“Hardly,” Andras snorts, leaning his arms against the back of his chair. “However, if I save your daughter from facing Grimshaw now, I’ll have a bargaining chip I can use later on in our travels. Starting out ahead against such a formidable woman is surely a good idea, wouldn’t you say?”
“Hmm, it remains to be seen,” Alaric mumbles, not quite convinced. “Very well, Andras. You may fight in the final battle.”
The guard dips his head in the king’s direction, immediately striding down the platform toward the fighting circle. There is no announcement or splendor in this final battle. Alaric stays silent behind his throne, stoically watching the scene. The rest of the crowds hush their tense mumblings, all eyes turning to Andras in curious wonder.
All expression fades from his features as he moves, stalking toward his prey with predatory grace. He assesses Grimshaw coldly, his hands steady by his side.
“Make a move,” Alaric whispers, his voice betraying no signs of fear or panic.
Grimshaw stands still, his face turning pale, all thoughts of the king’s contest fleeting from his mind as he pleads, “I have no quarrel with you, Andras.”
“Yet I have one with you, Grimshaw,” Andras sneers, taking a step closer to his quarry.
Grimshaw holds his hands up, immediately taking a step back. “Hey, I didn’t realize the bit—Uh, the lady—was yours.”
“She’s not,” Andras responds, shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet as if he’s expecting to run. “But I don’t like men who torment women the way you do, Grimshaw. You give us all a bad name when you instill fear in their hearts. She was prepared to fight you herself. I don’t know if she’d have won.” Andras pauses, his voice dropping low in timbre as he growls, “But I know I will.”
Grimshaw whines softly and retreats until his back makes contact with one of the guards surrounding the fighting ring. “Please, Andras. You have my word; I won’t bother the lady again.”
“I know. And you’ll apologize to her right before I cut out your tongue,” Andras explains, unsheathing a small blade from the sheath at his waist. “And as your mouth fills with blood and you writhe in pain, I think I’ll drop you over into the viper pit while you’re still able to experience their attack. I’m sure the snakes enjoy living prey.”
Grimshaw grabs for one of the other guards’ swords, determined to face Andras with a weapon of his own. He charges Andras, screaming and yowling like a wild beast as he strikes.
Andras keeps himself still until the last possible moment. Then, right before Grimshaw can plunge his blade into Andras’s chest, he lunges out of reach. The forward momentum upsets Grimshaw’s balance, sending him down onto the stone floor. At an unnaturally fast speed, Andras appears behind Grimshaw and grips his head by his hair. “Now then, I believe you owe Helena an apology.”
Grimshaw sneers, defiance roaring to life in his blood as he faces down his own demise. “I’ll never say I’m sorry to that bitch. I enjoyed every minute I had with her in those cells. So, you might as well drag that knife across my throat.”
Andras smacks Grimshaw hard across his shoulder blades. The force of the strike is enough to leave Grimshaw gasping for breath. Andras lithely winds his way around in front of Grimshaw, immediately pinching the ailing man’s tongue. “I’m sorry, Helena,” Andras calls over his shoulder as Grimshaw struggles in vain to get away from his captor’s grasp. “I’m afraid you’ll never hear this man show any signs of remorse for the way he’s treated you. Yet you can take comfort in the fact that you’ll never hear anything at all from him again.”
Guttural, desperate shrieks ricochet through the hall as Andras slices through Grimshaw’s tongue. Blood splatters across the floor, and a dull thud radiates through the room as Andras drops the useless muscle onto the ground. Grimshaw falls to the floor, both hands hovering over his mouth as tears and gore stream down his face. Andras says nothing more as he grasps Grimshaw’s leg and drags him over to the viper pit. No triumphant words, no explanations or signs of regret for his gruesome actions. Andras simply pulls Grimshaw over to the viper pit and kicks him over the edge.
