Agravain smirks as I drop my arm back down. We lock eyes, and his grin falters.
“Remember you chose this,” I say.
I jab my index finger inward. The long thorn follows the movement, piercing Agravain’s neck. It’s just a tip, but it’s enough for it to leach him of blood, to show him his life is now in my hands. Perhaps now—
There’s a bright flash as Agravain swings his leg up, then the vines are falling off him in pieces, spraying black sap across the floor. Demons grunt and whistle in appreciation as he brings his leg back down with a sharp metallic click. I stare at the silvery limb in confusion, pants ripped where the blade cut through.
“You like it?” Agravain asks, pulling the long thorn from his neck and tossing it aside. I frown as the leg shimmers, returning to its normal, human shape. “I actually don’t mind so much what you did to me now,” he says, admiring his leg. “I find it to be an improvement, actually.”
“Too bad you couldn’t alter your face,” I say, taking an unsteady step back. I knew he wasn’t a boy anymore, but this…this makes him so much more dangerous!
With a furious growl, Agravain lunges at me, before stopping dead in his tracks again.
Silence builds around us, spreading across the wide hallway. And in it, I can finally hear the first notes of thunder rolling in. And quickly drawing closer.
Shit.
A gust of wind slams the door open, revealing a dark figure outside.
This was definitely not how I’d planned our reunion, but as the cousins like to say, I need to roll with the punches. Eyes never leaving the pale-faced woman, I bow. “Greetings, Carman. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Chapter 34
Carman’s laughter raises goosebumps down my arms. “Greetings?” she repeats. “You mean goodbyes are due, sweets?”
I clasp my hands behind my back, trying to look non-threatening as I straighten up again to stand in front of her, almost her equal.
“No, no, you heard me right the first time,” I say, working hard to keep my smile in place. “I came here offering peace.”
“There is no peace to be had between gods and mortals, only serfdom from the latter.”
I cock my head. “I didn’t mean for all the human race,” I say. “Just myself. Considering we’re in the same basket, you and I.”
Carman lowers her eyelids. I’m really bad at innuendos, but I think she’s caught my drift, so I press my advantage.
I lean forward until the slightly putrid stench of her breath tickles my nostrils. “I know what it is that you want,” I whisper, “and I can give it to you.”
Whatever she needs to keep me at her side.
In a blur of movement, Carman catches my jaw in her hand, and I have to bite hard on the inside of my cheek not to cry out at the pain that tabs all the way down to my chin.
“Will you kill your mother for me, then?” she asks, eyes boring into me.
“No,” I say, deliberately slow, as if talking to a dull-witted child. “I would kill her for me.”
Carman takes my declaration in silence, her flinty eyes never leaving mine, and I know she’s waiting for the tell-tale gut-wrenching agony that accompanies each lie I make. But the pain doesn’t come.
Danu’s already dying, she’s said so herself, and mostly because of this war for which I’m partially responsible. In a way, I’ve already killed her.
I cough back a laugh. “Why do you even think I’d dare lie to your face?” I ask. I shake my head, using the movement to free myself from her painful grasp. “I’m not as stupid as I look.”
“I wouldn’t be quite so sure,” Carman says.
She snaps her fingers together and this time I let out a surprised grunt as the dark vines I’d called upon spring to encircle my own wrists, lifting me up until my feet can no longer touch the ground. But the vines do so gently, their long thorns curving away so as not to scratch my limbs. Slowly, Carman circles me,
“Is this why you decided to trade your allegiance?” she asks, trailing her fingers down my bare back, leaving a burning trail where hours ago Sister Marie-Clémence’s henchman whipped me. “It seems so light compared to what I had to put you through. Yet here you are, begging me to take you back. How very intriguing.”
I shiver against my restraints. “What you did was nothing compared with a lifetime of poisoned lies,” I say, meaning every word. A flesh wound can heal, whereas the deep cuts Irene’s willful neglect of me over the years have left numerous scars that will never go away, even if I like to pretend they never were.
