Page 132 of The Shadowed Oracle
“On this day,” the ceremonial orator began from the rostrum just below Ingrid. “Our games stretch beyond honor, beyond opportunity and ritual. On this day, we witness a true victory for the Isles! And for our new queen and king!”
Like a tidal wave, the bellowing of the crowd rose steadily. Onlookers cursed and harangued and demanded that the show begin. Callinora had been placed right in front of the grandstands where they could hurl their insults, and in some cases, their excess trash and debris at her. Ingrid flinched at the sight of some large rotten fruit dripping down the princess’s hair. She turned away, only to catch Sylan looking at her quizzically, and felt sick all over again.
“Before you stands a traitor,” the orator went on. “A defect in the ever-growing barricade separating our civilization from chaos. I present to you, Callinora Morelitt. Apostate daughter of the former king Nestor.”
Ingrid felt the words deep in her stomach. She might’ve vomited if her body hadn’t already been denying food. She couldn’t help picture Ballius and his pack of thieves back in Maradenn, smug and smiling. They had sold their own princessto Makkar, turning against the ruler they swore to protect, all to call themselves regents of a sham kingdom.
Nestor had been removed from the throne.
“And now… your gladiators!”
The crowd erupted again. Marching out one by one, a half dozen warriors made their way in front of the queen, saluting her with their weapon of choice. Enitha blew them kisses and reached out her hands to the rest of her subjects, curling her fingers, riling them up like a puppeteer, then raising her large chalice full of sweet wine in a toast to them. She drank it down in one long gulp to the amusement of the mob.
“How your slaves honor you,” Sylan said, not hiding the sarcasm. Other than that strange look he’d given Ingrid, he’d appeared nothing but bored and anxious to get this over with.
“It isallof Ealis they honor today,” Enitha hissed back, gulping down more wine like she was still at her wedding party. “Weren’t you listening?” She gestured to the crowd, to the people, then to the gladiators just below. “And I honor these men for their servitude. You should know better than anyone what skill in battle can achieve.”
Sylan nodded deeply, smiling that wolfish grin of his. “No better than your lord husband.” He shot a fleeting glance at Arryn, who responded with a curt nod.
“I understand you fought in two wars as a naval officer,” Sylan went on. “Is that right?” His tone was almost mocking.
Neither Arryn nor Enitha took the bait, but Sylan did not give up there. “A commoner turned war hero. And a war hero turned Prince of Maradenn. The dream of all sailors’ sons, I imagine.” Sylan sucked his teeth, wincing. “Only to end up here, stranded on this island.”
“Stranded?’ Arryn said sharply.
“Geographically, I mean.” Thick raven hair fell over his face slightly as Sylan nodded. “So far from the place you once calledhome. So far from your family. Except your wife, of course.” He pointed to the arena grounds. “I suppose you two have been reunited, in a way. How lovely to?—"
“Hold your tongue!” Arryn cut in. When he spoke now, it was that same guttural growl the queen had used on the docks, not at all like his regular speaking voice. “Do not speak to my queen that way! One more word and?—”
Enitha raised a hand. Within a heartbeat, Arryn had gone silent, face blank, as if he wasn’t aware of what he’d just said.
“I won’t have it,” Enitha said. “Not today.”
“Yes, your queen can speak for herself, I should think,” Sylan offered serenely. “Or, is she doing that now?” He squinted, sizing him up.
Arryn didn’t move, didn’t speak.
“I said enough,” Enitha commanded in a small voice. “You’ll ruin the fun.” She swiveled her head back to Ingrid. “Think of our lady Ingrid, here. We wouldn’t want to spoil her first visit to the arena, would we?”
No one objected.
The Queen looked to Lucilla, “Tell Lord Killian to speed things along.”
The lady’s maid immediately ran off toward the orator, gesturing for him to continue. He did so in a panic, juggling and nearly dropping his small speaking-scepter—some sort of voice-enhancing stone propped at the very top of a wooden staff.
“Bring in the challengers!” Jeers, stomping, whistling. “I present to you… Callinora’s treacherous cabal. The Earth-born who dared sneak into our queen’s court on her wedding day!”
More debris was hurled from the seats as the gates opened, revealing Dean, Tyla, Raidinn, and Veston. As they walked out to the battlefield, Ingrid stood to get a better look. They weren’t armored, dressed only in tattered rags, but they did haveweapons and, most importantly, they appeared to have regained their strength.
Leading them, chest and arms bare, was Dean, looking as much a gladiator as any of Enitha’s hand-picked warriors. With his hand blocking the rain, he zeroed in on the decorated baldachin. Once he found her, he smiled at Ingrid, as if he were still back home on Earth—focused, but at ease.
“I’m embarrassed this hasn’t occurred to me yet.” Enitha twisted again to meet Ingrid’s alarmed face. “But, is that one really your brother? Areanyof you related?”
Ingrid couldn’t answer. If she told the truth about what Dean was to her, it might mean a quicker onslaught from her warriors. And if she lied, said he was her brother or anything else beyond a partner, Enitha might also concoct a new means of torture.
“He’s my general,” Ingrid said. “We were told you might be more welcoming if we said we were siblings.”
Enitha scoffed. “I suppose word travels. If only I’d had the sense to look out for your princess’s spies from the start.” With a dismissive wave, she added, “Now sit. Enjoy. We’re approaching the best part of the preamble.”