For a brief moment, Grimshaw’s terrified, unintelligible screams pierce the stunned silence of the crowd. Andras strides away from the pit’s edge, moving as calmly as if he doesn’t hear the sounds of Grimshaw’s demise. He stalks back to the platform where Helena sits pinned in her chair, and by the time he reaches his seat, Grimshaw is dead. The air brims with raw emotion as the king’s guests whisper in hushed, frightened tones.
“Well, it seems we have a winner,” Alaric stammers, feebly attempting to turn the attention of the crowd back to himself. Clenching his jaw when no one celebrates the victory, the king barks orders to the guards. “Clean up this mess and send the guests home.”
One of the men raises his hand, protesting, “But the feast has barely begun—”
Alaric lashes out at the man, kicking his legs out from under him. The poor guard sprawls across the stones under Alaric’s feet as the king stands dangerously close to his fingers. His heel grinds into the stone as if he’s imagining what it would feel like to crush the guard’s fingers under his boot. “I don’t care. I want this room cleared out right now. Is that a problem with you?”
Trembling, the poor man shakes his head, skittering away from the king. Alaric turns back to where Andras and Helena sit. The king’s mouth tightens into a furious, straight line as he stares at his guard.
Seemingly unperturbed by the king’s irritated expression, Andras turns to Helena and winks. “Don’t look so worried, Helena,” Andras whispers, turning away from Alaric completely, just to prove he’s not afraid of the king.
“He’s going to kill you,” Helena hisses, watching Alaric’s face redden at the outright insult from his guard.
“He won’t; trust me,” Andras whispers, leaning back to put his feet on the table. “Why don’t you get over here and remove the spike from Helena’s hand? There was no reason for that nonsense.”
Helena gasps, eyes wide as she holds her breath and waits for Alaric’s response.
“Remember who you’re talking to, Andras,” the king growls, his hands gripping the sword hilt at his waist.
“I could say the same thing to you, Alaric,” Andras replies, putting his hands behind his head as he reclines. He looks like someone who’s just eaten a huge meal and is settling down for a long, lazy nap. Not at all like a lowly guard who’s just insulted his king.
“I’m glad to be getting rid of you for a while,” Alaric grumbles, but to Helena’s astonishment, he does not reprimand Andras further. Instead, he waves his hand, and the spike he’d driven into Helena’s hand disappears. “It was an illusion, Helena. The spike was never actually in your skin.” Without another word, the king stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Helena raises her hand, marveling at the sudden change. All the agony she’d been feeling disappears as she stares at her unblemished skin. “I…I don’t understand,” she admits, waiting impatiently for Andras to explain.
“An illusion is when the mind is tricked into—”
“No, smart ass,” Helena interjects, struggling against the sudden urge to slap Andras in the back of the head. “I meant I don’t understand how you’re still alive. If anyone else had talked to Alaric the way you just did, they’d have found themselves in the viper pit before they could take another breath. So why didn’t the king kill you?”
“Fear,” Andras replies with a shrug, staring at the bloodstains on the stone floor.
“Alaric isn’t afraid of anything. Believe me, I’ve been searching for a weakness I could exploit for years,” Helena contradicts, trying to keep her eyes away from Grimshaw’s bloody tongue that the guards neglected to clear off. The muscle occasionally twitches as it dies, giving Helena the eerie feeling that Grimshaw is still trying to speak. Still desperately screaming, begging someone
to save him. Helena shivers, turning her attention to Andras once more as she waits for his reply.
“Alaric’s big weakness is so obvious I’m surprised you never saw it. He’s afraid of dying, Helena,” Andras announces, his tone mimicking one of a teacher patronizingly explaining something easy to his pupil. “And since I am his most successful assassin, it gives me an edge, wouldn’t you say?” Before Helena can respond, Andras continues. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Alaric punishes me frequently for my indecorous attitude. He sends me on long journeys away from Déchets as a way of ‘cooling me off and making me grateful.’ At least that’s the way he sees it. So, any time I want to get away from the palace, I just flagrantly insult him. And he tolerates it because he knows that if I chose to use my skills on him, he’d be dead before sunrise.”