“So here you are,” Carman says, caressing now the vines holding me up. “And Dother’s briar has decided to adopt you, it seems. As if to encourage me to trust you.”
“I am your best solution,” I say.
“You would like to think so, wouldn’t you?” Carman says.
“What Mordred can do for you, I can do better,” I say. “Weren’t you the one who once said so?”
“Only with regards to the Sangraal, but that’s already taken care of. I don’t see any further use for you. But let’s ask your brother, shall we?”
She turns as Mordred makes his way over, Urim and Thummim trailing in his wake with identical looks of curiosity plastered on their faces.
“Why did you bring her here?” Carman doesn’t need to raise her voice to make her disapproval clear.
“I know it was presumptuous of me,” Mordred says, bowing low, “but I thought it best to give you a choice before the knights decided to burn her at the stake.”
“Choice?”
“Of whether or not you truly want her gone.”
The offhanded way Mordred mentions my demise is like a cold vise around my heart. Carman came back too soon, didn’t give me the chance to work on him, open his eyes to other possibilities. And now he’s offering me up to her, like lamb to slaughter.
“Frankly, I’m not entirely sure she’s trustworthy either,” Mordred continues, still not looking at me. “Let me suggest, therefore, a more entertaining way for her to demonstrate her commitment to this proposed alliance of hers. One that would benefit you whatever the outcome.”
“And what would that be?” she asks.
Mordred’s wolfish grin appears. “What better way for her to prove her worth than through a combat to the death?”
◆◆◆
“The Ancient Greeks believed war should be waged once every twenty-five years so each new generation would know how bad it is,” Mordred recites to me, Urim and Thummim hanging off to the side, having lost all interest in us for now.
If this were another time and place, I’d roll my eyes at him and ignore him too. But instead, I watch with growing horror the masses of demons pressing against each other on the stone benches that rise above the arena in tiers. Their excited cheers and yipping fill the chill air as they soak in the latest bloodbath.
They may have left Hell behind, but it certainly has not left them.
“But they failed to mention that it’s a great way to cull the population and do some cleansing,” Mordred continues, “for the greater good of the stock.”
“Is this why you have these games?” I ask. “To cull the weak from your army?”
“You don’t know what it’s like to have to manage so many people in one place,” Mordred says. “Give them entertainment enough to forget they can’t stand each other, until we’re ready to get moving.”
I let my gaze fall to the poor souls fighting on the arena’s floor, wondering when I’ll be expected to join them. One of them is Barguest, Gwyllion’s old pet. The hairless demon dog is pawing the ground angrily, head lowered in defense as a couple of demons circle him. The taller of the two swirls to his left, curved sword whistling in the air as she slashes her weapon down.
Barguest lets out a pitiful whine as the blade cuts through his back paws’ tendons, rear end buckling under him. Yet still he tries to fight for his life, jaws snapping bravely. It’s painfully clear, however, that the demon dog isn’t goin
g to make it.
With a grunt of disgust, I turn away from the cruel show.
“You need to watch it till the end, sister,” Mordred says, putting a restraining hand on my shoulder. “Watch and learn.” His voice drops to a whisper. “And remember that you’re under observation. If you want to be part of the inner circle, this type of show should leave you cold.”
I cast a nervous glance over to the box on the opposite side of the stadium, where Carman sits, watching. Her beast is roaming the school grounds, too big to fit even inside the large arena, but not too far off she can’t call it to her at a moment’s notice.
“The smallest wrong move on your part,” Mordred adds, “and you’ll be cut to pieces like that poor bastard down there. But without the chance to defend yourself.”
I breathe slowly through my nose, knuckles white as I tighten my hold on the railing. I may not know what game Mordred is playing, whether he’s trying to save me or helping me sink further, but it’s true I can’t afford to blow my cover now.
To ease my worry, I remind myself of my plan. Step one, separate Carman from her dragon.
