Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords Book 3) (18 page)

I blink several times as a mystery falls into place. Rhone is from the Outer Rings?

How the hell did he get into the assembly? No wonder he keeps to himself. Or perhaps his isolation isn’t self-imposed, judging by the comments directed toward him.

Drummond snaps his mouth shut with a gesture from Jovan. I wait for Rhone’s reply, even looking at him expectantly, but there isn’t one. Why doesn’t he put Drummond in his place?

I move around the table as the council hurries after Jovan.

Malir leads us to a safe vantage point. I go on tiptoes to peek out the window, gasping at the vast outline of the force gathered.

“How is this possible?” someone whispers. I shake my head. This was not going to end well.

“There are several hundred of them.”

It could be worse. The Outer Rings population is the largest of any of the rings. They number in the thousands. If they united, the Outer Rings could overrun the castle with ease. Which I’m sure is the basis of Blaine’s plan.

As we stand watching, I hear the sound of something hitting the wall of the castle. I strain to hear further noises of objects hurtling toward the castle, but it seems the person throwing is alone for now. I hope it’s not the beginning of the end. If the Outer Rings become violent, they’ll force Jovan’s hand. If the hostages are killed, Jovan will have to strike back to show power. My mind hurtles, already making contingency plans for the worst-case scenario.

I look to the side, awaiting the king's decision. Why is he stalling? Then I remember his comments about living up to his father’s legacy.

“My King?” Malir prompts, as several more of what I’m assuming are stones hit the castle walls.

Jovan stands tense for several moments. He looks my way three times. “I have a feeling they’re not going to disperse quietly. But we’ll try nonetheless. If we put more men out there, it’s going to stoke the flames. An announcement will do the same thing. We will give them time to disperse of their own accord. If they don’t, force will be used.”

I hum. What is Jovan really thinking? I can tell even he doesn’t believe what he’s saying.

“A sound plan, my King. Your father would be proud,” Blaine says. I screw my nose up at his patronizing tone. Are we walking straight into Blaine’s trap?

Jovan begins barking orders at Malir and the advisors scurry after him, leaving me to watch what's happening outside. More are joining every minute. My ears strain as stones begin flying and the Bruma push against the portcullis. How much pressure will that take?

Rhone stands beside me.

“Outer Rings, huh?” I say. He grunts.

“Should’ve guessed, I suppose. It explains why you’re so much smarter than most of the people in this assembly,” I say truthfully. I listen as the breath catches in his throat. I lay a hand on Rhone’s arm; the muscles bulge from long hours on the sleds.

“Next time Drummond says something like that, put a spear to his throat,” I offer. “I’ve found it works rather well.” It had certainly stilled his wandering hands in the Dome last sector.

“And should I hold a spear to every person who makes such a comment?” he asks.

I shrug. “You could change it up. Spear, sword, jab to the throat.” He snorts and I continue. “Maybe you could train Leo to bite anyone who says ‘Outer Rings.’”

I watch the throbbing, angry mass shout at the castle, shout at their king. I could ask how Blaine has possibly created a rebellion of this magnitude, but I don’t believe it would really be too difficult. Jovan’s people are poverty-stricken. They’re hungry, homeless, and in constant danger. It’s been this way for generations, with no leader willing to change the situation. In Jovan’s defense, I truly don’t think he realized how bad it is there.

No, it wouldn’t take much. All Blaine had to do was dangle a bit of hope in front of the pitiable Bruma to fire them to a frenzy. I look up at the giant beside me, tilting my head right back.

“Rhone?”

“Mmmhmm?” he mumbles.

“I have something for you to do.”

The yelling and screaming is that much louder from down here. I hold my head high as I strut through the angry mass of people. My hair ripples over my bare back, sending a shiver through me as my body adjusts to the lack of fur clothing. I tell myself the shiver isn’t worry that I’m currently Frost in the middle of a rebel group. Or because I’ve left Crystal underneath my veil in the castle. As long as she doesn’t move or speak much, the ruse will be fine. I hope.

“It’s Frost,” someone squeals. I push them roughly aside, feeling the person’s ribs through their meager clothing. The thin girl looks up at me from her seat on the ground with a wide toothless beam. I ignore the penniless woman and continue on. My priority is to gather information on who’s running this show. But my presence out here serves two purposes. The second of which is already starting to happen. People stop throwing things and shouting when they see me. My presence probably seems mysterious and unexpected. Unless they’re from the Second Sector, the Outer Rings residents won’t have seen me since the Dome.

“Frost’s gonna help us!” a woman yells. I give her a menacing scowl. Not for any reason; it’s just what they expect a pit fighter to do. She jerks back and then exchanges a knowing glance with her friend. For months I tried to befriend, bribe, and threaten my way into their midst. But it took killing Slay in the Dome and escaping certain death to apparently make me untouchable in their eyes.

News of my presence spreads in front of me and to either side. I can almost see its effect rippling out through the masses. The advisor was right: there must be several hundred people here. They spill out over the cobbled road leading to the portcullis from the direction of the Inner Ring. As one ragged person turns to the next, the stamping stops, and people shift their attention from the castle to me as I stand in the middle of the group—and of disaster.

