Finally they reached the ring. Roughly an acre in size, the arena was surrounded by stadium seats and completely caged in by iron bars. Jagged spikes protruded inward at every crossbar. Fog curled around the macabre structure, held at bay by the blue and orange flames dancing above enormous torches.
At opposite ends of the ring were a grandstand and the entrance to the warriors' sanctum, a series of catacomb-like tunnels. Running deep beneath the ring, the sanctum was like an underground bullpen for competitors to await their matches.
The grandstand was a large covered stage, swathed with precious silks. Bettina's Sorceri sensibilities couldn't help but thrill at the bold riot of colors. Sometimes Rune could be . . . bland.
Two long banquet tables stretched along either side. One table was filled with demon lords and ladies who bowed and scraped for Raum. Not so much for me.
They were all aware that she'd been attacked and physically defeated. Yet she was also the great Mathar's only offspring. Her subjects didn't quite know what to do with her.
Fitting. Folks, I don't quite know what to do with me either.
The other table was peopled with masked Sorceri dignitaries who simpered before Morgana.
Again, not so much for me. They all knew she'd had her power taken. When Morgana wasn't looking, they treated Bettina like an Inferi.
Not a real demon, not a real sorceress. Imposter . . .
In the center was another dais and a table for Bettina, Morgana, and Raum. Directly below them was the sign-in station, with weighty scrolls stacked like logs. Those contracts were thicker than one of Raum's burly arms, enumerating what must be thousands of rules.
As each contestant-with his entourage of squires and delegates-finished his processional, he would file into this station to sign a scroll, entering into an unbreakable pact.
Beside the scrolls was a quill and a dagger, because the contestants signed these pacts in blood. Bettina was privy to few rules, but she knew that the only way out of the tournament was to win-or die.
It was all so wretchedly . . . medieval. Most of the Lore's demonarchies were.
She picked up a schedule of events from her place setting. The first night's contest was to be announced. The next several nights would involve individual bouts within the Iron Ring. Night seven was indeed lady's choice-a mystery round. Even to the lady . . .
The semifinals would be held on night eight, with the final round and wedding occurring on night nine.
Bettina peered over the crowd, searching in vain for Cas, wanting him here with her. Instead she was flanked by Morgana on her right and Raum on her left, like bulwarks.
As the lengthy procession drew closer, her anxiety escalated. She turned to Raum. "Why are so many creatures entering? Abaddon's rich, but not wildly so. Our climate is hard to get used to."
He briefly buried his face in an oversize tankard of brew, then said, "Because your loveliness is legendary-"
"Raum. Please."
He made a gruff sound, then said, "Some are glory hounds, but mostly it's the Accession. War has routed many Loreans from their homes. Others are champions for an entire species, who hope to win the throne and give their peoples a place to live. Some are emissaries of a sort, looking for an alliance for their realms. Still others are pawns, controlled by powerful masters, who'll merely cede the crown if they win."
"You'd let a pawn win me?"
"We can't exactly prove who's a pawn until after the tournament."
Bettina narrowed her eyes. "There's more you aren't telling me."
"There's a last class of competitor. . . ." He patted her hand, a consoling gesture. "The condemned."
"Excuse me?"
"They were sentenced to die for various crimes in their home planes. Their only option is to compete in this, win, then turn over the crown to the ruling power."
Bettina was aghast.
"All that matters naught!" Raum assured her with the gentlest tap on her shoulder (when he would've whaled someone else on the back). "I still have hope that Caspion will enter and defeat them all."
Hope? He and Morgana both seemed to have pinned all their hopes on, well, hope. Bettina wanted something more concrete, thank you very much. Besides, Caspion had no intention of entering.
"I've seen the way you look at him," Raum said. "That lad's the one you want, isn't he?"
He doesn't want me back.
Under his breath, he said, "Morgana fought me on him, said she saw you with someone 'more exotic.' But if Caspion enters, she can't say anything." Raum gazed around. "Where is he anyway?"
"I haven't seen him all day."
"There are still a couple of hours left until the entry deadline."
Morgana jabbed her with an elbow. "Here comes the first contestant. Now remember, don't bow your head too deeply. Even if your subjects are mere demons, you still have royal blood. . . ."
