3. Regale Hour

3. Regale Hour

Skylenna

We’re ushered into a stadium.A grand hall, like a theater, but with flashing lights, mirrors, rotating red and white wheels, swinging contraptions, and a stage at the center of it all.

The prisoners spread out, lounging in the chairs, using the swinging contraptions to exercise, and socializing with each other casually.

“It’s like…recess?” Niles asks.

“Looks like it.” Warrose scans the area suspiciously. “Probably keeps the prisoners from going stir-crazy.”

“Maybe this is better than the asylum, after all,” I say.

Only something is off. The stage is stained, and the air smells of burning wood, copper, and vomit. My gaze is instantly drawn to the corner of the stage. Prisoners hover around someone moaning.

I nudge Dessin and point to it.

We move closer to investigate. Careful not to walk too fast or get too close. Low profile. Don’t draw any more attention than we already have.

Suddenly, the moans turn into throaty howls of pain. We stop a few feet from the crowd as someone moves out of the way, revealing an old man clutching his forearm for dear life as he groans through his teeth. An old woman next to him pours brown liquid over his—

“Shit,” Warrose utters, pressing a hand back to keep Ruth from taking a step forward.

The old man’s hand is missing. All that’s left is a bloody stump. A sharp, protruding bone. Shreds of flesh hanging from where his hand once was.

“Devmez ezeakaz ubne bileadéf!” the old woman yells, holding his face in her hands as the others hold him down.

“We can’t let it get infected,” Ruth translates in horror.

“How did he lose his hand?” I ask, but the question comes out as a whisper, a single breath disappearing in the nervous energy around us.

The old man vomits across the old woman’s thighs, but she doesn’t seem to notice as the others wrap his wrist in gauze.

“Courtesy of Fun House Night,” a strong female voice announces from behind us.

I turn away from the writhing old man to two giant women with crossed arms—short curly hair, splotchy red cheeks, and a towering height nearly matching Dessin’s.

“God bless,” Niles gasps, flinching away from her.

The first is a thick oak tree of a woman. Broad and beefy. I stare with my mouth parted, looking up and up and up.

“The name’s Helga Bee,” she says proudly. “This here is Gerta.” She points to the shorter woman next to her. But not by much.

“You don’t speak Old Alkadonian like the others?” Ruth asks.

“No, we do. But we knew the Demechnef Experiments don’t.” Her wide, buggy eyes dissect us individually, like a child holding a magnifying glass over a cluster of insects.

I hesitate for a moment. “How many prisoners speak our language?”

Helga Bee scratches her shoulder, causing the milky white skin to turn cherry red. “About seventy-five percent of them.”

Dessin raises his eyebrows. “We haven’t heard anything other than Old Alkadonian.”

She shrugs innocently. “That’s because anyone from our sister country is shunned and isolated here, Beetle Brain.”

Beetle Brain. I nearly laugh.

Warrose beats me to it.

“I like her.” He chuckles, looking back to Dessin to observe his reaction to the new nickname. Dessin clenches his jaw, grimacing at Helga Bee like he wants to do something—anything—to put her in her place.

Warrose laughs harder.

I look around at the prisoners spread out through the arena, watching us closely, scowling at our interaction with Helga Bee and Gerta.

“Why are you talking to us if the status quo is to ignore us?” Marilynn asks.

“We’ve never followed the lackluster trends here,” she explains, sitting on the edge of the stage. “Gerta and I are from the East-Vexallo Mountains, the only territory exempt from the Vexamen Law. We’re born rebels!”

That must be like the Bear Traps. A place outside of the social norms. A section of land that is exempt from the extreme way of life.

“How’d you end up here?” Ruth asks.

Helga Bee tsks. “Bad form. Never ask another prisoner what they did to get them thrown into the circus!”

It isn’t until I glance at Gerta that I notice why Niles has been so quiet. She’s been grinning at him silently, twirling her frizzy brown hair around her finger with blushing cheeks and swaying hips.

Niles tries not to look at her.

“You sure are a pretty man,” Gerta says, voice a little deeper than I would have expected.

Niles doesn’t look up. “Thank you, I know.”

I roll my eyes.

“You said something about a Fun House Night?” Dessin asks with a clipped tone.

Helga Bee straightens. “Yep. Dates chosen at random, we have Fun House Night in this big ole’ room.” She circles her hands in a sweeping motion. “Vexamen Breed’s finest come to watch whatever the Circus Orchestrators have planned to entertain them.”

“Entertain…how?” Dessin asks cautiously.

Helga Bee smirks at him, waggling her strawberry-blonde eyebrows as if to ask, do you really want to know?

“Oh, you know, the usual. The Guzzle Ride, Ecstasy Dance, Swing Pit, Hunting Rally…”

“I’m going to need a definition for everything you just listed,” Dessin deadpans.

