Page 55 of Chained to the Champion
But we were looking for our chance.
I bared my fangs. “And if I refuse?”
His gaze flicked up, blanched, dropped again. “Master Skorai has personally invited you, champion. It would be a great insult to refuse.”
I let the silence stretch and watched him squirm. I had no desire to dance to Skorai's tune, to play the part of the perfect champion.
But I wasn't a fool, and I didn't have choices.
“I’ll attend,” I said.
He bowed, stiff as carrion, and fled, letting the door slam shut behind him.
21
VEGA
Plans were supposedto keep me sane. Keep moving, keep counting options, keep dragging everyone a step ahead of whatever nightmare wanted to eat us next. But by the end of our discussion, planning felt like gnawing on bone.
And nowthis.A feast to throw a wrench in our plans. Or to give us just the opportunity we needed.
But Zarvash's wing was still so weak. And I feared that Skorai was up to something. Why now with this feast? He couldn't possibly know what we were up to, not when the shape of the plan was only starting to form.
“This is our chance.” I kept my voice steady. If I didn't believe in it, he'd never let me try. “You go to the feast. I get whoever I can to the east gate. We break out before dawn.”
He didn't look hopeful. Zarvash melted into the shadow by the window, gold eyes molten, jaw set so hard I half expected scale to splinter. He could outstare stone.
“I’ll be there. Don’t try anything rash.” Flat delivery, cold as obsidian.
It hurt, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't deserve it. I'd run off half-cocked from Scalvaris more than once, and it had onlymade things worse. This time, I had to work with him, to stick to the plan. Or we'd all end up dead.
The strangest thing was, there was no one on this planet—maybe in this freaking galaxy—that I trusted more.
Try telling that to the me from six months ago.
“Like you’ve got room to talk.” I tried for a smirk, but it barely twitched across my mouth. This wasn't a joking matter.
That’s the price of caring—worrying was a full-contact sport.
I squeezed his arm—something like a promise—then bolted before I could talk myself out of it. My heart rattled like small arms fire, all staccato and terror. Outside, the city was its same old toxic self, stone radiating blood warmth left by the suns, but the air tasted of rust, and smoke licked the wind from a dozen gutters. I kept to the alleys, melting into shadows wherever the city allowed.
Ignarath voices rolled ugly through the spreading darkness, the usual celebration of screaming and slaughter. Glasses shattered, laughter running knife-edged; it was enough. Drunk was distracted and distracted meant sloppy. Guards would screw up, wander off, maybe already half lit on the cheap booze in this part of the city.
I waited in the shadow of the booze and the guards. Zarvash would be inside by now. He had to play pretend and keep Skorai distracted. This time, I couldn't get caught. Before, it hadn't mattered, not truly. They'd return me to my “master” and let him mete out the punishment.
There was no room for that tonight. And Skorai was beginning to suspect something was up.
My hands didn’t shake; they’d already passed into that fever calm where adrenaline wipes everything raw, though they ached for my knife. I’d mentally mapped every rat-run out; three options if you counted the sewers, which I did, even if it meant crawling through filth and nightmares.
If Kinsley and the others were locked in the pens under the arena, I wouldn't have stood a chance. But it was my luck they were being used as servants tonight. The guards didn't pay me any mind as I slunk through the kitchens, shoulders slumped and whole demeanor screamingsubmissive.They saw a weak human in tattered clothes.
They needed to keep saying that.
Kinsley's eyes widened when she saw me. “Tonight?”
“Now.” I kept my voice low. Drakarn servants were working in the kitchens, too, and I didn't trust them not to sound the alarm.
She didn't flinch. No pointless questions. I squeezed Kinsley’s wrist and nodded to Asif. “What about Nat?”