One by one, squires and delegates introduced their champions. Morgana provided continual-and scathing-commentary, as regular as a laugh track.
Most were representatives from the various de-monarchies, which pleased Raum. Several storm, ice, stone, rage, and fire demons were in attendance. Even a winged Volar demon entered. Not to mention the excretorian, who left a trail of pus on the sign-in desk.
A few contestants stood out. A snarling Lykae, with his ripped shirt and wild eyes, was surely a pawn. His three cloaked "squires" manhandled him to the sign-in station, then collared him away.
"Those three are warlocks," Morgana murmured. "An ancient order called Those Best Forgotten." She and Raum shared a look. "A-list," she said in a yesss! tone.
Raum, however, appeared uneasy, like a teenager whose illicit party had outgrown his sire's den.
Morgana added happily, "And right before the Accession!" That brutal immortal war-when all factions were forced to battle for supremacy. With each day, the warring Pravus and Vertas alliances strengthened. . . .
Next, two handsome centaurs approached, their sharpened hooves ringing on the walkway. With their bows strapped across their bare chests, the pair gave Bettina a flattering show of attention.
After them, a Horde vampire lord bowed courteously, but his bloodred gaze was restless-so different from Daciano's. Once the lord signed in, he hissed at the Lykae, his natural-born enemy.
The sole troll in the procession was enormous, its shoulders nearly as wide as it was tall. Bristly hairs dotted its body, covering its lengthy tail. In one grubby hand, the creature carried a spiked club bigger than Bettina's body.
She muttered to Morgana, "Now we're just being ridiculous."
Morgana shrugged. "The tournament is open to all."
There were the fire peoples: a Chimaero with skin that turned to flames and three Ajatars, dual-headed dragon shifters. Then came the snakelike competitors: two Cerunnos-princes of the Serpent Lands-and Meduso, son of Medusa.
"That one has a poisonous tongue," Morgana supplied in a delighted tone. "Haven't you heard? Once you go snake, you never go back."
Bettina sighed. I feel like I'm on the Island of Misfit Toys.
During a lull in the procession-the next demon appeared to be falling-down drunk-Bettina rubbed her hand over her nape, sensing something amiss. More than what's obviously amiss?
Naturally, most in attendance were watching her, but for some reason, her sixth sense was clamoring with awareness. . . .
Hidden in mist, Trehan had traced to Rune, back to the drawbridge he'd crossed such a short time ago. He'd stowed his belongings beneath it, then moved toward the Iron Ring.
Though the deadline to enter was imminent, Trehan still hadn't made a decision. Probably because he hadn't yet laid eyes on his Bride.
Instead, he'd glided along the periphery of the crowd, studying the large arena and the massive stadium-style seats overflowing with spectators.
He'd tried to imagine what it would be like to kill in front of them. For so long he'd hidden his skill-now to possibly display it in front of thousands?
Soon the grandstand would be in sight. She would be in sight.
Ever cold, ever logical, Trehan didn't make impulse decisions. Whenever someone tried to create a sense of urgency to move him to action, he dug his heels in, preferring absolute inaction.
But he feared that once he saw her, the need he'd felt last night would redouble, his control faltering.
Chapter 13
Over and over, he thought, Your Bride or your house? Your female or your kingdom?
No more stalling. He raised his gaze to the stage . . .
There she was.
Under the bright arena flames, his dark-eyed halfling looked like his most fevered dream in her jewels and revealing silks. Her dark hair was plaited into shining braids all around her face. Her jade-green mask highlighted her brilliant eyes.
First thought: Fuck the kingdom.
A sharp shake of his head. Steady, Trehan. Be rational, investigate.
Beside her were a male demon and a sorceress-must be the demon duke and the Queen of Sorceri.
Though Bettina seemed oblivious to all the gawking eyes on her, he did not like that most of her body was displayed to a multitude of covetous male gazes.
That's my Bride they lust after.
Despite her penchant for baring her body, her face was again concealed by a mask. I haven't fully seen her face, and still I consider this. But even as the thought arose, he realized that didn't matter. The physical was only part of what attracted him.
Still hidden, Trehan traced to a line of demonic contestants, listening to their conversations.
