“They aren’t that bad.”
I kissed her and winced as she pressed her hand against my side.
“Liar.” She pushed at my shoulders. “We need to take care of those first. Everything else can wait.”
“That’s a terribly practical response,” I complained. “I was trying to seduce you.”
“You can do that later, dear,” Lauren said far too lightly as her eyes laughed at me. “A wounded Brit just isn’t quite as dashing as a healthy and whole one.”
“I am a healthy and whole one,” I protested. “Well, whole enough.”
Lauren laughed as she held the cream out to me. “Will you please focus? We still need a plan for the Colosseum.”
“How dreadfully unromantic you’re being right now.”
* * *
Lauren
The Colosseum’s glamoured façade of crumbling stone remained intact as Mathias and I walked inside. Unlike the Forum’s opening night, no one wore elaborate clothing save some of the women who were Fae and that didn’t stand out too much. The rest of us, however, were dressed practically. I had chosen to pair my knee length leather boots with jeans and grey cotton shirt. Despite the humidity, I kept my leather jacket on as well.
Mathias’ long lean frame was clad in equally practical clothes, dark jeans and cotton shirt with his standard leather jacket. The only difference was that, tonight, he had his sword. The handle was wrapped in dark leather and almost unnoticeable where it rested at his back. Almost.
As we followed the people in front of us, I noted that the glamour remained in place. The Colosseum’s arena looked . . . deserted. The floor had been restored, concealing the hypogeum beneath, but the tiers forming the walls still looked worn by the passage of time. The people immediately in front of us vanished as they passed through the glamour. Their brightly glowing 8s winking out of existence as they did so.
I pushed my hair back behind my shoulder as I slipped my other hand into my pocket and withdrew the token. There was a sprite positioned just in front of the glamour, but this one was male. He had only one guard with him, another hulking man with an 8 hovering over his head. The sprite’s gaze settled on me for a long moment before he silently held out a hand. I allowed Mathias to take the token from me. “Signora Aysun Tilki of Istanbul sponsoring Alexander of Sparta.”
The sprite didn’t take the token from Mathias and his eyes never left me as he spoke in passable Turkish, “Madame Tilki, welcome to the Colosseum stage of the Roma games. Step through the glamour together, holding the token between you. It will be collected on the other side, and then you will escort your competitor into the hypogeum. The competitors have been divided into two segments and will wait in a shared common room accordingly. Mirror glamours have been placed at various stations so you may watch from any area of the Colosseum as long as you do not step back through the glamour. To prevent dishonesty, the glamours are sealed against anyone attempting to leave before a Triumph has been granted to the victor of the games. There are, of course, refreshments available and the Colosseum features a seer whose predictions may be used for placing wagers on the competitors. Please step through when you are ready.”
My heart beat a little faster at the thought of a seer in the Colosseum. I could only pray that it was Raz Yakov. Mathias held his hand out, the token flat in his palm, and I wrapped my hand around his. The raised relief of the coin was cool against my skin as we stepped forward together. Air hissed through my teeth as the glamour raked across my skin, feeling as though it plucked at my hair, and a thousand tiny sparks burst across my flesh. The coin clasped between our hands grew warm, and I tightened my grip on Mathias as we walked two more steps.
Finally, we emerged into clear air once more. I drew a breath into my air starved lungs as though I had been swimming underwater and only just broke through the surface. I had heard of glamours that could be raised as an offensive defense, but they were unusual and rare. Not to mention prohibitively time consuming to create and maintain. Another pair of men waited just to the side of a tunnel entrance. The sprite nodded to me. “Welcome, Signora Tilki. The token if you please.”
I let go of Mathias’ hand and made a show of brushing my jacket sleeves and smoothing my hair back. As soon as the sprite took the token from Mathias, he bowed slightly to me. Like his comrade on the other side of the glamour, he spoke passable Turkish. “Madame, you have sponsored Alexander of Sparta, and he was won the right to enter the Colosseum stage of the Roma games. He has been assigned to the Barbarian pool of competitors and will share the appropriate common room. The Colosseum has been divided between the two sides, and as his sponsor you may not cross to the side of the Caesars. Meetings in the hypogeum are considered neutral, and it is where bets may be placed. Barbarians’ colors are red, and Caesars wear purple.”
