Page 176 of The King is Dead
“Neverspeak of my Queen that way!” I snarled.
I wasn’t even sure he heard me. He’d stopped fighting, and only grappled, trying with weakened arms to break my grip on him, but it was too late.
A half-second before we hit the dirt, I let him go and snapped my wings wide, back-flapping furiously to catch myself before I suffered the same fate—as my adversary was driven into the ground like a post.
The boom from his impact echoed in the mountain air and dust rose like a tree had been felled.
I felt the scrape of the earth on my toes before I caught my weight and pulled with my wings, flapping doggedly to keep myself from hitting the ground.
And as the dust rolled and the watching crowd coughed, I rose out of that cloud with one hand high.
The roar of victory buffeted my ribs as my brothers celebrated.
I hung in the air until their cheers were strained with excitement and bloodlust, and then I turned.
“Zebe!” I bellowed and the crowd stopped cheering, turning to look for my second challenger. “It’s your turn.”
I smiled as my brothers parted, leaving the other male standing, glaring at me, in a wide open space. Then I opened my wings and began to drift, catching my breath, and making certain that every male present saw me utterly unconcerned as I dropped to the earth for another clash.
66. Persistent
~ YILAN ~
For the first time since Melek had walked away to face this fight, I could breathe.
He was in the air, arm raised in victory, his head thrown back as he roared—and was answered by the crowd.
I slumped with relief and joy. But it was then, as my mate turned in the air, already forgetting the win and looking for his next prey, that I realized the sky behind him had grown dim.
The shadows were dark and deep, and these men were all consumed with the spectacle in front of them.
It was time for me to help.
I didn’t wait for Melek to find his new target. Diadre and I met eyes, nodded, then walked the shadows, straight out into the crowd, slipping like smoke between sweaty, hostile males.
To sustain the shroud in the partial light of twilight and with so many bodies nearby was a great deal more difficult than simply hiding unmoving in a shadow. But the crowd’s fixation on the action overhead gave us an edge because they wouldn’t notice a small slip of visible cuff, or the bump of an unseen body beginning to coalesce.
Diadre and I split up, weaving through the crowd, listening for men discussing Melek’s appearance and what it might mean, looking for those who might try to thwart him through less obvious means.
Since most of those near the fighting were focused on the action and screaming for their chosen winner, I quickly moved to the outer layers of the crowd, especially those in clusters, or where men leaned close to each other to speak under the noise of the crowd. I had ears peeled for schemers, of course. But there was one Neph in particular that I sought.
In and out, up and down, my control over the shadows shaky at times because I was tired, but I kept moving. And to my relief, in every conversation I overheard the men were either in support of Melek or didn’t care who won, as long as a winner was found. Most of those whispers and mutters expressed an impatience for the hierarchy to finally be established so they could give their energy to other things.
It seemed even the Neph had grown weary of this glut of violence.
I was almost buoyant as there was a great gasp from the crowd and I whirled, turning back towards the masses, to see Melek shoot from hovering over the heads of the gathering, to high in the night sky in a streak like he’d been shot from a cannon.
Apprehensive, worried that Melek had been wounded or something bad had been the catalyst for the sudden movement, I paused… and observed the man I’d been looking for, hood up, moving out of the crowd towards the clear space at its edge. He stopped just feet from me and turned to face the fight.
Melek’s grace in the air stole my breath as he gave a powerful flap, propelling himself at high speed, his ebony wings drifting behind him like a cloak, and then at the peak of the climb he snapped them again and spun like a top.
Arms extended and tensed so that every muscle rippled and every vein was carved in his flesh, eyes glowing, Melek scanned the Neph below like a monster of God’s wrath—an angel of death, spinning and darting, seeking his prey. I was left speechless at the sight.
Then he roared and dove back towards the crowd, and I crept closer to my target.
Lanterns were lit nearby, and cooking fires popped and crackled between the tents behind us, casting cones of light that flickered from the flames.
“Such a showman, Melek,” the male in front of me muttered in that voice that crumbled like dry rot.