One young animus demon admitted to another, "I don't have a choice. Either I enter or my father will kill me."
A pathos demon said, "Of course I want the crown. Doesn't mean I won't breed on her for three litters a year."
A rage demon said, "The halfling's part sensual sorceress, part lusty demoness. I'd fight for a single night with a creature like that, much less an eternity. She's as good as beneath me."
The last two comments made Trehan's vision blur with rage, his fangs sharpening uncontrollably. No, be reasonable. This isn't you-
Reasonable? When all he wanted to do was rip out their arteries with his teeth?
Could Bettina hear any of these exchanges? She held herself very still, very regally-a detached beauty. So different from the shy seductress of the evening before.
But then, for just an instant, he saw a glimpse of fear in her eyes. His predator's gaze detected that wildly fluttering pulse in her neck.
Trehan might have resisted his mounting need to claim her, might have resisted the call of her blood. Yet her fear was intolerable to him.
He examined her more closely. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see her trembling. And why not? This wasn't a tournament for her hand-this was a virgin sacrifice, a spectacle.
The instinctive need to crush whatever threatened her hammered at him. The need to make her foes die bloody . . .
When the last of a line of roughly two hundred and thirty suitors had been presented to Bettina, she sank back, rubbing her forehead. Morgana reached over and pinched her chin, turning her face left to right. With a scowl, she shooed her ward away. A brief reprieve?
Trehan traced behind Bettina, secretly following her as she retreated to an alcove deep within a garden.
Gods, he liked the way she walked, liked the way the ends of her hair swayed back and forth just above her taut ass. With each step, a pale, gartered thigh flashed out from underneath her slinky skirt.
His swift erection didn't even surprise him. Nor did his lustful thoughts. Gods, female, the things I would do to you. . . . I'd rip those garters away with my fangs, your panties too. Then I'd spread your long, svelte legs wide and bury my tongue between them.
To claim the kiss he'd hungered for last night . . .
Everything about this woman aroused Trehan literally beyond reason. A fiery arrow through the temple? Will I ever recover from the shot?
After taking a seat on a bench, she turned to talk to a . . . plant? "Any sign of him?"
"No. I've looked for the last two hours, checked every whorehouse twice."
She glared at the plant, then murmured, "Did you see the way those entrants looked at me? I'm surprised they didn't want to check my teeth."
The plant replied, "Actually, one of them plans to remove all your teeth, so that you can handle his 'penile girth.' His words, not mine."
Who the hell had made that remark? Someone soon to die. Entering the tournament would afford Trehan the opportunity.
"Enough!" She started visibly shaking, her big eyes full of woe.
Trehan wanted to end that mouthy plant. Then I'd enfold her in my arms and tell her that all will be well. He found himself easing closer to her.
"I know what they plan for me," she said. "Oh, why won't Cas come?"
Always she thinks of that f**king demon.
Just before Trehan reached Bettina, Caspion appeared beside her, steps away from tracing directly into Trehan!
"Tina," the demon murmured, reaching for her.
She rose, her face crumpling as she launched herself at Caspion.
It isn't his right to embrace her. She is mine! Only centuries of honed self-discipline kept Trehan from ripping them apart. Investigate, Trehan. Delve. You know so little about her. . . .
Caspion whispered something in her ear, something Trehan couldn't hear. She gave him a wobbly smile, gazing up at the demon with open adoration. Hearing of her affection for Caspion was one thing, seeing it another.
Kill him. Trehan's hand fell to his sword, but before he could act, Caspion traced away with Bettina in tow.
Where had that bastard taken her? Trehan's gaze darted. When the two appeared on the grandstand, he exhaled with relief.
Only to tense once more-Caspion was striding toward the sign-in table? When the demon lifted the quill and dagger, the crowd cheered.
That son of a bitch! Trehan recalled the invitation. All competitors were mystically protected. With a swipe of the blade and a scratch of the quill, Caspion had entered the lists-removing himself from Trehan's reach.
At least until the tournament ended.
I can wait till then to kill him. Caspion might not even make it past the first round. Another might do Trehan's work for him.
Or I could enter. Two birds with one stone. He'd have no choice but to kill Caspion.