Down below, the tall demon impales Barguest on her sword, to the crowds exuberant clamor.
Two, encase her ogham in iron.
The demon twists her sword viciously. Barguest’s ribcage opens with a crack, like the sound of dry wood splintering, and his whimpering suddenly stops. Then, with evident pleasure, the woman plunges her hand inside the dead beast’s thoracic cage to pry his ogham out.
Three, kill the bitch.
The demon holds the blood-covered ogham above her head in triumph, and the crowd goes wild, whistling and shouting, demanding for more.
That’s when the second demon finally decides to make his move. He’s shorter, but lither, flowing across the trampled earth like water, unstoppable. The woman is slowly pivoting on herself, still holding the ogham up like a trophy, drinking in the crowd’s approval.
Then she sees him. Dropping Barguest’s ogham, she lunges for the curved sword still stuck inside the dead demon’s body. But the other demon’s already on top of her, and with quick movements, rips her head right off.
The crowd is stunned into silence. They didn’t expect the fight to end so quickly. My eyes move to the sole survivor with a shiver. This is what Carman expects me to face. What she expects me to kill, if I want to stand at her side.
I hiss out a breath as the demon finally turns to face my side of the arena.
No. Freaking. Way. What is Gale doing down there? He’s supposed to be with Caamaloth’s army, getting ready for my signal to take the dragon down.
“Someone you know?”
I cough to hide my surprise. “Just another knight,” I say meekly.
Urim leans forward. “Yessss,” he hisses excitedly, sounding a lot like the banshee. “Pay up!”
Mordred’s brown creases in barely repressed anger.
“Hey, blame it on the freak,” Thummim says, as Mordred reaches inside the heavy pouch hanging at his hip.
“Looks like it’s your turn,” Urim says, sounding annoyingly cheerful as he pockets his winnings.
“Think your mama’s gonna come all the way here to save you this time around?” Thummim asks me.
“Certainly would please someone we all know,” Urim says, staring across the arena at Carman.
She hasn’t moved an inch since the start of the combats. The only movement comes from her dress, as it billows out in front of her in a sudden gust of wind, like a dark, foreboding cloud. I wonder if she’d even bother with this whole charade if she knew Danu doesn’t have the strength to help me anymore.
“Enough stalling,” Mordred says.
“Please don’t,” I say, balking at the idea of fighting Gale.
I look in panic at my brother, who grabs my hands and gently pries them off the railing.
“Don’t worry,” he says, “we’ve got another opponent for you. And I think you’ll like the surprise.”
Then, with a shove, he sends me flying over the wall and into the fighting pit.
“Show us what you’ve got!” I hear Urim shout as I land sprawling in the sand.
Cheers and laughter arise at my sudden entrance. I climb unsteadily back to my feet, whirling on any would-be attacker. But the only other ones down on the floor with me are a couple of silent Fey who are rushing to clear the latest two corpses, while a Dark Sidhe frog marches a chained Gale back out.
I look up as the crowd suddenly goes quiet, waiting with bated breath as Carman finally shifts in her seat to raise her hand, signaling someone by the entrance.
Goosebumps spread up my arms as a cage is slowly wheeled through the gate, creaking under its weight. It is huge, the height of four men, and requires a dozen demons to pull. Old curtains that must have been torn from dorm room windows cover half of it, obstructing whatever’s locked inside from view.
The wheels stop with a groan as the demons finally let go of the ropes. I watch with dread the lead demon sprint for the back of the cage before vaulting on top of it. Then, muscles bulging under the strain, it pulls the cage’s door open with a loud clang, before fleeing the stadium with the other demons.
Time ticks away. Cold sweat beads on my forehead. The wind picks up, howling miserably around the arena. Then, with deliberate slowness, a giant creature emerges, pale as a corpse, six long pairs of arms and legs extending and retracting at odd angles, like a deformed spider. It is a thing made of nightmares, a cruel experiment gone massively wrong.
