d kidnapped Dimmon and rip sycophants like Koylen from their beds.

Koylen didn’t look so imposing or cutthroat now.Does Dimmon still “send his regards,” asshole?He seemed a scared boy. A stitch of guilt ran through me—

Just as Koylen ran at Rirth without warning, voicing a warbling battle-cry. He swung his blade in an awkward arc.

Rirth stepped aside, clapped the sword downward, and slid his blade up along Koylen’s edge to bite into his shoulder once their swords disconnected.

Koylen yelped and skittered back with blood spraying. Already the red drops trickled through the slats into the jailhouse below.

I could imagine the anxiety and energy pulsing through Koylen’s ill-equipped body. He was no fighter—he was a lackey of Dimmon’s prone to doing despicable things, if his leader was anything to go by.

My guilt flooded away, all signs of remorse leaving me.

Koylen charged the silent, sturdy Rirth again.

Rirth danced back from the clumsy swings, toying with his victim, and then went on the attack. Koylen gasped, reeling as he tried to fend off the strikes. More blood spattered.