“Then why don’t you?” Helena demands, eagerly sketching out a half-baked plan. “You could slit his throat tonight, then travel with me before sunrise as planned. By the time Alaric is discovered, we’d be well away—”
“No. I’ve thought it over for years, believe me. But keeping Alaric alive is better than killing him and watching someone worse ascend to his throne. At least with this devil, we know what to expect.” Alaric smirks, reaching for a half-filled wine glass still standing on the table. He downs it quickly and adds, “Besides all that, Alaric pays me well, and he’s afraid of me. I’ve got a good thing going here; why would I give it up?”
“Ithel was so wrong about you,” Helena wheezes, all the fight leaving her as quickly as it had been stirred. “He told me you were a quiet, decent man. But he was wrong; you are just as bad as Alaric.”
“Hey, I do what I can to discreetly help the people,” Andras replies, slamming the wine glass on the table with enough force that it cracks at the stem and shatters.
“The best way to help these people is to kill the king. Start a revolution. Do something to make them wake up and realize they are oppressed, stifled under the thumb of a wealthy bully. That would be far more useful than playing along with the king’s plans.”
“What do you know about it? You’ve been in prison for years. You’ve stood all high and mighty on your principles, happily locked away where you couldn’t actually do anything useful for these people to whom you claim such loyalty. You’ve been languishing in a cell. I may have dirty hands, Helena, but at least I’ve been doing something,” Andras growls, leaning against a chair as the alcohol begins to affect his balance. “Now go get some sleep. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”
“Fine,” Helena huffs, floating away on the breeze before she can do anything rash. Her hands itch to go back and slap the smile off Andras’s face. However, provoking the assassin she’ll be travelling with hardly seems like a wise decision. And he did just save me from Grimshaw, Helena remembers, sighing to herself as she drifts toward her room in the infirmary. “Why does everything have to be so complicated?” she cries, wishing she could curl up in Ithel’s arms and forget the events of this night.
Chapter 13
“Come on, Iris! Join the party,” Grouse hounds me, grabbing hold of my arm and endeavoring to lift me off the ground. “Cyrus and Goldeneye want to dance again. Let’s go!”
“You go ahead,” I reply, refusing to move an inch. “We’ve been partying for at least two hours. I need a break from all the noise.”
Once word spread through the ranks that Cyrus and I were officially coupled, the spirit amongst the Cadogans and Ddraigs lifted. Then Drake pulled out a few nomadic flutes carved from thick tree branches. Within minutes, the entirety of our crew was laughing and dancing, twirling around the campfires without any signs of worries or fears.
But my heart is no longer invested in the party. After about an hour, a burden like a heavy stone resettled on my shoulders. Nothing I did could restore my lighthearted joy. All I can do is sense the impending doom on the horizon, and I know I must act to stop it at all costs.
Grouse pouts but says nothing more as she scurries back over to Goldeneye’s side, tugging on his arm and begging him to dance once more. Cyrus catches my eye, and I wave at him enthusiastically, offering up my brightest smile as my heart skips a beat. I really do love him. I recognize the sentiment with a soft sigh, wishing the knowledge of my feelings changed everything as much as Siri believed it would. And it is because I love him that I must do what I can to protect him.
Sensing my distress, Siri stomps up to stand beside me. “What’s going on now, Iris?”
“I have to save him, Siri. The coupling bond brings us one step closer to the fulfillment of my visions.”
“Not this; not tonight,” Siri begs, but I do not listen to her pleas.
“And I’ve realized that in every vision I’ve seen that included death, Cyrus and I were together.” Holding my breath, I struggle to quell the scream I can feel rising up in my blood. My stomach burns and aches so powerfully that I double over, putting my hands on my clammy forehead. “I love him, Siri. And it’s because I love him that I will do what it takes to spare him from death. Even if that means leaving him behind. “
“You’ve decided to become Vibría then?” Siri asks, her tortured tone unable to mask the depths of her despair. “You’re asking me to give up Suryc too. To leave behind all of the Ddraigs, to give up my place as their leader, to watch you walk into that wretched land—a place where I cannot follow. Do you see how unfair this is?”
