Chapter 12

Kit

Ascream fills my throat as Cyril barely pulls away from Geoffrey's grip and stumbles back. Beside me, Ettienne curses Cyril heartily for the hesitation, for not killing Geoffrey when he'd had the chance.

The king had thrown a hooded cloak around me and dragged me into the stands, planting me on a bench beside himself and Autumn of all people. Autumn doesn't acknowledge me though. She just sits with a book open in her lap. I don't know where Darren's pack is. Ettienne had them led away under guard. Meanwhile, a battle that was never meant to happen unfolds in the arena below us.

"Why did he hesitate?" Ettienne demands. "What did they say?"

"I-I don't know," I stutter back. The bond inside me is alive and roaring but I am as deaf as everyone else when it comes to sound from the arena.

My mates form up together around Lee. Their chests heave, blood running from their wounds, sweat plastering their hair to their faces. They are exhausted and, despite having taken out a third of their opponents, grossly outnumbered. Worse still, whatever happened between Geoffrey and Cyril is making the bond churn, forcing nausea to rise up my throat. Though their weapons are steady, the others must feel it too.

Geoffrey's entire pack gathers together and rushes at Cyril. He throws up a shield, but goes down to his knees. Blood drips from his nose and pain rips through the mating bond. Sand pelts Quinton's skin and eyes, stripping skin and flesh where Cyril's shield fails to protect him. Quinton's skill and magic doesn't work at a distance, so that's how the packs structure their attack. Targeting him with aerial assaults to keep him busy, to make Tavias spread himself thin defending his brother instead of raining lightning. Hauck covers Lee, who is screaming in abject terror. At least I think she is screaming, since only eerie silence rises from the sands. We hear no shouts, no clashes of steel. No words. But we see every bit of the blood.

"This was never the plan," I breathe. Tavias was to reveal the truth to the crowd, subverting the trial before it started. That was the plan. The reason all of Darren's pack is on the outside with me instead of fighting in the arena. The reason I'm not fighting in that arena alongside my mates.

But that's not what happened.

Blood pours down Hauck's sculpted body from where he's taken a hit. Terror shoots through my veins. I'd not considered the possibility of my mates never walking off the sand. Not truly. But now, now it's all too real.

"We have to help them," I yell in case Darren's pack is close enough to hear me. It's unlikely they can, and even less likely they have the freedom to move. But I don't care. I'll go alone if I have to. I lunge toward the arena. I may not be much of a fighter, but the one thing I know in my bones and soul is that my pack is stronger together than apart. Our bond powered up my mates' magic even with me sitting in the stands. It might do more if I'm in the arena with them.

And even if it doesn't, I still need to be there. Whether we live or die, we must do it together.

A hand grabs the scruff of my neck, yanking me back. I lose my footing and trip over the hem of my cloak, but manage to pull my dagger even as I'm falling. I plunge it at my assailant.

I'm not sure what happens next exactly, but one moment I'm a hair's breadth away from stabbing the king of Massa'eve—and the next the dagger is on the ground, my wrist is burning in pain, and Ettienne is holding me up by the scuff of my shirt. Like a giant handling an errant cat.

Ettienne's face is an echo of Cyril's, but colder and more calculating. "Stay put, little lizard. Your life is more valuable than all of theirs."

Red spots of fury dance in my vision at that. My desire to tear Ettienne's throat out with my teeth is so palpable I can taste it. My lips pull back in snarl. I make no effort to hide my thoughts from the king—and he makes no effort to even pretend to care.

With me still dangling in his hold, Ettienne turns to Autumn. She's still not acknowledged me, nor watched a moment of the trial. All her concentration is on the ancient looking pages.

"If there is anything her highness wishes to share with us, now would be a good time," Ettienne says to her.

Autumn keeps reading, her fingers hovering over the text and sending sparks of magic into the air.

"Lady Autumn." Ettienne snaps his fingers in front of her face. "Your Highness."

