“Koury,” the shorter man said, nervousness heavy in his voice. “The rumors also say the Onitan Queen did not arrive in Kreah alone. That she brought her court and guard with her.”
The large man—Koury, apparently—lifted a brow. “Did she now? The legendary Onitan Armature, here in Desva? Even time and closed borders haven’t been enough to forget the stories of the queen’s bonded guard.” He scanned Quentin and barked a laugh as if he didn’t still have a dagger to his throat. “I doubt this is one of them, though. He’s too small.”
“Now you’re just being rude.” Quentin would be the first to admit that he wasn't massive. Too many years in childhood witha shit diet had left him a few inches shorter than the others, and he was nowhere near as broad as the warrior-types in the Armature.
But he’d trained every day of his life—first in survival, then honed as a weapon. He knew he was as fierce a fighter as any of them. He might not have brute force, but he knew how to win, and that was all that mattered.
Koury’s glare focused on Quentin’s chest, hidden by the button of his cloak and his high-collared shirt. “I suppose there’s one way we can know for sure.”
Strong, calloused hands wrapped around Quentin’s arms. A grunt of surprise slipped past his teeth as he was hauled away from Koury, dagger clattering on the ground. Two men now flanked him, gripping him tight as he struggled against their hold.
Shit. How had he not heard them coming? Godsdamnthat fire whiskey
Koury pulled his own wicked-looking knife from a hidden holster at his back, dark eyes glittering.
Fuck.
Quentin thrashed against his captors, but he knew it was pointless. They had him restrained. And these two men were giants. What the fuck did they feed them here in Kreah?
Koury’s grin broadened as he stalked forward.
This is it. This is how I die.
The sharp edge of the knife pressed against the vulnerable skin of Quentin’s neck. He almost laughed at how pathetic his little show had been. He just had to make a stand, didn’t he?
Yes. He knew he had to. The words this man had said about his queen… Whatever happened next, it was worth it to stand up for her.
He gritted his teeth and met his end with a snarl.
But the blade didn’t sink into the artery in Quentin’s neck. Instead, Koury sliced through his cloak and the cotton shirt beneath, until the only thing that still crossed Quentin’s chest was his worn leather baldric.
Quentin blinked in surprise, nearly sagging with relief, his mouth opening before he could stop it. “Look, if you wanted to get me shirtless, all you had to do was ask?—”
No one was listening to him. All eyes were focused on Quentin's almost-bare chest.
On the dragon-shaped Mark inked over his heart. At the shallow, delicate scar that sliced through the center of it.
“If you’re the best the gods could offer the Onitan Queen, then maybe they really have abandoned you.” Koury stepped closer, sheathing his knife. “Tell me, Armature, how far do your vows go? Do you still wish to stand up for your intruding bitch queen?”
Quentin’s lip curled. “My vows go farther than your pea brain could comprehend.” He spat on the floor, right at Koury’s feet. “I’ll always stand up to assholes in defense of my queen.”
Koury grinned broadly, a smile that showed too many teeth, his canines alarmingly elongated. “Splendid.” He whirled on his heel, storming toward the back of the bar. “Throw him in the pits!”
The bar erupted in cries and shouts and roars of excitement. Quentin was pushed and dragged after Koury, swept up on a current of men and women who smelled thickly of bloodlust.
Fucking shit of Enfara, this little excursion of his could not have gone worse.
Chapter 18
The pits, it turned out, were exactly what they sounded like.
Quentin blinked against the harsh glare of the lights powered by those strange sun panels, scanning the raised ledge of the pit.
He’d been led beneath the bar into a series of dark tunnels winding under the city, until he’d been shoved through iron-barred doors. That was how he’d ended up here, blinded by artificial sunlight. Far above, almost invisible, the stars twinkled in the night sky.
So, they were outside. Wonderful. Grinning faces looked down at him, at least twenty feet above. The walls were a smooth, polished sandstone, free of any grooves or handholds.
A gong sounded above the rabble of the crowd.
