The point is driven home when I see the flash of fire on glass and metal and realize the nobles are holding gilded binoculars to their eyes, peering down at us eagerly. Huge golden lanterns dangle from the high glass ceiling, casting the scene in a warm glow.
Izabel nudges me in the back as we file through into the arena. “Head high,” she whispers. “You’re a Bonded, remember? Make them believe it.”
I glance back. Beside her, Venna flashes me an encouraging grin.
Right. I take a deep breath and tell myself this is just like entering a fight. The only difference is posturing—a veneer of gentility and affluence. Potential violence lurks everywhere, and my opponents will leap on any sign of weakness.
Whatever happens in there, I have to project confidence.
The cobbled path underfoot changes to hard-packed dirt as I cross the arena threshold. I catch a distinct, familiar scent under the waft of burning lamp oil and countless perfumes.
Death.
A chill creeps down my spine. I can actually taste that thick iron tang. As the air around me shifts, that smell hits the back of my throat with such strength it threatens to gag me, recalling countless warehouses in the slums. Countless fights.
Only it’s magnified a thousand times over.
How many people have died here?I wonder.Hundreds? Thousands?
I look down at the dirt crunching faintly under my boots as we move to the center of the field. It’s smooth but mottled. Darkened with splatters of old blood that soaked deep into the earth, layer upon layer. Battle upon battle.
Death upon death.
And there’s something else. Narrow divots dug into the ground like a web that covers the entire field.
What the hell?
A sudden pulse fills my head. An aching pressure gathers behind my eyes, insistent and strong.
Over the hum of the crowd and the crunch of our footsteps, I start to hear other sounds. Low, hissing voices.
Is that…whispering?
No. My fellow Rawbonds are absolutely silent as we approach the center of the field. It must be the crowd. Or maybe just the blood pumping in my ears.
Or maybe you’re going mad like your mother.
Hastily, I shove the thought away.
Finally, we reach arena’s center. Egith gestures for us to stop, and then turn. On the far edge of the amphitheater, there’s another enormous, arched doorway.
A loudthunkechoes across the field and the towering doors swing arduously open, pushed by a pair of servants dressed in the king’s livery. Beyond lies only shadows.
At once, the crowd falls silent.
The pulsing in my head gets stronger. Now, in the strange thrumming quiet, Idohear whispers. But I’m not listening anymore. All my senses are trained on that gaping maw of darkness.
Something is in there. Two pinpricks of greenish light that grow into bright orbs. They flash with an unmistakable night glow. With raw, wild awareness.
Eyes.
More orbs appear, bobbing slowly as they drift towards us.
A huge, black-furred face emerges from the shadows, followed by wide rippling shoulders. Then comes another face, this one silver and white. And another, rust and cream.
Our wolves.
An invisible crackle of wild energy fills the air. Cheers rise from the stands as the massive animals stream onto the field. I watch, heart pounding, as each one approaches its chosen.