“How fitting,” I replied coolly. “And understood. Come, Alexander. Let us begin with consulting the seer I’ve been told is here.”
The guard stepped in front of us and the sprite shook his head, his expression appropriately apologetic but his wings were perfectly still. “Forgive me, Madame Tilki, but the competitors are not allowed to be present for the bets or to enter the seer’s presence. It makes for unfair weight on their minds as well as the seer’s should he become distracted by other sights.”
A chill ran down my spine at the thought of having to confront a Seer on my own. But, clearly there was no other choice. I nodded. “I understand. Come then, Alexander, we mustn’t give your mind an unfair weight.”
Mathias nodded, his expression giving nothing away. We walked in silence into the stone tunnel. I kept my eyes on the patches of red paint that guided us through the different turns until we drew near a better lit and much noisier segment of tunnel. Two guards framed the next length of tunnel. Mathias grabbed my hand and squeezed once, then strode forward. I watched him move past the guards and turn to the left. One of them nodded to me. “Alexander of Sparta has reported for the Colosseum stage.”
Knowing there was nothing else I could do, I offered a slight nod of my own. I didn’t declare myself, however. I simply turned on my heel and walked away as though leaving Mathias wasn’t almost as terrifying as being alone in a sea of dangerously powerful high numbers. If I could’ve slipped away from the Colosseum itself, I would have but the memory of the unpleasant glamour deterred me. If it was the type I had occasionally heard referenced when I was working at Halliman’s, then there was a very real possibility it could kill. There had been a rather nasty incident shortly after I’d started working there involving a norm’s death that had quickly passed my desk and was handed to Mr. Halliman’s personal care. No, attempting to leave was not an option, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the barrier between the two competitor pools held similar nasty surprises.
I was trapped just as much as Mathias until the fighting was over. This was such a horrible idea . . .
* * *
Mathias
I sat perfectly still, perched on the edge of the long bench framing the wall of the common room. Other competitors paced the open floor, dodging around each other as they did. A waste of energy. Better to harness it all and wait for the fight to begin than spend it on pacing. I kept my eyes half closed, better for watching unobserved. Of the faces in the room, none were Atlas.
Something that didn’t truly surprise me. If the comments about Greece and Sparta from the first round had picked up any interested purses, the games’ organizers would ensure we fought against each other. They loved playing on traditional quarrels. More money from the patrons watching, and a bigger prize for the games in hosting such matches.
A new competitor entered the room. An Amazon in a mix of modern and traditional armor strolled in as the others parted in front of her. She wore a bronze cuirass, but I could see black mesh beneath, likely the same material as her black pants. Resistant, but not completely impervious to being cut. A round hoplon shield rested on her back, and she gripped a spear of the ancient doru style complete wit
h an iron spike capping the spear’s butt. A one handed short sword hung from her belt. Her brown hair fell in wisps across her exposed forehead and was caught in a sensible braided bun. No helmet, but I suspected she would grab one when it was her turn to fight.
The Amazon approached me and took a seat to my right. She nodded to me. “I am Xanthe.”
“I know your name.”
“Yes.” She studied me, hazel eyes searching. “I think I know yours too.”
“I do not think we have met before,” I replied even as I searched my memory. The answering image of a young Amazon warrior being greeted by her older sister when I was on a hunt for a rogue dragon shifter attempting to hide herself among the Amazons rose in my mind’s eye. She’d been accompanied by another Amazon, an aunt or cousin. I hadn’t paid close attention at the time. The name Xanthe was . . . familiar, however. I resisted the temptation to curse as I realized I had been known by my true name on that hunt.
Xanthe continued studying me. “Perhaps, it is a good thing we will not fight each other . . . Spartan.”
I offered a faint half smile. “Another time, perhaps.”
“Perhaps.”
