Page 53 of Under the Iron Sky

The God Killer was behind it somehow, Ikarus was sure of it. He’d never seen it for himself, but according to whispers among the Dar’rak, she had a reputation for being able to forge weapons out of nothing, to scoop two seemingly worthless bits of broken metal up off the floor mid-battle when all hope seemed lost, and quickly put them together to make something new and more dangerous.

He bet she designed the cannons that’d shot his dragon right out of the sky. He could practically see her bent over them now, grease all over her face and her hair twisted up into that infernal knot on the top of her head, smiling as she thought about all the ways she was going to inflict pain on them. Oh, how he wanted to grab her by those fucking curls and—

No. Not the time. Breathe deep.

“Where’s Mel?” he asked, hoping a change in subject might be just the thing to swerve the mounting anger that’d been plaguing him since he’d captured that ridiculous woman.

“Where do you think?”

Ikarus followed Aeris’s glare across the busy hall to where a horde of Dar’rak, fairy, and Arakna men were clustered in a circle by the railings that overlooked the main ring—the pit—hanging off every word of one woman.

Emelda sipped from a silver goblet, her pale skin glowing like moonlight against her long blue-black hair, tonight twisted into a half-up, half-down style finished with white crystals that matched the embellishments on the sweeping sleeves of her deep navy dress.

Pink eyes practically shining, she gripped the arm of the closest Dar’rak, seeming to squeeze gently as she tipped her head back and laughed at something he said.

Ikarus had never seen anything so pathetic. They were supposed to be lethal killers with no weaknesses, and yet there they were, swarming Emelda like starving insects around the last flower of autumn, begging for any scraps she might be inclined to give.

Aeris bristled as that same Dar’rak puffed up his chest and spoke again. Emelda stared into his face, grinning up at him like he was the only person in the world, until she spotted Ikarus. Then Aeris.

Quickly excusing herself, Emelda slipped through the crowd toward them, wings expertly tucking in as she weaved between stray elbows and pints of ale to wind her arms around Aeris’s neck and kiss his cheek. “Where the hell have you two been? Malakai’s fight is about to start.”

Right on cue, a horn blared, and all the sconces in the walls pulsed three times. Almost every person rose to their feet.

Grasping Aeris’s hand, Emelda led them to where a well-dressed fairy stood in front of a set of crimson drapes that was sectioned off by a thick chain. He lifted the chain and the three of them descended a set of stairs to a private box that overlooked the main ring. She paraded right past the wall of decorative silk banners, discarding her empty goblet on the stone bar for a fresh one on her way past, and peered down into the pit.

Ikarus stood on her right behind the stone railing, Aeris came to stand on her left and wasted no time lifting her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “I missed you, love,” he said into her skin, a gesture she returned by flapping her wings until her face was level with his, wrapping her arms around the back of his head, and sealing her mouth over his. Her wings stilled, and Aeris slid his arms around her waist, holding her to him as he kissed her back, deeply, unabashedly. In front of everyone.

Ikarus rolled his eyes, and looked to the servants clearing away the last of the debris and body parts from the arena floor, ready for the next fight. Barely two days apart and they were acting like newlyweds.

Whether it be newly appointed Irons, retired generals, or young Araknas with something to prove, all were welcome to take their chance in the ring. The fights varied depending on appetite. Sometimes human hostages were brought in and offered a chance at freedom if they could defeat whatever monster was on the roster that night. They never did. Adult stalkers used to be the preferred bait, but with so many nests now in cinders, the Pitt had needed to adapt.

With a simple circular design and flat stone floor, the arena wasn’t exactly known for its grandeur, and yet every seat in the stands below was full, every private box like the one he was standing in occupied to capacity by some high-standing general or warlord. Ikarus felt their eyes on him now, piercing the side of his head like the kiss of a knife edge. They’d do anything to take his place.

He met the gaze of each one of them now, smirking as he emptied his goblet as if to say Try it, I dare you. No one had ever challenged him here—and one by one, the eyes fell away.

A man in red robes strode to the center of the deck suspended above the ring. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, his booming voice slicing through the chatter in all the stands. “I hope you’ve all placed your wagers, because this is the one you’ve all been waiting for!”

Thunderous applause swept over the crowd, then a deep rumbling as a small patch of stone bordering the ring began to peel away. Two long, crooked black legs speared into the stone floor, then the largest Arakna Ikarus had ever seen skittered around the ring. He roared to those watching in the stands, raising a long spear with a serrated edge that looked perfect for slicing right to the bone.

“He’s a big boy,” Emelda said.

Ikarus glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Finally come up for air?”

Smiling, she swatted his chest with the back of her hand. She gave Ikarus a long, sweeping glance, then looked back at the Arakna. “Is it just me, or is his top half bigger than it should be?”

Funnily enough, he’d had the same thought. While it was true that the spider portion of the Araknas’ bodies never stopped growing, the top humanoid portion froze when they reached maturity. This Arakna was clearly on the older side, given the crow’s feet around his eyes and dusting of gray in his shoulder-length black hair.

“What do you reckon?” Emelda asked, the pink and gold freckles across her nose and cheeks sparkling as her eyes slid back toward him. “Five silvers says Malakai obliterates him in four minutes.”

As a rule, Ikarus didn’t gamble, but there were times … “Eight says he does it in six.” Malakai was more than capable of squashing the half-spider in far less, but the crowd was bloodthirsty tonight, and his friend had never been able to resist putting on a good show.

A hush fell over the crowd when the walls of the arena shifted again.

Malakai wore no armor or weapons. Grinning from ear to ear, he stepped into the ring in a pair of black boots and leather trousers, shirtless—because of course he fucking did, the bastard was nothing if not theatrical—and walked straight up to the lowering Arakna. “Aleena’s tits. You’re a big fucker, ain’t ya?”

Snarling, the Arakna swiped his spear across the floor, sending a sea of red sparks flying. So he had a temper. Ikarus rested his elbows against the railing. That always made for an interesting fight.

When the horn blared again, Emelda pointed a heavily jeweled hand to the black iron timepiece that hung from the ceiling. “You’re on.”