Page 72 of Crown of Ashes and Awe

Griffon didn’t flinch.

“Have cost him his wings. Go ahead! Raise them up! Show him your gratitude for your gifts! Who knows what power may lie inside!”

The monsters lifted their hands in the air, each waving a bronze feather. My stomach turned, and I considered puking on Ciro, but he was on his feet, waving his own morbid flag. And I changed my mind. I didn’t want him to suffer. I just wanted him dead.

Down in the dirt, Griffon tipped his head back and closed his eyes. His mouth twisted with what I assumed was emotional pain. Ciro was out-doing himself. An expert on torture. So what would he use to torture me—other than watching my friends fight for their lives, one after the other?

“And now… this villain will pay the rest…”

I split my attention between the door behind Kivi and the one at the other end of the arena from which the bull had emerged. But nothing moved. My chest froze with dread at the thought of Griffon and Lennon being forced to fight each other or die together, because I knew they would choose the latter.

I was only half wrong.

34

HE CAN’T FIGHT LOVE

From high in the stands, a woman in a dark blue cloak with a generous hood made her way down the steps. Her face was hidden, and the crowd was intrigued—even more intrigued when they realized there were three of them, all dressed identically, all moving steadily toward the arena floor.

Griffon, the honorable, would face women.

It worried me more than if he were facing three men, even wounded as he was. And I was horrified, along with the rest of my friends, when that trio of women pushed back their hoods, untied their cloaks, and cast them aside. Each one of them was the mirror image of Lennon!

How could he possibly be expected to fight them?

Ciro settled back in his seat and preened. “Clever, don’t you think? And changelings don’t dance to just anyone’s tune. It cost me dearly.”

His smile fell when I didn’t press him for more. But I had something else to do—I jumped to my feet, cupped my hands around my mouth, and shouted, “Kill them, Griffon! They’re not Lennon! They’re probably not even women!”

The handsome man seemed to have heard me. He drew his shoulders back, bunched his fists, and braced himself for an onslaught. He’d been given no weapon, which was cruel, even for Ciro. But at least the weapons the changelings had were short daggers.

He turned as they moved to surround him, and I had my first look at the black wounds on his back. High, right-angled burns that looked far more than just skin deep. They ran above his shoulder blades, nearly met in the center, then continued three quarters of the way down his back.

Those wings had been much more than magic.

Despite my hopes and my assurances, he found it too hard to fight the likeness of the woman he loved. The changelings ran at him, over and over again, pecking at him with their little blades, destroying him by degrees. Only a few minutes had passed, but already he resembled a plucked bird with little spots of blood all over his back, a few on his chest.

There was no need for me to bark encouragement from high in the stands—Tearloch and the others were on their feet, shouting loud enough to be heard over the crowd. Guards surrounded Lennon, holding her back, threatening enough to keep her dragon in check. It was all up to Griffon now. He had to find a way to fight back!

Some idiots began throwing their feathers to watch them spin to the ground. A few here and there. Just enough to be obnoxious.

The three women on the floor realized he wasn’t going to fight back. Instead of attacking on the run, one of them grew bold enough to walk up to him, poke her knife into his shoulder, and rip.

To the music of his outraged roar, she flew backward and landed twenty feet away, in the middle of the black stain left by Zelan.

The next woman hissed and ran at him, knife high, intending to plunge it deep. But she too went flying before she reached her target. The third came from behind, fast and mean. She bent and slashed at his legs and was kicked backward. She landed on the barrier between the floor and the first row of benches, her back bent at a painful angle.

And while each of them lay panting, fighting to rise again, their guises transformed. Lennon’s faces were quickly gone. Even their bodies changed shape. Unpleasant, bony things remained.

Griffon’s arms shot out to his sides. He clenched his fists and tipped his head back once again. When his eyes closed, I heard little screams all around me. The bronze feathers flew from fingertips, including Ciro’s, and hovered over the center of the arena. In unison, they dove like a flock of birds.

I half expected them to become wings again and reattach themselves to Griffon’s back, but they found their home elsewhere—deep in the bodies of Griffon’s opponents.

He scooped a blade out of the dirt and went to changeling after changeling…to remove their heads. It was gory business, but the monsters enjoyed the show, and when the last head was tossed aside, Griffon was their brutal hero.

Blood-covered and breathless, he turned to find Ciro. After what I assumed was an obscene gesture on Earth, he flipped the dagger in his hand and threw it. Like an arrow, it shot straight and sure for Ciro’s head. Only a quick duck to his left saved the madman, and the blade rang like a bell when it embedded itself in the back wall of the box.

The crowd stopped cheering.

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