"I don't have anything yet," she says in frustration. She turns to Ettienne, her eyes widening when they land on me. "Kitterny. Hello." She gestures with her chin to Ettienne's iron hold. "Is that necessary?"

"She isn't behaving," Ettienne says.

"I need to get down there," I snap. "Let me go."

Ettienne sighs and pulls a coin from his pocket. He tosses it toward the arena below, as if casting a piece into a wishing pond. The coin arcs over the spectators' heads and plummets down—only to land atop an invisible shield a few dozen feet above the sand.

"It isn't just the sound that's being blocked, the whole arena is shielded," Autumn tells me before going back to her book. "The lack of sound is likely a side effect. So I wouldn't bother trying to scurry down there."

Shit. I stop struggling against Ettienne's hold. "The rutting priests really don't want anyone interfering, do they?"

"Apparently not," Ettienne agrees. He releases me, but not before giving me a warning look, like one would a troublesome child. Then we both turn to the melee below.

Quinton has managed to get close to the attackers and is a blur of death with his swords. Tavias wields his magic with all the fury of a lightning storm, but his power is waning. Flashes of light reflect in the mirrors, but each is less potent than the one before. Hauck pants and Cyril is shaking with the effort to stave off the worst of the magical assaults.

"They are holding a defensive line around Lee and can't break formation," I say. "They cannot keep it forever."

"No, they cannot." Ettienne agrees. "Which is why we need to get you out of here, little lizard. You are the dragons' future. There won't be a better time?—"

A sword sliced through Hauck's thigh and I jerk as phantom agony shoots through the bond. My vision narrows, my thoughts stop, my heart gallops. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. There has to be something I can do.

"Try to take me away and I will kill you," I snarl at Ettienne, the magic that is there but out of my reach taunting me from the inside. "Not today, but one day. That much I vow."

"Yes, in another one of your well thought-out plans, I'm certain." He halts my reply with an upraised hand. "If you insist on staying, could you possibly do me the favor of not dying, at least in the next quarter hour or so?"

"Uh—"

"We cannot wait much longer." Ettienne turns to Autumn, dismissing me for the moment. "I believe it's time for my solution. It may be less subtle than yours, but it is more expedient."

Autumn presses her lips together, her gaze shifting from her book to the arena. She curses. "Expedience it is."

"Who do I kill?" Ettienne inquires.

Autumn points to six hooded priests standing in the shadows around the stands. Their hands move about as if playing cat's cradle. "Those are the anchors. Take them out and the shield will fall. It will be messy, but?—"

"Expedient." Ettienne summons one of his guards and issues curt, quiet orders that I can't make out. After the guard jogs away, the king tells Autumn, "Once we begin, you are to remain where you are."

Autumn adjusts her dress, which I now see is made for ease of movement as well as decoration. "Did I somehow give you the impression of being under your command?"

"You did not," Ettienne assures her. "But my royal guards, who are very much under my command, just received orders to shoot you in the leg if you try to leave the bleachers."

Autumn's eyes flash and I scent the sudden acrid surge of her anger. She knows Ettienne isn't jesting. "How diplomatic of you."

"Yes, well, I'd rather deal with a demarche from the Slate throne, then whatever armies your brother will send should he discover you dead." Ettienne turns to me. "The sad trio who fancy themselves your guards are correct about one thing—you are the dragon queen. And in case you've not worked this out already, if you get yourself killed, I doubt your mates will survive the week. I will put an end to this massacre. Do not make it all for naught by proving yourself too stupid to live. Do you understand me?"

I don't know what I expected to hear from Ettienne, but that was not it. "Ah… yes. Completely."

Already ignoring me, Ettienne makes a motion with his hand and a flare of purple light rises above the stands. When the flare reaches the apex of its flight, it explodes into a constellation of tiny beautiful stars. The little lights fizzle out quickly, as if they'd never been fully real—but the volley of arrows that fly from the shadows in answer very much are. So are the sudden screams of six hooded priests who crumple in unison.

Down below, the coin Ettienne had tossed onto the invisible shield drops to the sand.