Of Silver and Beasts (29 page)

Maybe this is Caben’s plan. We avoided discussing our matches because we knew it was inevitable. There’s no use mourning the lives we must take before we take them.

The tension crushing my soul ebbs, and I push the darkness down, suppressing it. Caben can win this. He’s fighting a lower ranked contender. He’s been trained by the most renowned grappler in Nalbis. He can defeat Hypno without having to sacrifice a part of himself to the madness overtaking this realm.

Telling myself this doesn’t stop the flaring panic.

Hypno wiggles his gloved arm from Caben’s strong hold. He wraps that arm around Caben’s neck and doubles him over. Caben jerks his head up, knocking Hypno in the chin. The crowd cheers.

As Hypno staggers backward, Caben slides across the black earth on his knees and swipes Hypno’s legs with his arm. Landing on his back hard, Hypno grabs his chest, as if the breath has been knocked out of him.

Now . . . Now . . . Get him in the sleep hold
.

Caben rolls and comes up behind his foe, clamping his arm around Hypno’s neck. I press closer to the bars and count the seconds. Hypno’s kicks his legs, but he can’t get traction to wiggle out of the hold.

Five more seconds.

On the count of four, Hypno manages to ensnare his fingers in Caben’s hair. He pulls Caben’s head down and lands a blow to Caben’s face. I balk at the low move.

My heart bangs against my chest as Caben struggles to recapture Hypno in the sleep hold. They grapple on the ground, exchanging one hold for the next. I want to look away, but I can’t. I hold my breath as the fight goes on.

“I would be sorry to lose him,” Bax says beside me, and I jerk. I forgot he was here.

“He’s not your property,” I seethe.

Bax sighs, the sound something I wouldn’t imagine coming from his thin lips. “Ah, you consider him yours.”

Trying to keep track of the damage being inflicted to Caben, I say absentmindedly to Bax, “No one can be owned.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, protector,” Bax says. “The deities bask in their possessions, moving us around like pieces on a chess board.”

My eyes follow after Caben as he tumbles with Hypno. They both right themselves, and Caben shakes his head, pushing himself onto his knees. Then he launches himself into Hypno’s stomach, grabbing him around the waist. Circling his arm around the back of Hypno’s neck, Caben jumps, using the downward momentum to flip Hypno over his shoulder.

The stadium bursts into a rumble of stomps.

Caben spins and tosses a stunned Hypno to the ground. Again he attempts to put him out before the weapons descend.

Now able to breathe, I respond to Bax. “The goddesses don’t play games with lives. I would question who I serve if I thought otherwise.” I slide a slanted glance his way.

Bax’s body shakes with a silent laugh. “Protector, you amaze me,” he says. “And here I thought we shared a kinship—that you above all the others would understand how it works.”

“A kinship?” I spit, shocked he believes I could ever be like him. “You enslave people and force them to kill for sport. You attack countries and murder innocents.” I glare at him. “We are nothing alike.”

He raises an eyebrow. The silver rings glint in the projected moonlight. “If your empress ordered you to war with Perinya in the name of your goddess, you would not do so?”

Hearing a collective “boo” from the crowd, I turn and seek Caben in the Cage. He’s lost his grip on Hypno, and now fists fly. Blood trails his right eye. I try to keep my attention on him while answering Bax. “My empress would never request that unless it was necessary. My goddesses would never ask that of us unless there was no other alternative.”

“Ah,” he says, humor lacing his voice. “But what of your Council?”

My gaze snaps to his pale face. “They serve the empress.” I feel this statement is obvious and should end the quarrel. Our rule in Cavan is without question.

Bax shakes his head slightly. “Obviously, you are young yet and will learn in time. That is, if you survive the Reckoning.”

Here is my opening. I part my lips to question the Reckoning itself, but the hunter’s horn fills the Otherworld. My blood screams.

The weapons are entering the Cage.

Letting Bax have the last word, I ignore his smug expression, and instead watch as Caben and Hypno separate. They jump for the weapons. Hypno is closest to a combat spear, the head fastened into a razor sharp obsidian leaf.

I curse under my breath. “Goddess.” Of course we didn’t get around to practicing with spears. But then I spot the warrior sword similar to the ones the Otherworlders carry descending a few feet from Caben. It will handle differently than our practice broadsword, but he’s at least learned the basics of technique.

Caben unhooks the sword from the chain and arcs it through the air in an 8 formation. After testing it, he advances toward Hypno. Before he reaches his opponent, Hypno drops his spear near his feet and begins sliding off his gloves. I assume he needs a firmer grip on his weapon, but when he reveals his arms, my eyes widen in alarm.

“What the goddess . . . ? That’s not possible,” I mutter. The black and white flesh of Hypno’s arms swirls in a slow, transfixing motion. It’s as if his skin has been liquefied, and a clear, hard coating traps the substance inside.

My hand goes to my chest, feeling the glass cover beneath my tunic. Does the same material encase Hypno’s arms?

“It is possible,” Bax says. I hadn’t realized I spoke out loud. “When you have the favor of the dark priest, of course. Bale gifts those who serve her unconditionally.”

“That’s not a gift,” I say. “It’s a mutation.” And I know this. I’ve lived every day after my incident hiding my own mutation from the world. “How does Collar have favor over the priest’s own son?”

A low groan rumbles from deep within Bax’s chest. “Do not speak of things you know nothing of, protector.”

