“Hold him. Quick. We don’t have time for explanations. You’re just going to have to trust me. Now, please, hold him in case he wakes up.”
She still appears unconvinced, but at least she does what I ask and grabs Raiden by the wrists.
Slipping the ashari over my finger, I stare down at this insignificant little person who has caused so much suffering, and I can’t help but smile. I tilt his head, exposing the column of his throat and say, “I really hope this hurts.”
Then I stab him in the jugular.
44
Initially, there’s nothing, then a roar like an avalanche of stones crashing down a mountainside splits the silence. First comes the silhouette, a lumbering behemoth filling the tunnel. Then, a stream of fire as tall as a man blasts out of the archway, the flames so hot, I can feel the burn all the way on the opposite end of the arena. The prisoners strapped to the wall on either side of the blast let out ear-splitting screams as the flames sear the side of their bodies and their faces.
I’m glued to the spot, terror freezing my limbs and taking my breath away. The scent of charred flesh and burnt hair sends bile burning up my throat. Then a massive skull covered in golden scales crosses into the light—its head swinging one way, then the other, seemingly taking in its surroundings. Good gods, can’t they choose a stupid animal for once? The creature stomps its way into the arena, each footfall striking the ground like a thunderclap and sending vibrations reverberating into my feet and legs. Its neck isserpentine, followed by feet that would dwarf an elephant’s and a thick cylindrical body that barely manages to pass through the open gate.
But it isn’t until I recognize the waggling nubs on its back that I realize what it is I’m looking at. The glogameth isn’t just another underworld creature. The glogameth is a dragon.
And those bloody bastards cut off its fucking wings.
The burned man shackled to its right, mewls in pain, and I watch as the dragon swings its long neck around, head cocked like a curious dog as it studies the poor, suffering human, then in a flash, it strikes. Gripping the man’s torso in its powerful maw, the dragon whips its head around, cleaving the man’s hands from his wrists with a wet pop. The man’s screams take on a new level of horrible as the creature crunches through his torso, but it’s the moment when his screams stop that is the most deafening.
And with that, my body unfreezes. I twist around so I’m facing the wall, squeeze my hands into fists and walk my feet up the rough stone. Never thought I’d be so happy not to have shoes. The metal tears at the skin of my wrist. The pain intensifies as my feet move up the wall, forcing my wrists to take on more and more of my body weight. But pain is good. It’s grounding. It’s something I can focus on, because if I have to think about what’s going on behind my back, I’m liable to freeze again. I’d always thought myself brave, but now, as I fight to maintain control over my trembling body, I realize what an illusion that was. Anyone can be brave with a gun in their hand. It’s the moments when you’re at a disadvantage—when fear has you by the balls—that the true measure of a person can be taken. And I’m utterly failing.
I don’t dare look behind myself, but blocking out the scent of burning flesh, the heat blasting my back every time the creature releases its fire, the prisoners’ screams, isn’t so easy. The skin at the base of my palms is raw, shredded, the metal like a serrated knife sawing through the tissue bit by bit. Blood rains down my arms and chest and keeping my feet on the wall is becoming more and more difficult with each of the creature’s crashing steps. My left foot slips, and I almost go down completely. It’s only by the grace of the gods I manage to hold on with the toes of my other foot.
Finally, I get myself high enough that I’m able to hook my thumb over the cord holding the key around my neck. The key slides down the fucking cord, and a bolt of panic shoots through me when it almost slips around to my back. I drop the cord and the key falls so it’s dangling just off the edge of my throat. Dammit. My abs are on fire and my hands have gone painfully numb. My fingers are stiff and moving them is so becoming more difficult with each passing moment. I lift and tilt my body a little to the side, trying to close the distance between my fingers and the key. I’m so close, my fingertips brush metal.
“Just a little bit more,”I tell myself, every muscle in my body straining to get this fucking key into my hands. My heart leaps as the flat of my thumb presses into one side of the key, then the pad of my index finger catches the edge. I slide it under and, suddenly, I have it pinched between my two fingers. More pain shoots through my hand and arm as I contort my wrist to slip the key into the lock, twist and the shackles spring open. One hand comes free, and I can no longer hold myself up. The key slips from my fingers, as my feet hit the ground with a hard thud. I rip the cord from around my neck, slip it into the other lock, and I’m free.
“Aemon,” someone screams, and I spin around to see Mave crying for help as the dragon plucks prisoners from their manacles and mauls them one-by-one. I rush to her. Assume all the shackles take the same key, I use mine to fit into the lock. The cuffs click open, first one, then the other. Mave lets out a sob, and a garbled “thank you.”
“Get the others,” I tell her, pointing to the prisoners still latched to the wall. The fae male shackled on her other side shrieks as the dragon sets his neighbor on fire. I rush to him. My fingers are stiff and slick with blood, and I fumble with the key, trying to get it in the lock. To make matters worse, the terrified idiot keeps twisting and shaking his cuffs. “Stop moving,” I shout.
“Please,” he says, going still. Two clicks and he’s free, and we both run for the other side of the arena to help the others. Mave’s already managed to free another prisoner and the two of them are working on the others. We make quick work of the remaining prisoners, just in time for the dragon to realize its meal is getting away.
It lunges for us, one claw snagging on the fae male’s tunic and ripping it half off his body.
“To weapons,” I shout, as though they were a legion of highly trained soldiers and not a handful of half-starved inmates who couldn’t tell you the difference between a sword and a spear.
Still, they obey.
The prisoners scatter and snatch up the nearest weapons they can find, while the dragon watches, his head swinging from side to side in what I can only assume is irritation. It opens its giant maw and rains fire down on a small group. Two men screech as the fire melts the flesh from their bones, but one person, a young blondegirl, ducks behind a pavise shield, the rectangular shape easily large enough to cover her small frame. She squeezes her eyes shut and makes herself as small as she can while flames roll over edges of the metal.
But the shield holds.
It’s fireproof.
The dragon stalks toward the girl, nose snuffing the air. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t looked around the shield to see what’s coming for her.
Fuuuuck.
I jab a finger at a group of prisoners huddled on my other side. “Get to the shields.” Then, I run for her.
45
Raiden’s eyes fly open, and he lets out a scream, but Leina and I manage to keep him down between the two of us. I wiggle the metal in his neck a bit just to torment him before I remove it. Blood blooms from the newly formed wound, and I quickly wrap my lips around it and drink.
Raiden’s blood is thick and metallic and thoroughly disgusting as it fills my mouth. My gag reflex kicks in, my body trying to purge the foul liquid before it makes it into my belly, and it takes all my self-control to push past that awful, queasy feeling and swallow.
That’s when everything changes.