A gong sounded through the air. “Competitor Pollux, prepare for battle.”
The only minotaur in our group stood, swinging his war hammer up to settle on his fur covered shoulder as he did so. He blew a breathy snort out and then muttered in Greek, “To the victors glory.”
The rest of us watched in silence as the door at the far end of the room swung open to reveal a long hall and a pinprick of light at the end. The glamour shimmered and fell, allowing the minotaur to stomp forward, before it resumed with a faint gleam. The sound of faint cheering reached us before the doorway was sealed once more. A mirror glamour shimmered into existence on the wall across from the bench.
Pollux strode onto an arena floor covered in sand, and he raised his war hammer in salute. Across from him, a door opened and out slithered a lamia. I raised both eyebrows at the sight. Xanthe hissed between her teeth as the rest of the competitors gasped or cursed. Xanthe glanced at me, then tilted her head toward the mirror glamour. “Ever seen a lamia participate in one of these?”
“Not in recent years. It is . . . unusual.”
“I don’t remember seeing her among the competitors at the Forum.”
Neither did I. However . . . It would not be the first time competitors from outside the Forum portion of the games had been brought into the Colosseum. It was done specifically to surprise the patrons and to drive the betting harder. My gaze dropped from the fight in the arena where Pollux was managing to hold his own to observe the others. Most were silent, but a few muttered to each other in clear disgruntlement over the change. Xanthe was . . . contemplative, now the initial surprise had passed. She rested the wooden haft of her spear against her shoulder as she drummed her fingers against her left knee. “Wonder if the dragons did it. They like tricks.”
A wry smile pulled at one corner of my mouth. The traditional animosity and distrust between Amazons and dragons still survived. My thoughts turned to Lauren. I would have much preferred to have accompanied her to the seer, this Raz Yakov. I wanted to weigh his trustworthiness for myself. However, such things were impossible and . . . I trusted Lauren’s judgment. She was good at reading people, she’d figure it out if he was honest or not. And, I knew she needed whatever answers the seer could reveal.
Worry still tugged at my mind, attempting to divert my focus. Despite the knowledge that we didn’t have a choice, there was still a part of me that regretted bringing Lauren into the environment of the games. I had recognized the signs of her anxiety over being surrounded by so many powerful paranormals, and being trapped in the Colosseum without an available escape plan had to be eating at her. And, I wasn’t where I could reach her in time to stop anyone from harming her if they recognized her.
I leaned forward, propping my elbows on my knees, as I touched my mouth to my folded hands. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to sink into the cool awareness of a coming fight. Groans erupted from the others in the room, signaling that Pollux had lost to the lamia. Not a true surprise to anyone if they were honest about a lamia’s fighting skills. Minotaurs were fierce fighters, but light and swift opponents could best them if they moved fast enough. And, a lamia was always fast in her attack.
A shifter was the next to be summoned. I returned to my focus, to the cool confidence that fueled my fighting. Winning the fight was the best way to protect Lauren. She was stronger than she allowed herself to believe, and she was always clever. I merely had the difficult task of waiting.
* * *
Lauren
The crowd was suffocating me. I pretended interest in the refreshment tables, as I couldn’t bear to watch the fights or to keep avoiding staring at all the high numbers. Everyone in the room was either an 8 or a 9. My skin crawled with an awareness of their innate power, of the danger roiling just beneath polite conversation and sharp smiles. If any of them recognized me . . .
I cut off the thought before it could fully form. It would only send me into a panic and that was something that I could not afford. Not now. I still hadn’t been able to find my way to the seer. Not that I wanted to approach him when there was a possibility of other people hearing any . . . pronouncements. I definitely didn’t want or need someone to hear another seer decrying me as the Destroyer.
A shiver ran down my spine, and my stomach tightened at the memory alone. No, seeking out the seer in a crowd would be a true nightmare. The wish for Mathias’ comforting presence at my back resurged with fresh strength. But wishing didn’t change reality, no matter what fae stories said. And after so many years on my own or bouncing through foster homes, I should know that truth better than most. Leaning on Mathias, trusting him, that was a luxury. And, luxuries could be lost.
