Page 67 of Crown of Ashes and Awe

I estimated there were two-hundred people making their way up the levels of seating and congregating before settling on the wide white benches. I was the subject of many conversations and much pointing. No one looked on me kindly, and I assumed they saw me as just another player in today’s DeNoy game. Not an object of pity, but someone to assess and wager against.

I tried to ignore them and lifted my gaze to the top of the structure where I was surprised to find familiar black heartstone running along the ridge of the massive bowl. The hum of discussions paused at the flap of dragon wings, and a large emerald green beast swooped above the edge and perched itself on the black rim.

The dragon then became the topic of conversation along with the tall, lean man with robes of the same emerald green, who dismounted his beast and took a seat halfway down, but directly below his dragon. Neither of them had flashy adornments, as other dragon and rider pairs I’d seen. But the color was rich enough to catch the eye.

This event repeated over and over until dragons encircled the entire arena, their scales a vibrant tapestry of greens, oranges, purples, and fiery crimson, reflecting the early morning sun. Their DeNoy counterparts ringed the arena like jewels in a necklace that matched the crown.

The dragon to take the last spot above me was Ciro’s black animal. His rider was missing. His sapphire accents were the only traces of blue among the beasts in the arena, except for an azure shimmer on a pale green dragon.

Ciro took his time making his entrance. The crowd grew impatient waiting, then stood to cheer him when he appeared on the landing behind the box. When the applause began to wane, he made his way down to sit beside me.

All I had to do was turn…

No. It was too soon for revenge. If I were removed from the building, I wouldn’t see what was to become of Tearloch and my friends. And if by some miracle there was a chance to escape, I had to be ready. So I practiced patience and held my fists so tightly that my fingernails broke the skin of my palms. The sting kept me focused.

Tearloch said I had to use my knowledge to survive. My duty, then, while I sat there, was to search my memory for something I might use as a weapon…as if I hadn’t been doing the same every waking minute of my confinement…

But he wouldn’t want me to give up hope.

The audience now consisted of the original two hundred with another fifty DeNoy added. The structure could have held twice as much. Perhaps it would have if Ciro hadn’t imposed a limit on the population. Though surely, Hestia wouldn’t benefit from even more cold-hearted, blood-thirsty people.

Another possibility occurred to me—maybe they were this excited because this time, none of them had to participate. None of them would die today. That might be enough reason to celebrate. Maybe they simply wanted life, not just the spilling of someone else’s blood.

Of course, there were those who all but drooled with bloodlust. I could see it in their eyes. They were here for the show.

There was another group among the crowd, and when I recognized them, my heart jumped with hope. TheArd Draoi, the servants in colorless robes who looked as miserable as I felt. The sight of them reminded me that there were others, out there, who were eager to help. Zelan’s friends.

Anticipation grew palpable. I wasn’t sure what we were waiting for, but the crowd seemed eager for a surprise.

Suddenly, conversations died on tongues as all eyes turned to the arena floor. A procession, led by one guard, started its slow march around the perimeter of the ring. Nine of my friends, all but Lennon, followed him, and my heart jumped into my throat. Morrow’s body jerked and tensed as he walked. He was obviously in pain, though his expression remained stoic. Lears and Poole had no problems, though they looked concerned for their leader.

Minkin was next, her green gown clean. No signs of the wound still healing, no hint at what she was feeling at that moment. Sweetie followed as closely as he could, his fingers twitching. Others might believe he was nervous, but I’d watched that twitching before as he fought the urge to reach out to the woman he loved.

The crowd found his horns intriguing. Things were exchanged—people placing wagers.

After Sweetie came Griffon. His stance was defiant, though the stiffness in his shoulders was probably more from pain than attitude. He wouldn’t want his opponent, whomever that might be, to know just how injured he was.

His gaze scanned the crowd quickly, looking for Lennon.

Distracting the masses from Griffon’s tall handsome form, Bain and Dower laughed and waved at the mob as if they’d all come to see the brothers out of pure adoration. They shared radiant smiles and pursed their lips, clutched their hearts and waved again. The audience loved them.

Nogel watched the pair with his face pinched in confusion. His face was tearstained, his shoulders hanging. Tearloch followed on his heels, and after he muttered something, the younger man straightened and forced his chin up. With his sleeve, he dried his eyes, then tucked his emotions away.

Poor Nogel.

And poor Tearloch!

The right side of his face was swollen, along with half his lip. A black smudge darkened his left cheek, just under the eye, and he walked with one elbow tucked against his ribs. Just when had he been beaten?

I didn’t remember coming to my feet, but so did Ciro, and when he looked me in the eye, he didn’t try to hide his smirk.

“It’s only fair we leveled the playing field. Now, please, sit. You’ll want to pace your indignation.” He sat again only after I did.

I smiled sweetly. “I hope I can be patient enough…so I can make you suffer horribly before I take your head.”

He barked with laughter, then patted my leg and winked. When I found Tearloch again, I realized the reason for the attention, because the man to whom I was heartbound had found me and was watching.

I hoped to read his expression, but seated on the far side of the arena, he was too far away. All I could do was hold his gaze for as long as he would allow. There was no use hiding my feelings. Ciro already knew how to use us against each other for maximum pain.

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