“And then, of course, there are the Vex-Reaper nights for those who get three strikes. That’s when soldiers get to watch misbehaving prisoners get punished.”

“What kind of punishments?” I ask, dread sinking to the bottom of my stomach like a rock.

“Okay, so there’s the Blood Falcon. You don’t really want a description of that—but I’ll give you a less disgusting explanation. They cut out your lungs and spread them like wings until you slowly die on the stage.”

“How the hell is that the less disgusting version?” Niles cringes, inching away from Gerta, who has been subtly trying to stand close to Niles.

“And then there’s the Vexamen Candles when a prisoner, who got caught trying to escape, gets dipped in oil and set ablaze.”

I feel Niles stiffen; his entire body seems to turn to stone.

My stomach rolls. I shake my head at the graphic images flooding through my mind. Okay, this place might be worse than the asylum.

“How do we avoid getting strikes?” Warrose asks, voice sounding low and scratchy like he’s bottling up a bout of rage swimming to the surface.

“Trying to escape, murder, suicide attempts, failure to attend a Fun House Night,” Gerta answers as she reaches out to caress Niles’s face.

I exchange a pained look with Dessin. Great. If we get caught at any point trying to break out of here, we get a strike, which could lead to a blood falcon situation or being burned alive.

“Dammit,” I breathe. But I see the wheels turning in Dessin’s head. This is his specialty. He can form an escape plan anywhere. Only now, he isn’t just thinking of himself. He has to consider each detail carefully because it could result in one of our friends getting a strike.

“When’s the next Fun House Night?” Dessin breaks the silence, rolling his neck to relieve built-up tension.

“Maybe a couple of days.” Helga Bee grins, popping up from her seated position. “My advice? Get through it without making a fuss. Days like this are for us to nurse our wounds and recover.” She nods to the man howling from his bleeding wrist.

Instinctively, I reach for Dessin’s hand, curling my fingers around his warm palm. It’s like my own comfort blanket. A slight touch to soothe the anxiety building within me, making it hard to take an even breath. That large hand shifts, wrapping itself around mine in a way that’s both protective and sweet.

Helga Bee watches us curiously. “You two are mated?” She looks at Warrose and Ruth, then practically flinches toward Niles and Marilynn. “Are all of you paired up?”

“No!” The word half explodes from Ruth and Warrose’s mouths. They grimace at each other and take a small step away.

Mated? “Dessin and I are together.” And his hand tightens around mine in response.

She pulls her thin lips into her mouth skeptically. “The rest of you should at least fake being paired up.” Her words are low and crass, a violent whisper as she looks around to ensure no one else hears.

“Why?” I ask her.

She shrugs her wide shoulders. “It’ll help keep the male prisoners away from your ladies.”

Dessin pulls me closer to his side, but the rest of our group makes no effort to do as Helga Bee says. I clear my throat, eyeing Warrose. He huffs, taking a step closer to Ruth, then shrugs at me like that’s the best he can do. Ruth rolls her eyes.

“Better,” Helga Bee says, still eyeing our body language with suspicion. “But you all should work on your acting skills. Get inspired by the mama and papa of the group. I could cut their sexual tension with a pair of bladed needle globbers.”

“I don’t know what you just said, but I agree.” Niles nods, then balks with a curse as Gerta nuzzles her plump face against his bicep.

Marilynn’s lips curl upward, not enough to be counted as a smirk, but it’s a subtle change of her mouth, a silent adjustment that says she’s amused by Niles. And honestly, I wouldn’t trust her if she wasn’t. Niles, although he can be very annoying, is relentlessly amusing.

“How does not being paired up affect Fun House Nights?” Dessin asks.

“They’ll give you the option to participate in a private lust hour with a Vexamen Breed soldier. Most individuals put up a good fight but end up taking the deal when the alternative is grueling humiliation and punishments. And the longer you hold out, the more desirable you’ll be to the commanders. It’ll become a game for them to see you grovel for their attention.” She takes a long breath, scratching her milky skin with overgrown yellow fingernails. “It’s dirty and barbaric but makes for juicy drama when bored.”

I groan. That’s why that blond-bearded man got so testy this morning in the showers. He was looking for any women who aren’t paired up or mated.

“Wait,” I call for Helga Bee as she turns to leave. “They didn’t give us food today. How long will that last?”

If we’re going to survive through Fun House Nights, we need to have our strength. And right now, my tummy is gurgling loud enough for everyone to hear.

Helga Bee winces. “Yeah, that’s shitty luck, isn’t it? I dunno. If anyone gives you a portion of their meals, they’ll get starved out, too.”

“Then what do we do?” Dessin steps forward, dragging me with him.

“Figure it out, Beetle Brain. I’m a six-meals-a-day kind of woman. Can’t afford to help you on this one.”