I need to find the hostages and keep them safe until Rhone gets word to Jovan about what I’m doing, what my brittle plan is. Filthy men and women turn to each other, confusion on their face, wondering why Frost has arrived. That’s how I find the people I’m looking for. They stand nearest to the castle and continue to shout and encourage those around them to do the same. Five bloodied people, merchants by the look of them, cower on the ground at their feet, hands tied behind their backs.

I cross my arms, simply observing the ringleaders for several minutes before approaching. The crowd grows still as I do. People jab those still talking to shut them up. There’s sound, but it seems eerily quiet after the deafening noise a moment ago. I shake back my long hair, tightening my arms under my breasts. I know it does wonders for me in the harness—a series of leather straps which hardly deserves the description of clothing. Sin used to do the same with his chest muscles to make the audience crazy. Bizarrely, the thought makes me want to burst into laughter. Keep it together, Olina.

“What’s this?” I ask the crowd closest to the ringleaders. My expression is cold. I stare at the surrounding people. The man to my right, the one throwing rocks over the wall, has to be one of Blaine’s men. I don’t address him directly. That would be admitting he has power. And I mean to have that power all to myself.

He talks anyway. Bait taken.

“What do y’think, stupid bitch,” he snarls to my right. Those nearest us scramble back as I slowly turn to look at the hulking man, who’s balding with ruddy cheeks.

After a short pause, I ask my question again. This time with my foot pressing on his throat.

“We’re rising up,” he chokes from the ground. “Sick of the poverty, sick of being hungry, sick of the—”

I push down, then ease the pressure a little as his lips gain a blue tinge. From the murmur around me, the rest of the gathering agrees. I can’t even blame them.

“Maybe you’d prefer living on the fire world,” I joke. The hunched people closest to me laugh uproariously, high on tension. I watch the hostages out of the corner of my eyes. They’re whispering to each other. I hope they don’t try anything stupid.

Four other men move forward. I smile at them, honestly happy they’ve come to me instead of me having to find them. But surely there are more. The man beneath my foot stops moving and I remove my foot. He should still be alive.

“Hello, boys,” I say. These men missed out on their fair share of good looks. However, it’s the menace they emanate which makes them appear almost as ugly as Blaine.

“Who’re you?” the largest one asks in a brusque tone.

I laugh, slinging my arm around the neck of a stocky man standing at my side, ignoring the smell of animal blood. I hope he’s a butcher. The man I casually embrace chortles with me, as do those watching. I’m working the crowd and I thank Alzona and Shard for pushing me to experiment in the pits.

“She’s Frost, idiot,” an old man mutters. One of the four whips around to the elderly man and unleashes a vicious punch. The frail man crumples to the ground.

I don’t see it, but I sense it. The crowd turns against Blaine’s men. Not physically. Not yet. But they just stacked their favor with me. The thug is smart enough to perceive the change. He shifts uncomfortably as everyone looks at the old man on the cold ground, then fixes him with a blank look. The circle tightens around us.

“You lot listening to these guys?” I ask the crowd. There’s no way five people started this. But no one else is stepping up.

“That one there was knocking on doors, shouting for us to come,” a washerwoman says. She points and the crowd nearest to her close around as one of Blaine’s thugs takes a threatening step towards her. I move to stand between them also, grinning evilly up at the man. The mob holds its breath. His eyes dart furtively around, taking stock of the situation.

“Smart man.” I congratulate him when he stumbles away. I circle their group of four and the man unconscious on the ground, looking at the people around me. “These men have their own agenda.” My words ring out across the silence. I wait as the Bruma discuss that possibility. Rhone should have had ample time to deliver my message to the king. Come on Jovan. Even after last night, I don’t doubt that he’ll come to my aid.

“Go and free the hostages,” I order the butcherman next to me. He takes the dagger I hold out to him and plods over to the frightened Inner Ring members. The hostages shrink back as he saws through their restraints.

I turn to the four standing men. Maybe the fifth is dead, after all. “I think it’s time you went.”

I catalog each of the ringleader’s features as they slink back into the mass, realizing they’ve lost. The horde inhibits their movement by bunching together. I narrow my eyes at the action. I’d bet ten goldies they used to do that to me on purpose. I always wondered how Shard moved so easily through the courtyard.

A boy is pushed forward by his friends. He gulps as he looks up at me. “But we’re hungry,” he says. He’s no older than Oberon and Ochave, my twin brothers. My face softens as I bend down to his level.

“I know you are,” I say solemnly. Jovan, where are you? They turn to me expectantly, waiting for me to solve their problems. I open my mouth to address them, to stall for more time, but a groaning sound catches the words in my throat. I sag in relief as I see the portcullis rising over the five ragged rows of unwashed Bruma between me and the castle. I approach the gate.

Jovan stands there, a sizeable chunk of his army behind him.

The whores and cutthroats around me shuffle back. Shouting for a fight, and actually fighting are two different things, especially with the tension largely dissipated. The five freed hostages drag themselves toward their king, who ignores them. The butcher and my favorite dagger are gone. Damn thief.