“Have you tried the supplì?” The question surprised me more by being spoken in lightly accented English than in the question’s focus on an Italian snack of a rice ball filled with mincemeat and mozzarella, before being soaked in egg and breadcrumbs and then fried.
I looked up into placid dark eyes that flashed to reptilian orangish yellow. Panic beat its wings frantically against my ribcage as I recognized the eastern dragon. Prince Tao. And, the 9 shone bright above his glossy dark hair. There was a whisper of movement behind me, and I glanced around to see the woodwose now pinned me in, blocking any chance of slipping away. I was trapped.
The dragon prince leaned in close, as though we were having a quiet, pleasant conversation, and I could barely breathe past the stranglehold wrapping around my ribs. The slit pupil of his eyes widened then narrowed as he murmured, “I believe we should have a conversation. You must have spotted our little party the first evening, yes? At the Forum.”
My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, but somehow I managed to give a tiny nod. I couldn’t force a single word past my lips, however.
Not that it seemed to matter as Prince Tao caught my hand with his fist, balancing it precisely on top, then waved toward one of the tunnels leaving the current viewing room. My mind whirled with fear, but instinct and habit forced me to cooperate with the two high numbers. If I could appease them, maybe I could slip away and lose myself in the crowd of patrons. Just long enough to escape their interest.
However, no doors or even junctions appeared as we continued walking down the stone tunnel. The air was . . . stuffy. It grew cooler though as we moved further in, leaving behind the noise of other people. A door appeared on our left but before I could attempt sprinting toward it, the dragon was ushering me closer. The little voice that had kept me alive for so long on my own whispered the same cautions over and over again. Eastern dragons were considered benevolent protectors, to act in fear toward them was thus seen as a great insult. Not merely a sign of weakness or of prey status as when confronted by the western dragons. If I ran or struggled, the dragon’s nature would insist on taking insult. That would likely prove more deadly than anything
else. People, be they paranormal or norms, did not survive insulting dragons.
That thought pounded through my brain as I allowed myself to be escorted through the door into a small unfurnished room. Under ordinary circumstances, it likely wouldn’t have felt small. However, while Prince Tao himself was long and lean much like Mathias, his companion, the woodwose, was broad and tall both. Between his broad shoulders and barrel chest, he seemed to fill the space merely by existing. My gaze flicked to his mud brown eyes, hard yet impassive, his light brown beard and hair had a wild unruly curl to them even though there were touches of grey in his beard. The scent of the earth, of the woods, clung to him strongly enough that I could detect it. Tonight he wore a simple cotton shirt that stretched across his shoulders and chest, but over it he wore a black leather vest and his pants were also black leather down to his military style boots. He looked like he would be more at home on the back of a Harley or maybe participating in the games than being a patron.
He ran a large hand over the wall, then nodded to the eastern dragon. “We’re good,” he rumbled.
The dragon dipped his chin slightly in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Atwater.” His gaze cut back to me, and the slit pupils constricted. “Stop doing that, woman.”
I blinked at him. What in the world was he talking about?
Before I could think of how to politely ask if he was delusional, the dragon made a sound of approval. “Better. So you are the little Spotter who has stirred the West up? I would have expected someone . . . older. Weard wants you. The dragon princes of the west have reached out to the four dragon kings to gain aid in preventing this. But ,you must already know this. I am far more curious as to why you have come, glamoured no less, to the Roma games. Spotting secrets, plotting a little revenge of your own to regain lost honor?”
The odd statement about being glamoured slipped my mind as I stared in disbelief at the dragon prince before I remembered to drop my gaze. I licked my lips as I chose my next words very carefully. By some miracle of God, my voice was actually steady as I spoke. “Forgive me, great prince, but I have come for nothing of the sort. I am . . . I am on a pilgrimage, and thus am seeking the Seer known as Raz Yakov. He is said to be here in the hypogeum, a place I could not enter without participating in the games.”
Hunt by Numbers Page 8
