Of Silver and Beasts (28 page)

I drag my boots along the ground so that Bax hears my approach. I don’t want to take him off-guard. He’s invested in the fight, and seems like he could snap at any moment.

He doesn’t turn around to acknowledge me. “What do you want, protector.”

“To know how much you wagered on Tobias,” I say, moving beside him. “I’d like to also know how much you look to gain from my head.”

From the corner of my eye, I see him grin. “A lot,” he says simply. “You’re my highest wager. And if you win the freedom ring, I’ll be taken care of for life.”

His words sound hollowed, as if they’re practiced, rehearsed. “What does that mean?”

He grunts. “I guess it doesn’t matter if you know. What can you do?” He quickly glances at me. “After the Reckoning, we will no longer have to live underground. The damages we’ve suffered will be reversed, and the wrongs will be righted.” Bax folds his arms over his chest and stares into the Cage. “
My Liege’s
bidding will be realized.”

My insides shudder. I want to demand that he reveal everything, but I have to be cautious. How do the Otherworlders think the dark priest will save them? And from what? They’ve done this to themselves—they chose to follow a false goddess beneath the surface of the earth, and have suffered the consequences of their actions. But even though his thought process is flawed, something Bax said stands out from the insanity.

My Liege’s bidding.

Not Bax’s or even the Otherworlders’, but his father’s. And he said it with vehemence in his tone.

Tucking this small piece of information away in my mind, I press on. “Then, this is not about profit for you.”

His shoulders bounce as he barrels out a deep laugh. “Protector,” he says, and looks into my eyes. “I’m not the stupid barbarian you think me to be.” His eyes study my features—really study me. They glow a bright white-blue. “What is it you’re probing for?”

“I want to know the purpose—why?” I lift my hands and fan them around. “Why attack countries only to—”

“The purpose?” he spits. “If there was no purpose other than revenge, then that is reason enough. I’m not the only one who desires to live aboveground.” His jagged teeth grind. “My Liege will make that happen.”

I’ve hit a nerve. I never once considered that the Otherworlders might be discontent living in their dark realm. It was their choice, after all. But maybe I’ve misjudged them. The Council, the Three Realms—maybe we’ve all misjudged. Though that’s not hard to do when a race is only known for their war waging, slavery, and vileness.

But just as Cavan serves the goddess Farrah, doing her bidding and living by her example, so do the Otherworlders serve their deity. I imagine that not all carry out commands from the goddesses willingly, but rather on faith and obedience.

I wonder if Bax’s actions are his own. Does he carry out orders in obedience to Bale or his father?

A strangled cry rips through the Cage, and I jerk my head toward the center of the ring. Tobias has fallen. Metal Mouth stands above him, his sword thrust into Tobias’s side, pinning him to the ground.

Before I’m aware of what I’m doing, I start toward the ring. Bax’s arm slams against my chest. “Get up. Get
up
,” he chants under his breath.

A deep worry line forms between Bax’s brows. My own forehead creases as I wonder again why Bax has taken a leadership role for the sport. If not for the currency, then why? How does being a ring leader further his desire to serve Bale?

Bax’s face pales, even more so than its usual gray-white tinge, and his fingers curl painfully around my arm. He bows his head. “Watch, protector,” he says. “Pay attention. You may have to fight him.”

I do. With disgust and a sickening tumble in my stomach, I watch as Metal Mouth mounts Tobias’s chest and drops his bared, wire-covered mouth to Tobias’s neck. I flinch. Metal Mouth’s head judders back and forth, his teeth tearing at Tobias’s jugular. Then he snaps his head up, ripping a gaping wound.

I close my eyes and turn my head—but not before the image of red trailing his chin . . . flesh clamped between his hideous jaws, is seared into my mind.

The stadium erupts and rocks with cheers and stomping. I know that Metal Mouth is now welcoming the praise, probably circling the ring and earning his blue light on his cuff. But I can’t look. I can’t watch.

A pulsing fire builds in my stomach, overtaking the nausea. Heated coils wrap my bones, organs, tendons. I fight the urge to storm the Cage and vindicate my league mate.

Alyah, what is this feeling?

I don’t expect a response, but I wait for it nonetheless. Bax spins me around forcefully, tearing me from my thoughts.

“Go to your man,” he says, his voice low and humbled. Then he speaks to his guards. “Get out there and claim the body before Krewl desecrates the remains further.”

I should feel humiliated and angered over Bax thinking I belong to Caben. Instead, I’m relieved that he thinks I’m so weak. And I must be, at least where my heart is concerned, because it’s taking everything inside of me not to rush past the guards and slaughter Krewl.

As Krewl and Metal Mouth rejoice in their victory in the Cage, I turn toward Caben. He closes the distance between us. “Are you all right? You look ill.”

“I’m okay, but—” I shake my head. “It’s not the violence or blood . . .” I clamp my lips closed. How do I explain these feelings? The need to release a targeted rage in order to sate the anger? I can’t.

I look up at the blackness overhead, at the full moon, and think of legends about people losing their sanity to moon madness. It’s all children’s stories and myth. Yet, for every story once spun around a campfire, there is truth to be had—a foundation of verity.

Maybe I am going mad.

The crowd explodes, cheering and whooping. They are all mad.

Bale is the goddess of the moon. And if she still has some hold on this world, if her banishment only stripped her of most of her power, could she have influence over us?

