43. Oz

43

Oz

A s I stand in the royal receiving room deep in the arena, positioned behind Goras Vamyar, the revered monarch of Sacred Lakes, I'm still not sure why I'm not dead.

Algraas floats above me, circling me with wings that make no sound. "I say we should devour some of his brain. It will make him that much easier to control."

Without a doubt, the monarch's high demon is the most alien-looking fucker I've seen in all my years on this planet. Even for a high demon, he's unique.

I've seen my share of weird shit. I survived the Fallen Realm—Yssa, a spawn pocket existence that somehow survived The Meld.

It's lawless, filled with unimaginable entities, pain and suffering. So much suffering.

And yet I'd almost rather be there than here, with an elf, an archdemon…and her.

Algraas cocks his head at me. "More than you seem, orc. Bet you'll be tasty." As if eating me is a foregone conclusion .

I glare at him.

He darts in and licks my arm with a tongue that burns.

"Asshole, get off. "

He flies back and laughs with a voice so pure and beautiful I fight the urge to cry at the beauty of its joy. Algraas is nothing but contrasts with a voice that makes angels weep while he feeds on pain.

High demons are known for having blood-red or black skin. Algraas is no different. He looks as if he's bathed in blood. Yet his hair is pristine white, like his claws and brilliant eyes that shine with ethereal purity.

Those eyes spot threats, which the demon defeats with alacrity. He devours enemies on the spot. In the few hours I've been in his company, I've already watched him eat a pompous sylph from head to toe, in bits and bites. Followed by a chaser of teenage elf.

I'm just surprised Algraas hasn't tried to eat me yet.

Ah, but the day is young.

He purrs with delight as he floats, studying me and smiling.

There's magic in his voice, and I add surviving Algraas to the host of mistakes I've made since losing it at the arena.

Reacting to the sight of my mother, after fourteen long years, stole all rational thought. I'm lucky she hasn't recognized me.

For over a decade I searched, dedicated to avenging my father.

And then to see her looking so beautiful, so happy and carefree next to the gods-damned monarch…

I don't remember much after beheading Kami's opponent, my intent to kill overwhelming. Until I'd climbed into the box, tossed Algraas aside, and stared at Daleyne the Betrayer.

The Devourer .

Once beloved of Kalizh…and his son.

In that split second, my intent to kill disappeared, and I saw only the loving mother who had always treated me with care in those rare moments she lived with us.

To my eternal shame, I froze.

By then, Algraas had regrouped and yanked me up off my feet by neck. The monarch only laughed with delight, impressed by my temerity.

He insisted I join them as an honorary tribute and temporary member of the guard.

The bloodthirsty crowd went wild.

As if I didn't know the meaning of "honorary tribute."

I'll be killed last, my still-beating heart ripped from my chest and offered to the war god in a pyre of hellflame to commemorate the end of the Radiant Trials.

The demon floats closer, his wings moving so fast they're a black blur. I need to nip this before he makes a real meal of me.

"Touch me again and lose a wing." I smile, showing my small fangs. Not at all scary.

But the rage in my eyes is true, ogre-fueled. Just like my journey across the arena field, where I had the strength to push past so many mages then outmuscle an archdemon.

Normally, I can't use this ability without tons of concentration, and even then, it's usable only once in a great while. Not again, not so soon. Probably the only good thing my years in Yssa taught me, to harness this odd ability.

I had hoped to show the guys and Kami later, pulling out this ogre magic when we need it most.

My heart aches, that I've left them behind. Only for now. Just until I can figure a way out of this mess.

"You think to threaten me?" Algraas trills, like the call of a lovebird to its mate. The incongruence of his vile ways and majestic voice perplex me, as they're meant to .

"Fuck off."

"Me? A demon of the acnasha caste? You threaten me? " Great. Now the fucker looks intrigued. He flits close then away, then close again.

A giant, demonic hummingbird who will eat me if I'm not careful. And he won't wait until I'm dead before taking the first bite.

"Algraas, attend me." Goras snaps his fingers, and the demon zips over to him across the room. They stare down at a broad, flat bowl sitting atop a marble pedestal.

Algraas glances back at me and licks his lips with a black, barbed tongue.

The creature is deliberately freaking me out, so I curl my lip and shoot him a hand gesture he can't mistake for anything but an insult.

He winks before turning back to his monarch.

As I watch, Goras waves his six-fingered hand at the large ceremonial bowl smelling of rot and filled with blood and lumps of stuff I'm better off not knowing.

The blood shimmers, and a small image of Beyrthnel rises from the sludge.

I don't move, not wanting to draw any more attention than I already have by making it all the way into the monarch's box.

But when I saw her, everything faded but the memories…and my need to kill.

And I failed even that.

"Wonderful game this year, my Devout." The god's voice reverberates throughout the room and makes my teeth ache.

We all bow our heads, though I watch out of the corner of my eye as Goras straightens and makes a weird gesture toward the god with his hands.

Beyrthnel nods. "And?"

"Rilitar has been especially helpful with his creative pledges of sacrifice." Goras shoots a look at me over his shoulder, and I do my best not to react.

Laughter booms around me, making my ears and nose bleed.

"Ah, yes. Such strength in one not purely fae. Intriguing."

