My heart thuds in my throat as we leave the palace courtyard and drive around the outskirts toward a veritable colosseum. Its immense marble columns are interspaced with multicolored flags as well as pennants from each house. An enormous banner hangs at the entrance, the sun, crown, and flared wings that symbolize the Imperial House shining gold.
When we stop, the handmaidens depart, and we are ushered by a line of grim-faced palace guards to the center of the structure. A quick scan confirms that quite a few dozen of the chosen look pale and tired, likely from a night of hunger spent on a cold floor, and there are definitely fewer women than there had been yesterday. I feel cold as I search the faces in another effort to find Clem. But it’s futile—either she’s not here or I can’t spot her. And I cannot afford to be derailed by fear before I even set foot on the sands.
I focus instead on studying the others and notice that some of the contestants seem to have formed groups and alliances, some within their houses and others in a mix. I am one of the few standing by myself. I also spy the woman from the maze who’d been with the prince. I’m somewhat relieved to see she is in one piece. Onesatisfiedpiece, if her flushed cheeks and tousled hair are any signal. Guess Prince Roshan wasn’t wrong about gaining favor by any means necessary. I suppose if I wanted to win I’d use any tools in my arsenal, too.
Parvi and Fatima are both still here I notice with some small, if misguided, gladness. But when I lift my hand in a wave, they quickly look away. I try not to let their pointed rejection hurt. Clearly, theystill don’t want to be associated with me, which means I’m on my own for this challenge, too.
One small group glares scornfully in my direction. The woman from the glade with the prince joins them, and I tense when she saunters over, tossing her waves of red hair, a malicious smile pinned to her face.
“Still here, rat?” she taunts.
Canting my head, I smile back. “Rats are hardy creatures.”Better than sly serpents who try to fuck the prince for extra points,I want to say, but I keep my pettiness in check.
“We will see, won’t we?” she says, her eyes promising that I will be her target for whatever’s coming in that arena.
One of her minions, the brunette who is also in Regulus, snickers. “Rats should be sitting on your crest instead of scales.”
They all laugh, but I ignore them. Words can’t hurt me.
But whatever’s in that arena can.
Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth to keep calm. Fear is healthy; panic is deadly. If the prince likes blood sport, then it’s safe to say that mortal injury is possible. I honestly don’t know what to expect, and Prince Roshan’s somber words have left me hollow.
Find a defensible position,I remind myself.
We don’t have long to wait as the bellow of trumpets announce the arrival of the royal family. The guards lead us out into the arena, a wide circle with rocky outcroppings dotting the sand. Marble pillars line the periphery in concentric circles built in ascending order, and thousands cram the stands, raucous cheering filling the space. It can’t just be Kaldarians here—there must also be citizens of the nearby cities of Eloni and Veniar come to watch the spectacle.
But they aren’t what catches my eye. It’s the enormous scaled beast held down by chains standing in the center of the sands. I gasp, and several of the women let out cries of fright.
Holy mother of sandstorms. Is that a fucking azdaha?
I’ve only ever read stories of them, a creature from the wilds beyond the northern borders of Oryndhr. Rumor is they can fly, but this one’s wings have been brutally clipped, the webbing between the bones stripped so that they resemble twisted twigs. An enormous iridescent collar, made from jadu and carved with arcane runes, is wrapped around its neck, and two similar bracelets encircle its taloned limbs. Its teeth are razor sharp, but even scarier are the intelligent, reptilian eyes that hungrily track our progress when we’re led toward the royal dais where the king, queen, and crown prince are sitting.
The queen lifts an imperious hand, and the crowd immediately falls silent. The crown prince stands.
“Welcome, my precious chosen,” he says in a possessive tone that makes me want to cringe. “Do you like my pet? We’ve starved him especially for this event.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. A handful of women start to scramble back the way we came, trying to get to the exit. In a blink, they drop like stones, felled by arrows from the guards stationed at intervals along the top of the arena. I cover my mouth to stifle a scream, my eyes locked on the women’s writhing bodies and the scarlet splatter of blood marring the pristine sands. Ice-cold dread sluices through my veins as others around me begin to cry. None of the women have been fatally wounded, as far as I can tell. But that doesn’t make it any less chilling.
Or heartless.
We’re people, not flaming animals!
“Don’t try to run or you’ll be shot down,” the prince warns with a cruel grin. “The only way out is to be one of the last twenty standing. The gong will sound signaling the end of the round. Weapons are over there.” He points to several racks of weapons at the far end of the circle, conveniently set past the azdaha, who has now risen to its haunches at the prospect of a good meal. “May the hardiest of you win.”
The odds aren’t there for more than three-quarters of us, now that the dozen wounded have been removed from the sands, a mix of mostly Aldebaran and Fomalhaut. I sneer at the guards with their longbows and nocked arrows. This is fucking inhumane. What is the prince trying to prove anyway? Does he truly expect to find a smart, fearless, confident wife through all of this, or is it just some form of sick entertainment at our expense?
Are we that disposable?
I look away from Prince Javed, and my gaze snares on the cool expression of the bastard prince who has arrived to stand behind his half brother. His face is shuttered, giving nothing away, and I tense at the remoteness there. It’s hard to reconcile the man who had kissed my knuckles and laughed in the maze with this cold noble viewing the arena with such impassivity.
Then his dark eyes find mine, and I recall his reminder.
Place yourself at a defensible corner... stay alive.
The first is doable enough, the second, much harder. But before I can scout for potential safe locations, an ominous gong sounds, reverberating through my body. What is that? Does it mean we’ve started? Those closest to me scatter, and I find myself nearly jostled to the ground as women weep and grasp each other in fright. The azdaha roars, a thunderous noise that makes the hair on my neck stand and my ears ring. People are going to die here. I just have to make sure I’m not one of them.
The majority of the chosen rush in a panic toward the weapons, but a few stay back, observing. One is the redhead who’d called me a rat. Suddenly, the azdaha’s jadu collar goes dark and his head snaps forward. In an instant, a few of the unfortunate forerunners are gone, swallowed up in a single, crunching bite that echoes wetly over the sands. Bile rises in a choking wave at the sound of snapping bones, and I struggle to keep it down as I dart toward one of the rocky outcroppings and crouch, grabbing my dagger from my boot. It nearlyfalls from my numb, trembling fingers, but I grip it hard and hold it across my pounding chest.