I relax my face into blank lines as King Jovan addresses the masses.

“I have heard your pleas,” he calls. Somehow his voice carries out over the gathered crowd. There is a hiss at the word ‘plea,’ but I congratulate him in assuming control of the crowd. The word ‘demands’ would have given them too much strength.

“I am displeased to find this small assembly at my door,” he says, meeting the eyes of a group of scowling men. The scowls immediately disappear. His voice alone could cut through ice. Add it to a large, muscled frame with a deadly glare and you had the King of Glacium. I watch the poor. They’ve already lost, but they are yet to decide if they’re happy about it.

“Though perhaps you have no other way to voice your
requests
. I must say I wonder about your tactics.” He glances at the old man still lying on the ground. “Is it common practice to beat the elderly?”

I nearly beam up at him. The murmur of the Bruma is angry. But they’re angry that their King thinks they would do that. In one sentence Jovan has turned their fury to the four men
and
made them eager to prove to their king otherwise.

He paces along the wall. “I am your king!” he roars. “You are my people.” There are several cheers with this. I allow a couple of nods. I don’t want to seem too eager, but if people are watching they’ll be influenced by my support.

“As such, I will talk with one representative,” he says, scanning the hundreds in front of him. His subjects exchange confused looks.

“Who will speak for you?” he booms. I should’ve warned him to limit the number of syllables. My insides roil as I wait on tenterhooks.

“Frost!” someone shouts. I close my eyes. They can take my reaction however they want. I’m someone they’ve all seen. I’m really the only candidate available to them right now. It’s no surprise when the cry is taken up by others. Jovan holds up one massive hand. His people quiet immediately.

“Where is this Frost?” he asks.

I almost roll my eyes. A ring of clear space already surrounds me. The ring doubles in size as the threadbare Bruma step away from me. Or rather, away from the king’s attention.

“Here, m’King,” I call up. I cock a hip out. Sin would be so proud.

“You will discuss the troubles of the Outer Rings with me,” he says. It’s a statement, but I act like it’s a question.

I fold my arms and peruse him, giving a show of making a judgment. It’s important I don’t roll over. I drop my hands to my sides after a minute. “I reckon I will,” I say. “But I want my buddy Blizzard to come along.”

Hopefully, Jovan can deal with that last-minute change. Blizzard’s name is taken up with vigor alongside my own. The Outer Rings are happy with my choice. Many of them know Blizzard. Maybe some have been fed by him, or given spare clothing and blankets. I wanted to speak with my friend on the matter before he left the castle and then quietly introduce the idea to Jovan in a few weeks. Though, who knows if Jovan will listen to anything I say now. And I’m afraid Blizzard no longer has a choice—not by the enormity of the people’s response.

It’s impossible to gauge the king’s reaction from where I stand. Likely, his face is expressionless. The face he’s only just stopped showing to the assembly. The one he showed me again last night.

He nods regally. “It will be done.”

“Enter,” he orders me. “And someone pick up the old man,” he barks over his shoulder. I bite back a smile as I saunter toward the watch. Nice touch.

Several watchmen aid the Inner Ring hostages into the safety of the castle. Blaine’s men did a thorough job of beating them half to death. Malir braves the now-calmed rebellion to gather up the still unconscious old man and take him inside, probably straight to Sadra.

I walk through the high gates and look for Jovan. He’s ascended to the walkway atop the gate. He addresses the subdued crowd, arms raised.

“The outcome of this meeting will reach you through your chosen speakers. You will address any problems to Frost or Blizzard,” he declares. “You may all return home now. But know this. I consider it my duty as your king to hear your troubles. Now that the issue of communication has been dealt with, you can be assured any
repeats
of this,” he gestures at the crowd, “will be swiftly, and brutally dealt with.” He straightens and glowers until some of the bedraggled poor scamper away in fear.

He twirls, furred cloak spinning with him. I wink at those glancing worriedly at me through the portcullis. They grin uncertainly at my unfazed demeanor. I’m just glad the hard part’s over. Not that I’m out of danger. I hope Crystal is coping all right.

Jovan sweeps ahead of his watch, not sparing me a glance. It’s what he should do, but I wonder if he’s angry at my actions. It seems we’re taking turns being angry at each other at the moment.

I follow, herded by a group of watchmen. We march straight to the meeting room. Jovan points at the chair in the middle, ignoring the ‘Tatuma’ sitting in her normal spot. Crystal is probably pissing herself under my veil. Jovan’s advisors clap him on the back-even Blaine, though there’s a jerkiness to his movements belying his happy expression. Some of the council turn to me, glaring at me in disapproval. Like Frost would give a shit.

I saunter into the middle of the room, making sure no one is reminded of the Tatuma sitting there a couple of sectors ago. The harness catches the eye of the men closest to me and I give them a teasing wave. Last time I sat here, I was dressed in Kedrick’s oversized trousers and coat. I doubt anyone is remembering the Tatuma Olina.

“Where’s me mate?” I ask, picking at my teeth. Humor sprints across the king’s face. I swear he almost laughs, coughing several times behind his hand before facing me with a flushed face. I bite down on an escaping giggle.