by Amy Sumida
Beyond the training yard was a high fence; metal slats bolted to posts horizontally. Between the slats, I could see shops with beneathers strolling past them. The sounds and smells of civilization were a little shocking after being in a cell. Was this to tease us or them? Maybe it was both. The free beneathers got a glimpse of the arena fighters while we got a glimpse of freedom. It was slightly diabolical.
“Why metal?” I nodded at the fence. “Wouldn't stone suit you guys better?”
“Metal can conduct electricity.” Jago smiled wickedly. “Stone can't.”
“Right,” I whispered. “Don't touch the walls. Got it.”
The air was fresh there, despite us being underground. I'd heard that the Gargoyles were masters at creating subterranean cities. They had ways of directing heat, water, and air down into their caves. With so many beneathers clambering for entry into their zones, they'd have to have some sort of ventilation system in place. I just hadn't expected it to be so good. There were hundreds of people out there, maybe even thousands; the reek of them alone would be enough to taint the air. But it smelled as fresh as the air of the Blue Mountains.
The arena was on our left. We curved around the bowl of it and approached a towering, three-story building that was attached to the arena in an unusual way. I noted the way the top floor butted against the arena's curved wall while an alley separated them at ground level. In the middle, a stone tunnel shot out; like one of those overpasses you see connecting department stores with parking lots. Except this didn't have any windows. I recalled the Zone Lord's glass box; it would have been around that level. So, this was a passage to it. Had to be.
The rest of the building didn't look like much on the outside; the same gray-colored stone that the prison was made of. The prison was attached to the arena too, opposite this building, but it was only a single story and the passage that connected it was at ground level. The prison made the taller structure seem more commanding, but neither of them held up to the enormity of the arena; it towered above the other two.
A pair of gargoyles stood outside the entrance of the three-story building. They nodded at Jago but didn't say anything. I guess he was the talker of the bunch. One of them glanced at me as he opened the door for us, but then his stare angled up, over my shoulder, and he quickly looked away. I flicked my gaze back at Jago and caught the tail end of a glare. Interesting.
Our boots echoed off a polished stone hallway. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all black, and with the mirror-shine, it felt as if we were walking through endless space. Disconcerting; which I'm sure was the point. A red light caught my attention—far up in a corner—and I looked up to see a camera eye watching me. I smirked at it.
The hallway split; half of it became a slimmer hallway on the left while the right side swept up into a narrow stairwell. We took the stairs to the third floor. At first, I'd thought the stairs were concrete, but I realized they were solid stone. The whole building was rock; one giant piece. Seamless and smooth. Well, stonework was a Gargoyle specialty. It had to be the easiest and cheapest form of construction for them. They probably shaped this building as they were carving out the zone itself. Why bring in building materials when you can just use what's already there?
The top floor had attitude. Masculine, refined, and yet savage attitude. The floor there was the same black stone of the entry hall, but the walls were paneled in ebony; better to hang priceless works of art on. Furniture was sparse, large, and mostly leather; placed around the room strategically. A central fireplace was open all the way around; more of a fire pit, really. It had a round, stone base—that same polished black—with a silver flue above it. The flue was shaped like a sword, tip up, and had a shelf jutting out around the base that resembled a crossguard. Steel poles descended into the stone around the edges of the fire to complete the look. There were logs in the center, but they were just for show; gas flames burned blue around them.
We skirted the edge of the fire pit and headed to the right; our boots silenced by thick rugs laid to look as if thrown there haphazardly. But they were as planned as the rest of the room; sectioning off social areas with their borders. There was a place to sit and enjoy a book by the fire, a place to drink expensive liquor, and even a place to wait while the Zone Lord decided if he wanted to speak with you.
The room was spacious, but I knew from my inspection outside that it wasn't even a third of the top floor. There had to be several rooms off to either side of us. The right wall was floor-to-ceiling glass with a view of the Zone. We were just high enough to see over the metal walls and from the looks of it, we were smack dab in the center of the zone. As we drew closer to the windows, I noticed the doors set to either side. They confirmed my assumption that there was more to this floor. But I only gave them a cursory glance; my stare was drawn immediately to the mammoth, black desk between the doors. It faced inward instead of toward the view. Another strategic placement. It gave a direct line of sight to the door.
The desk was impressive; an expanse of ebony that matched the walls. Silver gargoyles adorned each corner—glaring at anyone who dared to approach their lord's domain—and a battle scene was inlaid into the top of the desk with even more silver. A thick sheet of glass protected the beautiful carving from the steaming mug of coffee sitting on it casually. A computer monitor was set to one side but there was no keyboard in sight. Nor were there any paperwork or journals or even a damn pen. Just that coffee, the monitor, and a black box with buttons on it—looked like a speaker.
