“What?”
Standing from his crouch, Riordan explained, “The portal into the Pit is in the coliseum, meaning Rothario wants to lure you there so he can throw you both in. He also knows there's no way for someone to reach the Imperial City from here in two hours without teleporting, so he issued that time limit purposefully.”
Edith had thought Rothario's direction to the coliseum was strange. Yet it seemed there was method to his madness after all, and the idea that he not only wanted to throw her and Isaac in the Pit, but also use her as a reason to kill the traitors he'd captured, infuriated her to the point that magic brimmed at her fingertips.
Still, Dalia's next statement offered a ray of hope. “The good news is that the portal is contained within a seal and can only be opened by the one who's sworn an oath to lead Perosia. In this case, Rothario.”
“How is the portal triggered?”
Riordan answered, “There's an oyalite skull upon a plinth at the north end of the arena. Touching the skull opens it.”
“Then one of us should destroy it,” Dalia suggested.
“No,” Edith denied. “That's too risky.”
“Why?”
“It's the same concept as a doorknob,” she explained. “If you destroy it, the door isn't gonna shut, and I'm pretty sure this trigger was made so that it's not easily tampered with using magic. On a normal day I might be able to pick the lock to keep Rothario from using it, but there's no time for that now.”
As Edith spoke, Dalia grumbled, then took a moment to walk over to the Dok'aal workers. As she passed Riordan, she quickly jerked the sword out of his back, yet the captain merely flinched and thanked her, proving the Imperial Army trained their numbers to withstand pain.
Tossing the sword aside, Dalia informed the Dok'aal, “I know I promised to take you to my clan in Ithelyon as soon as my friends returned, but Isaac is my brother. So would you be willing to wait in this haven while I help Edith find a way to free him?”
The tall, muscular males exchanged a look, and the one on the right shook his head. “With all due respect, no.”
“No?” Edith asked.
The other answered, “We'd rather help you.”
Hearing of their willingness to fight, Dalia and Edith shared a smile, and Riordan took that chance to qualify some important information.
“All of the soldiers in our resistance would be willing to help as well, which includes a few stationed in the Imperial Palace. You also won't have to worry about the teleportation wards with me around. My armor allows me to move through them, and even if Rothario wanted to change them, he'd have to remove the current wards first, allowing anyone to travel wherever they wanted for a time. That's a risk I'm certain he's not willing to take with you here.”
Edith listened carefully, then nodded in understanding. “So we're not without options, leaving us about two hours to come up with a plan to free Isaac and prevent as much blood from being spilled as possible.”
Pacing across the granite floor, she considered all of the angles, knowing victory might be hard won despite the resources available. But Edith soon realized that no matter what came, the first part of any plan formulated would be accomplishing a particular task she'd wanted to achieve long before coming to Perosia.
At the thought, she put her attention on the captain and asked, “Riordan, you know the Imperial Palace pretty well, right?”
“Better than my own home.”
Hearing this, Edith grinned. “Good, because I have to find something specific, and I'll need your help to do it … ”
Thirty-Four
• • •
The Grand Coliseum was no small stadium, sporting a large arena and three vast levels of seats that could likely hold the entire population of the Imperial City. An open dome overhead clearly showcased the early evening suns, and the monument of Peros standing on the northern ledge overlooked a bleak scene below.
Upon the large, metal seal at the northern end of the arena floor stood a number of cages, each packed with so many people they barely had room to move. Most were dirty, and some looked as if they'd been starved and beaten.
But all were staring in the same direction as the sound of cheerful whistling echoed around them.
Isaac performed the tune from his place shackled to one of the cages with his arms stretched tightly above his head and ankles attached to the metal legs. But despite the grim situation, his whistling was cheerful—a sound that had captivated a little boy trapped in the same cage he was bound to.
The child's head was just small enough to fit through the bars, and he stared up at Isaac with wide, icy eyes, completely enthralled by Pop Goes the Weasel.
