Page 26 of Bought by the Broken Beast
Her voice, when she speaks, is devoid of all emotion. It is the crisp, analytical voice of the scribe, the strategist, the survivor.
“He’s given us an audience, Votoi,” she says, her dark eyes locking onto mine. “The entire senate will be watching. The most powerful Vakkak and Zotkak in the kingdom will be there, all in one place.” She takes a step closer, her gaze unwavering. “We are going to give them a show.”
The cold, hard resolve in her voice sends a shiver down my spine. The woman who wept in her sleep is gone. In her place is a queen planning a war. I do not like this version of her. I want the other one back, the one who was soft enough to feel, to break, to let me comfort her. Before I can speak, before I can question this new, frightening strength, the stone door of the crypt grinds open.
Lyra stands in the opening, a basket of food in her hands, her face a mask of grim urgency. “I have news,” she says, her gaze flicking between us. “It is not good.”
The moment is lost. The wall between us is back, higher and colder than ever. We have a war to plan.
20
VOTOI
Before I surrender, before I walk to my own execution, there is one last debt to be paid. One final duty to perform. I cannot protect her from the arena floor. But I can leave a guardian in my place.
I find Kor in a collapsed tenement building deep in the Fiepakak slums, a place even the city watch is afraid to tread. He and the two other surviving gladiators have made a grim camp in the ruins, their faces etched with the grief and fury of our defeat.
Kor sees me emerge from the shadows, and he is on his feet in an instant, his one good eye wide with a mixture of shock and relief. “My lord. We thought you were dead.”
“Not yet,” I say, voice a low rumble. I gesture for him to walk with me, away from the prying ears of the others. We stand in the shell of a burned-out room, the sky a sliver of grey above us.
“I am turning myself in,” I state, leaving no room for argument. “I will face Malacc in the arena.”
Kor’s face hardens. “It is a trap. A suicide. Let us fight. We can die on our feet, not as a spectacle for that traitor’s amusement.”
“We will not win a war of blades,” I counter, my voice flat. “We have already proven that. Our only weapon now is the truth. And the only stage large enough to display it is the one Malacc has built for my execution.” I place a heavy hand on his massive shoulder, my gaze locking with his. “That is not why I am here. I have a charge for you, Kor. A final request.”
He understands instantly. His gaze flickers with a deep, knowing sorrow. “The human.”
“Her name is Bella,” I say, the name a strange, beautiful thing on my tongue. “She is the heart of this. Without her, the truth dies with me. I need you to protect her. Swear it to me. Swear to me that you will get her out of that arena, out of this city, no matter what happens to me. Swear it on the blood we have spilled together on the sand.”
“I swear it,” he says as a solemn vow. He hesitates, his brow furrowed. “There is something you must know. About the betrayal.”
My blood runs cold. “You know who it was?”
“I know who delivered the coin,” he corrects, his voice a low, angry growl. “The night after the attack. I saw Hakar slipping from the tavern, he was unconcerned of our dead. I followed him. He met a figure in the alleys behind the docks. A cloaked figure.”
“Did you see a face?” I demand, my hand clenching into a fist.
“No. They were careful. But I saw the payment. A heavy satchel of gold. And on the satchel, I saw Malacc’s crest.” He pauses, his one eye narrowing in thought. “And the cloak… it was a fine one. Heavy wool, dark, with a strange, floral scent clinging to it. The kind a woman might wear.”
The description is a phantom touch, a memory of a heavy cloak being draped over Bella’s shoulders. A cloak that smelled of woodsmoke and… flowers. Lyra owns one. The thought is aserpent, coiling in my gut, but I crush it down. Not Lyra. It cannot be.
“Hakar was not working alone,” Kor continues, his voice grim. “The figure who paid him was no common soldier. They moved with a confidence, a purpose. There is another traitor in our midst, my lord. Someone we trust.”
“The betrayer will reveal themselves in time,” I say, the words a cold comfort. “For now, my trust is in you. You are not my brother by blood, Kor. But you are a brother of my spirit. There is no higher honor.”
He clasps my arm, his grip like iron. “Then I will not fail you.”
I hesitate, the final, most important words caught in my throat. They are a vulnerability, a weakness I have never shown to another soul. But if I am to die, I will die with the truth on my lips.
“If I fall,” I say, voice a deep, rough thing, “and she survives… tell her… tell her I would have asked her to be my mate. Tell her I would have taken her to the sea.”
Kor’s eye widens, a flicker of profound understanding in its depths. He gives a single, sharp nod. “I will tell her.” He tightens his grip on my arm. “Now, go. And come back, brother. Come back and tell her yourself.”
I leave him then, a strange, unfamiliar peace settling over me. Bella will be protected. My final duty is done. Now, I can face my own end.
I walk through the city, my head held high. I do not hide in the shadows. I let them see me. The disgraced one. The rebel. The dead man walking. The citizens of Milthar stare, their faces a mixture of fear, contempt, and a flicker of something else… a grudging respect.