A hand that managed to be both large and elegant reached for the coffee. I followed the cup's progress to a pair of sensual lips. Silver eyes stared at me steadily above the rim of the mug; cold as the metal they resembled. The mug lowered and the rest of the Zone Lord's face was revealed; the same one I'd glimpsed from the arena. A jawline of chiseled rock. Blades for cheekbones. His lips—the only soft thing about him—tightened in displeasure as he looked at me. He was less refined up close; a step away from the jungle. Except it wasn't Mowgli that was staring at me through those mirror-eyes, it was Shere Khan or maybe that giant fucking snake. What the hell was that snake's name anyway? Ku something? Ka?
“You have an offer for me, Elaria?” His voice was primal; something drawn up from deep within the earth.
“How did you... ?” I gaped at him and then grinned. “You been watching me, Zone Lord?”
“Of course,” he said. “I see everything.”
“Like a creepy Santa,” I noted.
“What do you want?”
“That Sasq'et girl you bastards grabbed along with me and Cerberus,” I said.
He lifted a brow as Jago made a choked sound.
“What about her?”
“I want you to let her go.” I crossed my arms and leaned back on my heels since I hadn't been invited to take a seat in one of the chairs before the desk. “I'll fight double; take her place. You know she won't last ten seconds. I can give you way more entertainment than she can; draw it out instead of making it quick like this morning. Your customers will like that.”
He sat back in his tufted leather chair, and it felt as if his presence expanded. This man knew how to fill a room. Behind him, the Zone glittered with softened lights. I guess they needed a way to tell night from day.
“No,” he said.
“No?” I asked in shock. “You're seriously turning down a chance to double your money?”
“No; I won't release her, but I will let you fight on her behalf,” he amended. “I'll keep her to ensure that you keep your part of the bargain.”
“What's your name?” I asked instead of accepting. “I'd like to know who I'm dealing with.”
His eyes flashed. All Gargoyles had gray eyes; the shade differed, but they were always as gray as the stone they manipulated. This was the first one I'd met with silver. I looked closer. Not just silver; there was a dark gray ring around them, keeping his irises from bleeding into the whites. Even that ring was an unusual shade; not marble, more like—<
br />
“Slate Devon,” he said.
Yep, that was it; slate gray.
“If you ever forget, look to your nightmares; I'm sure you'll find me there.”
I laughed boisterously. Oh, that was a grand line. I wondered if he practiced it in a mirror. Look to your nightmares indeed. I chortled. I chuckled. I nearly got a stitch in my side.
Jago flinched. Slate narrowed his eyes at me.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked when I finally stopped laughing. “Please. The only reason you have any power over me is that some asshole was able to tranquilize me and get this thing on my neck before I woke up. This metal is all that stands between you and utter annihilation, Slate Devon,” I growled his name. “You had best pray it holds or it's I who shall become your greatest nightmare.”
“Yes; I'm sure you'd give it a go.” Slate's lips twitched at the corners. “But I'm not so easy to annihilate or intimidate, Elaria. The only thing between you and utter annihilation is your voice, and I've taken that.” He lifted a tiny remote. “Now, do you accept my counter offer, or not?”
“I accept.” My eyes strayed to that remote; doubtless, it was the switch for my collar. “And you can be damn sure I'll remember your name. I like to keep a list of the people I plan on killing.”
“Step out of line and the girl is dead,” he said coolly; as if he were talking about what he was going to have for dinner.
Slate's head angled and the overhead light caught in his silver stare. For a moment I had the surreal feeling that he wasn't real; eyes like that belong on an android. Something with the appearance of life but without a soul. Without a heart.
“Understood,” I said in the same tone he'd used.
Slate nodded; first to me and then to Jago. Jago turned me around roughly and started leading me out of the room with a hand at my shoulder.
“And don't think that you've escaped punishment for that salute you gave me this morning,” Slate's voice followed me out. “You'll have a special surprise waiting for you in the arena tomorrow.”
I wasn't worried about his surprise, but that bargain I'd made was worrisome; it showed my hand. My weakness. That being said, it may have been the only way to keep the girl alive.
“You got balls the size of Kansas, woman,” Jago muttered as he led me downstairs.
Kansas. I nearly sighed when I heard the word. Banning would be frantic by now. All of them would be. Could they find me down there; past miles of stone and wards that even I couldn't pierce? I had to get word to them somehow. Kyanite! Darc was King of Kyanite now. That meant Ky could take him a message for me. Hell, knowing my stone, he already had.
I began to smile. Slate Devon had no idea what kind of nightmares he'd be having... while still awake.
Chapter Eight
The next day, I fought trolls. Two of them. At the same time. I hadn't specified when I'd fight the girl's battles, and Slate had used that against me; bundling them with mine. I guess that was my punishment for flipping him off. Fucker. Honestly, I preferred it this way; it meant that I only had to go out and face that wild crowd once a day instead of giving them two shows. Word had spread that the Gargoyles had a spellsinger fighter and the stands were packed.