“Come on, kid, give it a try,” Isaac urged, starting the tune over again.
The little boy listened for a moment longer, then puckered his lips and attempted to blow, but only spit. Flthoth.
“That's it, keep going,” Isaac encouraged him, grinning when the child continued spitting. “Okay, maybe you can supply the pop—”
“What are you doing?” one of the prisoners interjected from inside the cage.
“Just dicking around until shit blows up. Why?”
“Don't you think this is more serious? We're sitting on the portal into the Pit!”
“Yeah,” Isaac remarked, looking down at the large seal below them. “It'll be a trip down memory lane for damned sure.”
“Whatever that means,” the prisoner groused, and his statement was telling.
Apparently, no one present knew who Isaac used to be, and he certainly had no intentions of enlightening them, not about Alder, or his experiences in the Pit. Knowing this was the last place Alder had been before getting exiled was strange enough without telling a bunch of strangers Hi, I'm the effaced prince, and the ride down into the Pit is fun, but the landing is always hell.
Yet the biggest reason he didn't want to talk about it was the children present. Rothario had captured a small number of kids with the rest of his so-called traitors, and some were woefully young. The little boy clutching the bars couldn't have been old enough to understand precisely what was going on, and Isaac wasn't going to scare him.
So instead, he smiled at the boy and said, “Now, let's work on that song again, kid.”
As they got through to the first pop, two guards appeared nearby, carrying a stock unit that they settled a few feet away.
Simultaneously, Rothario remarked, “What a cheerful sound is filling my coliseum today.”
The sound of his voice had the boy supplying the pop's fearfully ducking into the cage. Sighing, Isaac glanced to the right just as Rothario stepped into his line of sight and asked a guard who'd been keeping watch over the prisoners, “Has he been whistling since you secured him here?”
“Mostly, Your Eminence.”
Rothario scoffed, then casually strolled in closer, and he wasn't alone. Following the Steward was a shorter Perosian with dark, buzzed hair, short horns, and a scar over his left eye. Judging by that scar, this was Gyles, the same demon Isaac had hunted in Terra.
As the two came to stand before him, Isaac mentioned plainly, “You know, I'm disappointed in the accommodations, fucknut. Thought you'd have me in a vice by this point, or flogged at the very least.”
Rothario quirked a blond brow, his face still fully exposed after Edith had stolen his mask. “If you're disappointed, what has you whistling so contentedly?”
Isaac shrugged. “Edith has her staff now, and she's coming to kick your ass. So, since I can't celebrate by drinking myself into a stupor, whistling's the next best thing.”
“You're so certain my squadron failed to defeat her?”
“I'm pretty sure that if any of your squadron survived, they're laying in that mine wishing they hadn't.”
Nodding, Rothario asked, “And if she comes here and forces me to kill you?”
“Go ahead and pull the trigger. Then she'll slaughter you even faster.”
A casual smirk lifted the Steward's
lips. “I see. So your life means little as long as she succeeds.”
“Funny how that works, isn't it?” Isaac answered, completely relaxed despite being on the uncomfortable side after nearly two hours of confinement in his shackles.
But the full truth was that he'd become extremely curious over Edith's whereabouts. After their arrival in the palace, Rothario had commanded a squadron to kill her in the mines, and to the best of Isaac's knowledge, they were still waiting on word of the soldier's success.
Yet Edith carried his tracking medallion, which he could sense moving even now, and it had gotten very close.
So was she in the coliseum? The palace? If not, she was definitely in the Imperial City—a fact that troubled him. Had Rothario's soldiers killed her and brought her body back as proof?
Anguish stabbed into Isaac's chest over the notion that she'd been harmed in any capacity, particularly while he was being confined. But with Rothario standing before him now, he pushed the thought away if only to give off the appearance of being entirely comfortable, at least until he knew what had happened for certain.
“Rothario!”
The angry shout came from a woman who'd just teleported into the arena, wearing robes of black and red decorated with oyalite embellishments—a Tribunal Elder.
