Snow dusted the stone walk. It landed in Dorian's hair and on the furs around his shoulders. He glanced back to Corbin who's gaze wandered just as his did. And when he caught his eyes, he gave him an upwards nod. Reassuring each other that they would stay close. Stay together and keep the other safe.
The beings Dorian had watched pull carts had moved over to the sides of the walk. They, too, had morphed. The goats at the ends of the leads simply munched on the dry grass from the carts. Seemingly undeterred by the shifting. This shouldn’t have bothered Dorian as much as it did, but he knew how their horses acted around the creatures. Wary and nervous. And he wondered why these creatures seemed to be okay.
The Infi led them to their stadium.
Unlike the one in Dahrkenhill, this stadium featured a high pillar in the middle, two hundred steps high. Sitting at the very peak of their world.
Here, they would force men to battle to the death for crimes as minuscule as food theft. The Elder had a chair at the edge where they would oversee the bloodbath. Most times, the fights ended with someone being broken in the air and tossed down off the side of the pillar.
It was when they stepped into the stadium that Dorian realized they were being followed. He looked over his shoulder, only to find every Infi in the town had come out of hiding and were gathered as far back in the streets as the gate.
More Infi than he ever wanted to see again crowded together. Yellow eyes popped out from beneath darkened hoods. His bones felt uncomfortable in his body as he looked over them. A hollowness in his stomach. Draven would have ripped the entire town to shreds with his wind and bare hands and then gathered their hearts after like trophies had he known about this betrayal.
Dorian didn’t allow his gaze to linger and instead turned back to the steps they’d been led to. The hair on his neck continued to stand on end as he looked up to the stone pillar.
Two hundred steps.
Lightning flickered behind the high blizzard clouds. Nausea wrenched his insides, but he kept himself steady.
They began the climb.
Some steps crumbled beneath their feet. The side they climbed was not as steep as the others, but the snow whipping around them made it hard to stay on balance.
Dorian and Corbin remained calm and ready. Exchanging glances every now and then to reassure one another.
The Infis crawled up every side of the tower and the steps behind them.
Once he could see over the top step, Dorian slowed.
A great chair of jagged black obsidian glass sat at the other side of the platform up twenty more steps. High enough, the person could watch the fights and not be harmed during the bloodbath. A familiar woman sat in it, leaned back, legs crossed, hands gripping to the shards of glass at the armrests. He remembered her from his last trip.
The Bryn Elder, Lady Morgin.
The Infi they’d followed stepped to the bottom of the stairs and gave a short bow to the woman.
“I see someone thinks himself smart,” Lady Morgin called out. “Hello, Prince Dorian.”
“No games, Lady Morgin,” Dorian called to her. “How long did you think you could get away with fooling the rest of these people with your disguises?”
Her hands stretched over the jagged glass. “Another twenty years, presumably,” she cooed. “Though, I admit my men have become restless of the charade.”
Twenty years.
“Your true form, Lady Morgin,” he said firmly. “I cannot imagine keeping this up is easy or comfortable. We dined and smoked together last I was here. I’d thought us friends. Here I find out you were lying to me the entire time. The least you could spare in consolation is a look at your real face before I kill you.”
Morgin laughed. “Kill me…” She tsk’d her tongue, eyes flashing yellow. “Very well, Prince.”
She stretched her neck, the bones cracking, and she eyed them from the chair—
And then she shifted.
Body shuddering. Pupils melting yellow. Dorian forced himself to watch as her ivory skin turned. The stern and beautiful face shift to the creature. Her womanly features sinking and stretching.
Until finally, it was a male, different from the others, sitting on the throne. This male’s skin was white instead of grey, almost translucent. Brutal pink scars ripped over his face and down his neck. His hood stayed up, creating shadows in the creature’s sunken cheeks and under his eyes. Dark yellow eyes instead of bright yellow like those Infi he was accustomed to. He did not appear to be brutally starved or mangled like the others. This one… Dorian was sure when he stood, his muscles would be as large as Corbin’s and that he would not walk with a bent-over back or cower.
The Infi settled into that chair with a sigh.
“Comfortable?” Dorian mocked.