Caben wraps his arms around me, and I stare over his shoulder at the blood-soaked earth in the Cage. I shiver as the dark priest’s words finally bring some clarity.

Tributes.

Or another, more accurate term: sacrifices.

“Caben,” I whisper.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, dropping his arms and releasing me from the embrace. “Probably not good to declare to the others—”

“No,” I interrupt. “It doesn’t matter.” And it doesn’t. We’re too far into this for our alliance or even our affection to hinder us. I’m sure Crew, Lena, and the others are quick-witted enough to have figured it out. Bax has.

Caben’s eyes study my face, concern etched on his features. “Then what?”

“We’re being sacrificed to Bale,” I say. “She’s the goddess of violence, mayhem, and madness.” The blood sport makes sense now. Why the Otherworlders brought us down here during the peak of their attacks. The two are a combined effort.

Recognition lights Caben’s eyes as soon as he makes the connection. He scrubs his hands down his face and talks through gritted teeth. “We’re pawns.”

More than that, we do have a purpose beyond feeding their gambling and need of sport. The dark priest is feeding his goddess. “I have to find out why,” I say, thinking as I speak. “Bax says the dark priest is preparing the Otherworlders to live aboveground. That Bale will right the damages and wrongs done to them.” I swallow. “But no wish is ever granted without a price.”

“What does Bale ask for in return?”

I nod. “That’s the question we should be asking.”

Glancing behind me, I find Bax entering more statistics into his screen.

“Kal.” Caben’s tone is warning. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

I look back at Caben. “What do we have to lose?”

“Stop conspiring,” Bax shouts. We turn our heads as he approaches us. “Say your goodbyes if you wish.” His beady eyes land on Caben. “You’re up, Payne.”

Icy fingers wrap around my spine, and my stomach plummets to my feet. I take Caben’s hand. “Get to a weapon as soon as—”

“I know,” he says. “I know. I’m not planning on leaving our fight just yet.” His lips curl into a bright smile, but it’s strained. “I won’t leave you to do this alone.”

I open my mouth to tell him . . . something, but the words die on my tongue.

“Tell me when I get back,” he says, as if he’s simply going on a short outing. Not confronting his death.

Our eyes stay locked on each other as the announcer introduces, “The Prince of Pain!” And too soon the guards are pulling Caben from my grasp and forcing him into the Cage.

Once I would have mocked him, claiming he pranced like a spoiled prince. He still prances like spoiled prince, but now I also see the strength and pride in his calculated movements. And because he carries himself toward an uncertainty that could mean death, his show is more an insult to the ring leaders and Otherworlders. He will not parade around the ring like a pet monster.

He’s a prince.

He has honor.

Though my heart swells with affection for him, there’s also a dark fire igniting inside me. The flames lick the walls of my chest, and I look to the moon, wondering what madness is taking over.

Across the Cage, Collar’s barred door drones open.

Collar steps forth, a spiked collar around his neck. Coils of ultraviolet light lash against the spikes, illumining his pale face and eyes in an unearthly glow. He moves aside to welcome his competing contender.

The darkness slithers deeper into my core as I wait to see who will be Caben’s opponent. Its dark fingers grip my throat and I struggle to breathe.
Please don’t be a Nactue
, I pray. But it’s only a matter of time before he faces one of my girls.

It’s only a matter of time before I do.

A tall, lanky man with dark, sun-kissed skin and black hair steps into the Cage. He’s wearing a faded green tunic and black gloves that reach past his elbows. The grip on my lungs loosens.
Thank you, Alyah.

The nubby announcer spins and raises his arm toward the new contender. “The Dark Horse, Hypno!”

“What—?”

My chocked-off question trails into the air as Bax sidles up beside me. “Collar intends to match Payne against Cannon,” he says, and I look at him.

“Not that I care to understand your crude rules,” I say. “But wouldn’t pitting a Colossal against a Dark Horse
not
work in Collar’s favor?”

Bax chuckles. The sound of his enjoyment grates on my bones. “He thinks Hypno can win. Probably because Hypno has a rare talent.” His face contorts. “But if not, Collar doesn’t risk much by losing a lowly ranked contender. And then Payne moves into position to fight Cannon in the final battle.”

“But don’t we all face-off in the final battle? And
Cannon
—really? Do the other ring leaders name all their contenders so fiercely?”

“That’s the contender’s given name,” Bax says.

That knowledge was something I didn’t need to know.

“And yes,” Bax continues. “You’ll all battle together in the last round. But you’ll be positioned accordingly so that you’re forced to fight your deemed opponent first.”

I shake my head at their barbaric sport. We move to the front of the chamber, and I notice Crew and Lena near the entrance on the opposite side, their gazes hard on Caben. Maybe he’s formed his alliance, after all.

The horn sounds, and I grip the bars, bracing myself as Caben and Hypno begin to circle each other. It’s difficult to concentrate on Bax, to discover information, when my mind is consumed with Caben’s fight.

Both contenders stop their dance around the Cage and race to the center of the ring. They lock arms. Caben clutches Hypno’s shoulders, and Hypno matches the hold. If Hypno tries to defeat Caben by grappling, I’m assured he’ll lose. All Caben has to do is put him in a sleep hold—knock him out. If Hypno can’t finish the fight, I pray the ring leaders will be forced to call Caben’s win.