Whatever she wanted, she was obviously unhappy, and wasted no time announcing the reason why.
“We just received word from the mines. Including the captain, fourteen men are dead, five are critically injured, and the last has no idea what happened to the enchantress. She could be anywhere!”
Yep, and she's already here, shitheads. Whatever worry Isaac felt for Edith's safety vanished in a single heartbeat, making it difficult not to grin—so he didn't bother trying, and was vastly amused by the annoyed look on Rothario's face in response.
“I warned you about this, Rothario,” the Elder stated sternly. “I said not to provoke her! Now she's coming here because you've given her reason to, and—”
“Silence!” Rothario commanded, his voice echoing throughout the arena sharply enough to make the Elder comply without question.
But she'd already said enough to be revealing.
Apparently, not all of the Tribunal was on board with Rothario's plan to lure Edith to the coliseum. Surprise, surprise. Some of them have sense after all.
It made Isaac wonder over their actual loyalty to Rothario. Perhaps they only continued to serve out of fear, or believed the best way to keep their Steward from causing so many problems was by using their position in the court to undo cruel decisions. Maybe it was even a matter of keeping their place to prevent other, more unscrupulous assholes from grabbing at power.
Only time would tell for certain—unless Isaac could learn more indirectly.
Placated by her immediate silence, Rothario waved a hand, stating, “I have business to conduct here, so take your place on the dais. Unless you'd like to join Alder.”
Finally, the Elder teleported away without a word, though she looked extremely displeased. In addition, Isaac could hear whispers sounding from the prisoners about the Prince of Perosia as soon as Rothario mentioned his former name.
But he ignored it to ask the Steward, “What the hell crawled up her ass? I figured they'd be thrilled you finally caught me. Or are they worried Edith's gonna rip 'em a new one, too?”
“Neither,” he answered casually. “They simply want you returned to your proper place as soon as possible, as do I.”
“Uh huh,” Isaac retorted. “That's some strong cologne you're wearing. In Terra, they call it bullshit.”
Rothario exchanged an unimpressed look with Gyles, then asked as if merely humoring him, “What makes you say that, Alder?”
“Those guys are scared,” Isaac explained in short. “Seems like they have a lack of faith in you to lure Edith here and actually trap her in the Pit. I mean, that is the idea, right?”
Deep down, the thought of Edith being in that hellhole was horrifying. But Isaac wasn't going to let Rothario or anyone else know it, reminding himself that he'd survived there before, and he'd do it again, keeping Edith safe until they figured out a way to escape.
Sadly, the thought wasn't as comforting as he'd hoped. But it was better than not having a plan at all.
“I'll admit, I'd thought of it,” Rothario mentioned, his tone casual as he moved closer to Isaac and added, “I've thought of quite a few gruesome fates for your precious female, in fact.”
“Oh?”
The smile that lifted the Steward's lips was cruel indeed, and his response had Isaac's blood boiling with rage so hot he thought the mute might be flaring again. “Yes, for instance, doing to her what I did to you seven centuries ago. Erase her identity, and perhaps then I'll throw her into the soldier's harem. A fiery redhead like her would be a very popular toy for sharing amongst the Imperial Guards.”
It took every ounce of willpower Isaac possessed to merely scoff. “Now you're just trying to get under my skin. Can't do any better than that?”
“Oh, I can do much better,” he replied—and the mute started burning.
Isaac cringed, but didn't say a word when the Steward added, “Perhaps I'll brand her as well, make her a slave to my whims, and can you imagine her suffering? Edith is so young. She's hardly experienced anything in her own world, let alone others, and certainly wouldn't handle pain such as this very well.”
As if to make a point, the mute's burning intensified, spreading across Isaac's back and shoulders until he growled in agony.
Leaning in even closer, Rothario went on, “Imagine hearing her screams, Alder. Imagine her begging for mercy as the brand seared her tender flesh, and you, helpless to save her.”
