Arran is not dead.
Arran is healing in Avalon.
Arran is safe with Isolde.
I drained the goblet. Lifted it in mock salute to the crowd, many still watching me, and then held it out for Cyara to refill. She did, but the warning in her aquamarine eyes was clear.
I slowed to a sip, rather than a gulp. Then a trickle on my tongue. When I lowered the glass back to the tablecloth, my hand was steady.
Ice, my ass. I was a sheet of ice above a frigid sea, one good knock away from shattering.
But I did not let myself look at Elayne to judge her reaction, to try to read what she’d seen in my face. Instead, I stared at the spectacle unfolding in the center of the hall.
It was not just the meal that she’d signaled—but the entertainment as well.
A huge cage had appeared, borne in by four males with muscles popping against their wool tunics. A beast of nightmares waited inside.
If the dank scent coming off of it hadn’t been enough, the massive claws made it clear that whatever it was, it came from the depths of the lake outside of Eilean Gayl’s walls. My first thought was of the scorpions that lurked in the mountains surrounding the Effren Valley. Those were intimidating enough—tails as long as my arm, with a stinger that would render an immortal unconscious long enough for the venom to kill. But this creature of the deep was bigger than Arran, even though it stood no more than three feet tall. A thick shell covered the incredible width of its body, its claws the size of my entire torso. The pointed spikes that covered the thick umber shell promised to impale anyone who got too close in any futile attempt to pierce the armor.
But that was precisely what was about to happen, I realized. Even as the lake beast thrashed against the metal bounds of the cage, the crowd’s attention shifted to a slender female on the other side of the empty rectangle. An arena. For the battle about to begin.
A parade of servants delivered platter after platter of food, but no one noticed. Not as that impossibly small female shifted, a giant serpent appearing in her stead.
The door of the cage lifted. The serpent did not waste a second before swiping, fangs the size of my daggers flashing.
My mate had described the communal meals, the brawls that often broke out, but Arran had not warned me about this. I recognized it for what it was—a test. Fifty terrestrials, servants, lords, guards, watched to see how I would react in the face of this brutality.
And maybe if I had not been tortured for twenty years, or had not lived through the massacre of Baylaur and the Battle of Avalon, maybe my stomach would have turned at the sight of the shifter and the beast ripping each other to shreds.
Instead, I sat down and helped myself to a bowl of candied nuts. I popped one into my mouth, the thick toffee sticking in my teeth as the serpent wrapped herself around the creature’s claws—and lost the end of her tail for her trouble.
Blood spewed.
I drank my wine.
Whether my lack of reaction disappointed or impressed them, the terrestrials started claiming seats for themselves. I watched idly, dragging a finger around the rim of my wineglass, trying to detect if there was an order or hierarchy to the positions they took.
They seemed most interested in drinking and watching the spectacle.
“Is this exhibition on my behalf, or is this your usual nightly entertainment?” I asked my hosts. Elayne had taken the seat directly to my left, Cyara on my right. Pant was on the other side of his wife. They were all watching me, rather than the brawl happening before us.
I would make sure I gave a performance worth watching.
“The fuath has been terrorizing the village on the other side of the lake for some time. It happened to be captured this morning,” Elayne said smoothly.
Not an answer to my question.
I helped myself to the food sitting untouched before us. We had been travelling for months; I was not about to let a little blood dissuade me from a real meal. “And the fauna-gifted female?”
“The one who caught the beast,” Elayne explained, serving herself as well. “From a low-born family in the village. She hopes to win a place here at Eilean Gayl by defeating it.”
That fit with my understanding of the terrestrial kingdom. To be born into a family of power was a start, but if you did not exhibit strength of your own, you would never rise. Never gain true standing. Strength mattered here above all else.
The serpent leapt from a coil, aiming for the tiny strip of exposed flesh where the fuath’s claws met its body. She missed. She was slowing.
“My gold is on the fuath,” Pant interjected, leaning around his wife.
They were a startling pair. Elegant, composed Elayne and brash, quick-talking Pant. Not at all what I had expected from Arran’s parents.Not what I’d hoped. No, it was too soon to make that judgment.