"Such an honor when you visit us, Great One." Daleyne the Devourer enters the room clad in warrior's garb, carrying a two-headed ax over her shoulder.

The weapon is a master in craftsmanship, the fabled God-Slayer gifted to a particular orc sect before The Meld. But it pales next to Daleyne.

My mother is anything but plain. Beautiful in face and form, small yet strong with a power not often seen in orcs against larger, stronger predators.

Unlike most beasts, orcs have been bred with intelligence through the years. So while they—we—aren't as strong as others of our like, we are nearly always smart enough to outmaneuver them.

The way she overcame my father, not through honored combat but by trickery.

My suppressed memories have a terrible way of coming back when I least want them.

I can't afford to make any more mistakes, so I try to close off the past and focus on the present.

My mother's long, black hair absorbs the light around her. Her skin should look sickly, but the deep green is vibrant with life, powered by deceit and the envy of others. I swear she feeds off her opponents' misery.

Her eyes glow as she bows to the image of the war god.

The sight of his bloodied lips curling makes me want to vomit.

Another conquest. My mother even curries favor with deities .

I'm lost to what they're saying as memories of my father laughing at something she's said enter my mind. Just that one instance of us all together.

Mostly my memories are of the brief times she'd visit me. A song. A smile. A soft caress of my cheek. Tiny gifts of rare berries that unfortunately made me sick.

I never told her, just pretended to save them for later, savoring them because they were a gift from her.

Then she'd leave again. Her brief visits never left me wanting anything but more time with her.

Until that day. With my father…

And later, as she dragged me screaming and crying to the Fallen Realm.

She didn't laugh, didn't smile. Didn't cry or speak. She just stared as she shoved me through the portal.

Into hell.

Fourteen long, fucking years of searching, always a few steps behind.

I finally had the chance to kill her, to avenge my father.

And I just stood there, stung by her grace, her loveliness, the deep, familiar green of her gaze that used to look at me with such pride and affection.

Why? Why did you do it? Why did you throw me away?

She doesn't spare me a glance as she laughs and nods at something Algraas says.

They spend more time speaking, now using a language unknown to me but that sounds like a bastardization of Elvish.

A loud noise hurts my ears, and the figure in the bowl collapses.

She suddenly turns to me, raises a brow, and addresses me for the first time. "My, my. He was right. You are a handsome one." She turns to Goras. "Perhaps, my love, we should allow him to serve us before the final ceremony. A few turns on your cock and he'll be begging to sacrifice all for our Beloved Beyrthnel."

"Of certain, my king." Algraas titters and finally alights on the ground.

I don't react. I can't. I've already fucked up by getting their attention without a plan to defeat a monarch, a high demon, and my moth— the Betrayer.

I have to stop thinking of her as my mother .

She snorts at me in derision. "As if you could handle him, let alone me."

I hide my nausea and disgust behind a mask of indifference.

Goras laughs and wraps an arm around her waist. "Come, Daleyne. We have more battles prepared. Let's watch Rilitar's favored brawler up against Asrai's sylph twins."

"So exciting." She turns to me. "Too bad it isn't one of your friends, hmm, orc? The fire fae with no fire? Or maybe the pretty monster who looks like a regular while simmering with banked power? Oh, or the sexy merman who has Folas in a tizzy?" She grins, and I hate that joy makes her that much prettier. "Me? I'm partial to the dryad rumored to be a mancy. How exciting to have one of them in our midst."

I say nothing.

She doesn't wait for an answer anyway and takes Goras's arm as they depart.

Algraas walks toward me, close enough that I bristle and growl at him to stay away.

He smiles, an odd kindness in his tone as he says, "Come, orc. Enjoy the short time you have left in this world. You have been granted a boon by my monarch. A gift to watch the end and appreciate what you will bring into the world before you pass."

His wings shimmer, and he lifts off his feet once more .

I follow the demon through several twisting halls and a stairwell back up to the royal box, where I can see into the arena.

It's now a flat landscape filled with nothing but a sandy ring in the center.

I wonder how my companions are faring. If they even miss me.

Kami will. Won't she?

A large werewolf in blue and gold colors is on one end, and a pair of sylphs who haven't been stripped of their magic are on the other side, juggling balls of fire and ice.

Rilitar looks annoyed that the sylphs will be allowed to use their power.

"He bet big. He's going to lose big." Daleyne sounds amused.

"Can't let our elven captain get too big for his britches," Algraas whispers too close to my ear.

The crowd is hollering. Some cheering, some booing, mostly at the monstrous werewolf knowing he's about to meet his end.

I glance over and spot Daleyne staring at me.

Can she see the real me? Does she know she once held me in her arms and rocked me to sleep, singing sweet songs of victory to her son?

Her expression remains flat, and she turns to the arena to cheer for the sylphs.

For the fae who want to rule the world.

Such grand plans.

But for me, everything is so much smaller, bound to memories and hurt and a lingering weakness I hadn't expected to feel. Not for the woman who destroyed my father and my life.

My stare bores into her back, and I only wish I had the power to end her with a look .

She's the real monster.

A traitor who betrayed her family. Her son.

I will end her with my own two hands.

I have to. But when I had the opportunity, I did nothing but stare, as if under a spell.

Lost.

A little boy again.

I blink hard, horrified to feel my eyes burn.

Yet the question remains.

Why couldn't you love me?