Hesitantly, the monster swivels its head, and my stomach tightens in revulsion as I recognize Father Tristan’s face, empty eye sockets staring straight at me. The creature takes another awkward step, long red hair swinging stiffly about its shoulders, and my knees grow weak at the sight of the second head pushing through where the neck should be—long nose ending prettily above red, red lips stretched in a rictus. Lady Ysolt.
The monster lurches towards the edge of the arena, as if it can’t quite figure out how to use its new limbs. There’s a strange, mewling sound, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from a third face protruding from behind the first set of arms.
I bite back a gasp as the monster twists around to give it a better look.
“Jack,” I hiccup, staring at the boy’s small face. He looks younger without his glasses.
Jack’s mouth opens, pink tongue darting out, and he lets out another of those pitiful cries. I really have to puke.
I turn away, glaring at the ecstatic crowd, hating them all for what they’ve done to my friends. I wish I could destroy them all at once right here, right now. I catch sight of Mordred, still as stone between Urim and Thummim’s shouting figures, and remember his words. Lashing out now is exactly what Carman expects me to do.
I expel a shaky breath. Time to play my part. I turn towards Carman’s box, and bow with flourish.
“My lady, it shall be a pleasure to fight for you,” I yell so she can hear me above the crowd’s cheers.
My shout jolts the chimera[32] to action before Carman can bother to respond, and the crowd’s eager shouts redouble as the monster storms at me in a sudden burst of speed. I drop into a low crouch, watching as the creature’s long legs close the distance between us, long arms swinging wildly at its sides. Ten feet. Five. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I wait. Two feet.
The chimera lets out a high-pitched bellow, a long-fingered hand already reaching for me. But at the last second, I dive to the side.
The monster slides to a stop in a cloud of dust, then spins around to face me again. I cringe at the sight of Lady Ysolt’s forehead bulging beneath Father Tristan’s chin. She opens her mouth wide, and I stare, frozen, as her jaws dislocate completely to let out a terrible shriek.
I cover my ears with a cringe, expecting my eardrums to burst, but not a sound emerges from her distended lips. For a split second, the chimera seems to waver, then the pressure wave hits me with the power of a running train.
Pain
rips through my body as I’m hurled through the air, lungs no longer functioning. My right leg hits something solid, and I flip around to slam into the screeching crowd. I can’t breathe. Everything hurts. I fear I’ve shattered my leg. My right arm’s pinned at an odd angle beneath me. And all I can do is stare blearily at the sky-lake.
A high-pitched ringing starts in my ears. I suck in a short, burning breath. A second. The bleachers shake beneath me with the roaring cheer of a thousand demons.
They think I’m done for, vanquished by that horror, fruit of Carman’s retribution. I blink slowly once. Even that hurts. Another shuddering breath.
I need to move. Have to. Through the haze and the pain, I finally manage to roll onto my stomach. But before I can summon the strength to push myself onto my feet, a foot stomps on my good arm.
“I’d stay right where you are, girly,” a demon says, adding weight to his words by placing a rusty dagger at my throat. “Got good money on this game, and you ain’t gonna ruin it for me.”
Cold fury wipes all my pain away. With a startled hiss, the man snatches his foot away. Too late. Within seconds, his whole body’s writhing next to me, bright flames quickly turning the demon to ashes. I glare at the crowd around me, and this time they pull away from me, no longer heckling.
Rage swelling through me, I get back up, testing my injured limbs, making sure they’re setting properly, before returning my attention to the arena floor.
The chimera’s waiting, all three heads twisting grossly around, seeking me out. I swallow bile back down. I can’t let myself think of it as them, as the people I cared for.
Still holding onto the ramp for support, I release all my pent-up anger, fear and frustration, and stamp my foot down repeatedly on the stone step.
Curse of the Fey: A Modern Arthurian Legend (Morgana Trilogy Book 3) Page 32