“I don’t like it any better than you do. From what you’ve told me, I’ll be an abomination in the eyes of the Ddraigs. Exiled, hated, probably hunted by them. But if I am successful in bringing down the king and protecting everyone I love, won’t it be worth the pain?” I wonder, leaning against Siri’s warm scales, dropping my forehead down to rest on her side.
“You understand that this is permanent, right? There is no changing your mind and undoing the Vibría ritual,” Siri stalls, searching for any weakness in my resolve, any argument that might persuade me to change my mind and forsake this whole scheme.
“I will not stand by and watch Cyrus die, Siri. What if the situation was reversed? What if you were facing a future where Suryc dies, and I asked you to let it happen? Would you honor my wishes?” I mutter as I stare into the flames of the fire, entranced by their swirling, writhing forms.
“You are asking me to live without Suryc now, which is just as bad,” Siri explains, bowing her head as she speaks.
“If he and Cyrus truly love us, this change won’t really matter, will it?” I ask, hoping my words are true.
“You don’t know how extensive the alterations will be, Iris. Your power will magnify beyond the levels of all other Cadogans. Not to mention the changes that will happen to your body. I’m not saying you will cease to be human, but you will be dramatically different.” Siri pauses, her voice lowering as she whispers, “And I don’t even want to think about what I will become.”
Siri’s halting explanations leave me with a sense of foreboding. She doesn’t want to describe any of it in detail. What will I become? A monster? “Siri—”
“You’re forgetting the most important thing, Iris,” Siri interrupts, smoke swirling around us as she sighs. “Cyrus hates the Vibría for what was done to him, remember? And you are willingly going to become the very thing he despises and fears most of all. Do you really think his feelings for you will be strong enough to endure a betrayal this deep?”
“It’s not a betrayal, Siri.”
“Isn’t it? You know how he feels. Cyrus doesn’t want you to become one of the Vibría. He wants to face the future by your side, and you are preparing to abandon him. He has made his wishes very clear, and it does not seem to matter to you.” Siri claws at the dirt, raising her head to stare out over the tall grass.
“He will be angry, but Cyrus will—”
“He is haunted, Iris. He hides it well, and he has improved, but the horrors he has faced are still present in his mind. If you
become Vibría, Cyrus will look at you and see a reminder of the monster that hurt him.” Siri shakes her head, glancing up at the stars as she whispers, “If you do this, I fear you will lose him.”
“And if I don’t do this, he will die, Siri. So what choice do I really have?” I lament, my voice wavering as my body begins to shake. “Either way, our relationship is over before it’s really begun. At least this way, I know he will be alive. He’ll have a chance of finding happiness.”
“He’s happy now, but that doesn’t seem to matter to you,” Siri bites back, and I flinch at the sharpness of her tone. We sit in silence for a long while before Siri finally replies, “Let me go tell Suryc.”
“No,” I stop her, tears pouring down my cheeks. “If you tell him, Suryc will try to stop us. Or he’ll tell Cyrus, and that will be even worse.” My voice breaks as I choke on the sorrow in my soul. I know what I feel is a pittance to the sense of betrayal and hurt Cyrus will endure when he learns of what I’ve done. “Let’s just do this and slip away in the night. Let the rest of them enjoy their party; they’ll figure it all out soon enough.”
Siri whimpers, dropping down until her chin rests on the ground. “I love you, Iris.” Her soft, broken confession shatters my heart. “It’s ironic, isn’t it, that you who I love most will be the one to break my heart?”
“I love you too,” I cry, wrapping my arms around her as best I can. “This isn’t the end, Siri. We’ll always have each other.”
Siri lifts her neck, exposing the scales over her heart. Using her claws, she splits one scale, golden, ethereal blood oozing down her claws. “Hold out your hand, Iris,” she commands, her expression grim. She presses her claw into my palm, piercing through my rough calluses with ease. Her blood mingles with mine, and immediately it feels as if my body is on fire. “Don’t scream,” Siri demands, carefully placing her claws around me like a protective cage.
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