Despite feeling that I landed a mental blow and returned the insult for Bax’s earlier slight, it’s a hollow victory. My heart races, the muscles in my neck tense, as I watch Caben fight to keep hold of his sword.

Hypno thrusts his spear, and Caben reacts a fraction of a second too late. The leaf grazes the side of his waist, drawing a seam of blood. I wince. Caben shakes his head, rubs his forearm over his eyes, and raises his sword to block another attack at the last moment.

“What’s wrong with him?” I demand. “He can’t see!”

“That’s Hypno’s special talent.” Bax’s voice is laced with scorn. I suppose he’s still insulted by my rebuke. “He hypnotizes anyone he’s fighting, though Collar has full control over it.”

The mercury in my blood scorches my veins. Shifting from one foot to the other, I pump my hands into fists, trying to expel the anxious energy.

Caben, kill him!

I know that it’s wrong to wish for death. But it’s Hypno or Caben. And I have no knowledge of Hypno—whether he is an innocent or not. He could have been a wanted man in his country. He could have killed innocents himself. Telling myself this doesn’t make my desire to see Caben kill right, but the darkness pooling in my blood demands it.

“What will you do when you’re able to live aboveground?” I ask Bax through clenched teeth. My mind needs a distraction.

His glowing eyes follow the fight in the Cage, and I assume he won’t answer. Then he says, “I’ll take my family far away from here.”

Turning my head just as Caben regains the upper hand, slashing Hypno along his calf, I say, “Your family?”

Bax doesn’t respond. The crowd’s cheers rock the stadium, and Bax yells out. I snap my head toward the fight.

Hypno is down on one knee and holds his bleeding leg. Caben stands above him, his chest heaving. Ignoring the chants to end the defenseless contender, Caben turns his back on Hypno and slowly limps toward us.

The dark coils gripping my insides loosen, and I take in a shuddering breath.

Hypno throws himself to the side and grabs the spear, then angles it back to release. Blackness slams my chest.

“No—” I shout.

Caben’s eyes zero in on me before he turns and launches his sword. The blade cleaves the air as it spirals through the Cage.

Hypno’s head rolls across the black ground.

I bow my head.

Deep inside—in the pocket of my soul—a sultry laugh cackles.

His voice fades into the background of my mind as I kneel before Caben and wrap his waist with a thick gauze bandage. The wound wasn’t deep, so I was able to clean it quickly and staunch the bleeding.

Caben’s seated on a wooden stool, his arms held out to the side while I work. His face contorts in pain, even though he’s trying hard to hide it from me.

I push myself onto my feet and stand over him. “Look up,” I say, dabbing a swab in the ointment Bax provided.

“Kaliope,” he says, his lilted voice harsh. “I’m—”

“You’re a tough, strong, hulk of a man who doesn’t need a woman to take care of him,” I say. “I know this. But if you’re to be of any use, you don’t need to contract some strange Otherworld infection in your wound.” I raise my eyebrows, daring him to argue. “Now, look up.”

Through the pain etched on his face, he smiles. “I don’t mind
certain
ways of being taken care of.” He winks his injured eye and winces.

I smile. “Serves you right, you stubborn ass.”

As I clean the gash above his eye, he rests his chin against my stomach and lays his hand on the small of my back. My heart constricts, and I breathe through the tightness griping my chest.

We haven’t spoken of his victory—of his kill. Somehow in this madness, I’ve accepted that Caben tried to spare Hypno despite knowing he’d be punished by the ring leaders. Hypno welcomed death when he didn’t accept Caben’s mercy.

I glance at the blue light illuminating the moonstone on Caben’s cuff and frown.

The rules here are different. I have to abandon my convictions and beliefs. There will be plenty of time later for guilt and penance if we manage to live through this. Now is the time to survive.

After bandaging Caben’s eye, I move to the corner of the chamber. Caben follows, planting his stool next to the wall and leans his head back. He closes his eyes, and I wrap my arms around myself and sink to the floor.

It’s intermission, and new statistics are being entered into the ring leaders’ database according to the wins and deaths. We have an hour before the last two fights of the night take place. Though I was never good at math—it was my worst subject in protector training—I can still calculate the figures.

Out of twenty-one contenders, minus the four deaths per night over the next three nights, nine will be left to enter into the final battle. Nine contenders will enter the Cage together, but only one will leave, three blue lights circling their cuff.

That is the freedom ring.

Three illuminated moonstones that will transform the slavery brace into one of liberty.

It doesn’t matter if you reach your third kill before all have fallen, however. The rules—their rules—state only one can be left standing. If someone must kill seven contenders in the last free-for-all brawl, then seven must die. The contenders wouldn’t allow the victor to walk out alive, regardless.

I imagine Crew earning his third light only to have Metal Mouth kill him to take his winning place.

The final battle is going to be a blood bath if we can’t convince them to take a stand against the ring leaders.

Besides the improbability that we can pull this off, another, bigger concern weighs on me: how do we get to the dark priest?

He’s high in the risers now, seated in his personal chamber. A barred door gives us access from the Cage—but how to get inside?

I rest my jumbled thoughts for now. My eyes feel like they’re weighted down by bags of sand and start to close. I haven’t even fought yet, but the adrenaline and the fear while watching Caben in the Cage has worn me down. Before I drift off, I hear heavy footsteps approaching.