The problem wasn't that there were two trolls. It was that I'd promised Slate a show and in order to draw out the fight, I had to stay out of my opponent's grasp. That meant running and evading while I sang. Luckily, I was faster than trolls—very few people weren't faster than trolls—and I killed them with a great flourish. But if Slate ever pit me against something I couldn't outrun, I wasn't going to drag it out. I'd take my enemy down before they made it across the arena.
My luck held for four days. Every match was watched closely by the Zone Lord, and I was true to my word; making them all entertaining. I burned beneathers. I drowned them. I broke their bones. I became a monster to save that little girl, and I'd do it all over again in a fucking heartbeat. Some things are worth turning evil, and I had a lot to make up for. Not just in failing the Sasq'ets but in all I'd done to the Shining Ones when I was Faenestra. There, in the sand and the blood, beneath a stone sky, and under the chilling gaze of a gargoyle zone lord, I started to feel redeemed.
Kyanite spoke to me as I fought; conveying messages back and forth between my men and me. They couldn't find the zone I was being held in (there were hundreds all over the world), but at least they knew what was happening to me and that I was still alive. I told them that I was fine; I was winning and as long as I continued to make Slate money, he'd continue to let me live. They were worried, of course, but it was better than being in the dark. At least this way, they could work toward freeing me.
I had hoped that Slate's name might give them a clue on where to find me, but the Zone Lords were fiercely protected, and although my guys were able to confirm that there was a lord named Slate Devon, they weren't able to discover which zone he ran. They'd finally given up on pinpointing it and decided to just infiltrate every zone until they found me. Tedious, but it would have worked.
Except the Gargoyles wouldn't let my lovers in. That fucker Devon must have alerted every zone that my men were looking for me. How he knew who to warn them against was baffling and terribly troublesome. Slate Devon must have done his research.
It didn't matter. Jago told me that if I kept winning fights, in six months, I'd also win my freedom. One week down; twenty-three to go. I know; it was a long stint, but it was better than forever. Through rescue or victory, I'd get free of that damn zone. And I'd fucking obliterate the arena on my way out.
“It's that time again,” Jago said merrily at my cell window.
It was the same cell I'd started out in. Every comfort I won, I gave to the Sasq'et girl. Cer wasn't across from me anymore; he'd been winning every battle he fought and had taken the upgrades. He was probably across from the girl now. I hoped so; one of us needed to keep an eye on her.
I was glad Cer was more comfortable, but I missed having him to talk to. The only conversation I had now was with Jago when he came to walk me to the arena, and with the beneathers I killed. Which was fucking depressing.
“Am I fighting one or two today?” I asked Jago as we ambled toward the arena.
He just smirked at me.
“Come on, give me a hint,” I cajoled.
“You're up against one challenger, but she's special.”
“A woman?” I asked in surprise. This would be the first female I fought in the arena.
“Yep.”
“Thanks for being so forthcoming,” I said dryly.
Jago laughed as he shoved me into the arena. The gate rumbled down behind me, and the crowd cheered. I was becoming one of their favorites, though I'd heard that a certain three-headed dog was right up there beside me.
Then everyone went quiet; all eyes turning to the other end of the arena.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
The woman wore a simple cotton dress; no armor and no weapons. Like me, she was the weapon. Or her hair was, rather. The woman who was smiling at me softly, as if we could be friends, was a gorgon. Nope; there was no way I'd braid that hair while we talked about boys.
Tiny snakes slithered around her face and shoulders; their sinuous green bodies catching the light like jewels. They tumbled halfway down her back but most of them kept curling up on themselves and shortening their length. From a distance, it looked as if someone kept pulling on her curls. The rest of her was average; her face, her body, even the color of her skin was something between tan and pale. But all she needed to draw attention to herself were those snakes.
“What a treat!” The male announcer shouted. “A gorgon versus a spellsinger. We have a regular catfight about to happen.”
The female announcer grimaced at the man. “Or we finally have an evenly matched fight,” she added.
The women in the crowd cheered. That's right; us girls could be even more deadly than men sometimes.
I got something prepared, Kyanite said as soon as my collar w
as shut off.
“There you are,” I muttered in relief. “Hey, anything from the guys?”
No progress yet. Hang in there, my love. They won't give up on you.
“As if there's anything else I can do,” I grumbled.
Focus! A gorgon is not a joke!
“I know, I know.”
Gorgons could turn people to stone—a power that probably gave Slate a raging hard-on—but you had to make eye contact with them first. It was something about the snake magic; instead of charming them, they charmed you. There was an easy defense against it; you simply closed your eyes. Of course, then you couldn't see her coming, and those snakes didn't just stare, they also bit. With poisonous venom.