The mere thought of Edith suffering the same way he was now completely snapped whatever control Isaac possessed. He was impulsive on the best of days, and now, with Rothario so close, he swiftly craned his head and leaned in, sinking his teeth into the Steward's nose with a murderous snarl.
Blood squirted with Rothario's sharp yell of pain, instinctively pulling away from his prisoner. At the same time, Isaac clenched his teeth tighter and jerked his head back, tearing the Steward's nose from his face completely.
As he stumbled back several steps, Isaac immediately spit the fleshy mass at Gyles, pegging him right on the forehead.
The demon yelped, swatting his face to be certain the organ wasn't sticking while Isaac announced savagely, “My name's Isaac, fucknut, and if you so much as touch Edith, I'll rip you apart with my fucking teeth!”
Glaring with a hand clamped over his face, Rothario raised the other, causing the mute to spread over his entire torso, across his neck, and up the sides of his face.
The sudden eruption had him bellowing in agony—a sound that was punctuated by laughter, pained chuckles growing in volume until Isaac was letting several loud guffaws.
“That all you got?” he taunted menacingly. “Come on you worthless shit stain, don't be a limp dick! Turn it up full blast!”
He fully expected Rothario to use the mute to kill him now, and waited for the inevitable pain—but it never happened.
Instead, the burning actually stopped.
Going limp in his shackles with relief, Isaac forced his head up, taking in Rothario's nose-less face, the blood streaming down over his mouth offering a macabre twist to the Steward's cruel smirk.
“No, you won't incite me to make a mistake. She'll come for you, and,” he glanced up at the darkening sky above, “if she has any concern with preventing blood from being spilled, she'll be here soon.”
The comment reminded Isaac of Rothario's two hour stipulation—and nearly two hours had passed since they'd left the mine. So it seemed he was ready to make good on his promise, directing one of the guards to grab a random prisoner for execution.
Additionally, he said, “Gyles.”
“Your Eminence?”
“Don't forget to gag Alder and put him in the stock.”
“Of course.”
&n
bsp; As Rothario disappeared, Gyles and the soldiers wasted no time, stuffing a bit into Isaac's mouth before transferring him to the stock unit. Forcing him to kneel and lean forward, they locked his wrists and neck inside while the sound of a struggling prisoner being pulled from a nearby cage hit his ears.
Craning his head, Isaac saw a woman stumbling out of the cell, and the same boy he'd been whistling to was now screaming and reaching for her.
Seeing the child's desperation, Isaac growled, cussing the guards through his bit as they dragged the woman toward a chopping block.
There, one of them kicked the backs of her knees to make them buckle while the other jerked her down so her neck was laying across the block. With her secured, they looked up toward the dais to await the command to proceed.
Isaac couldn't see Rothario from his position, but he must've nodded because one of the soldiers unsheathed his sword and raised it high.
Fruitlessly twisting in his bindings, he watched the blade come down directly on her neck.
Then slam into an invisible barrier.
The impact was so strong that the sword reverberated and flew out of the soldier's hands to clatter harmlessly against the metal seal on the arena floor.
“Sorry to interrupt, fucknut,” Edith's voice rang out. “It took me a while to get all gussied up for this party, and you're starting early.”
Isaac's gaze snapped directly ahead just as his mate appeared in the arena several meters from the seal—and she wasn't alone. With her was a group of fifteen Imperial Soldiers, proving Edith had been busy over the past two hours.
But Isaac was too occupied staring at her to even consider it. How is she so damned gorgeous? Edith wasn't dressed as elegantly as some archmages he'd seen, but her outfit was definitely masked, a variation on the plain leather vest and pants she'd worn into the mine made to look more intricate with brightly glinting silver embellishments along the collar and sleeves.
Additionally, her red hair was pulled beneath an ornate silver headdress fit for a queen. She obviously wanted to make certain no one mistook her for a pushover, though Rothario didn't sound one bit impressed in remarking, “So, you actually made it in time.”
The Final Calling Page 29
