Page 4 of The Eye of the Fifth
Ah. The sounds of victory.
She was not fool enough to believe they actually loved her. No. It was her conquest they loved, for every single man that died at her hand made their pockets heavier with gold.
Kyra lifted her hands and breathed it in nonetheless, closing her eyes and giving them the show they craved. The show that Lady Lilion, the Arc’s proprietor and puppeteer, wanted them to have.
A monster purred with satisfaction within Kyra as she caught sight of the blood still gurgling from the man’s throat. Every time she made a kill, that monster would rear its head. She wondered, if after seven years, the incessant killing had permanently marred her soul.
Perhaps she deserved it.
She took a deliberate, somewhat mocking bow to the still screaming crowd, then backed away into the chambers below whilst they prepared the arena for the next fight.
Beneath the pits was a labyrinth of interlinked chambers and halls, dressing rooms and bathhouses, all decorated in that distinct swirling style of the Void Ages. Her fae ancestors could not stand the sight of a blank wall, ceiling or pillar it seemed, for every surface was carved with patterns. It was quite beautiful, but in the eight years she’d worked there, Kyra never stopped to appreciate it. Awe-gazing had been her brother’s thing. Not hers.
There was solace in this place. It had, along with Lady Lilion, been her deliverance from a life she’d fled. That didn’t mean she liked it. She resented her kin almost as much as she resented humans. They had abandoned her family.
Truth be told, she resented most people. Ironically, her family included.
But not Rosary Talbot. Never Rosary. The woman was her saving grace more than Lady Lilion ever had been. Lilion had given her miserable existence purpose. But Rosary had given her a life.
‘Thought I’d find you here.’
Kyra peered under the cold flannel she’d thrown over her eyes to see Rosary in the doorway of her chamber, leaning against the frame with an eyebrow cocked. Kyra put the flannel back down and nestled further into the blankets of the hard bed she was sprawled over.
‘If you get caught down here, I’m testifying against you,’ she said drily. Rosary’s ability to sneak places she definitely should not be was second to none.
Rosary sniggered, then padded across the room, pushed Kyra’s legs to the side none too gently and sat on the end of the bed. Kyra groaned and ripped the flannel from her face. ‘Rosary, get the fuck-’
‘Oh shut up,’ Rosary dismissed her, then spying a brass decanter of wine on the dressing table, poured two goblets and held one out for Kyra.
‘Lilion wouldn’t want me drinking. I have another fight tomorrow.’
‘And since when do you give a fuck what Lilion thinks? It’ll help with the bruising.’
‘You know that’s not true.’
‘Just take the damn wine.’
Kyra smirked and did as she was told.
Rosary plucked something from the folds of her dress and held it up proudly for Kyra to see. ‘The spoils of the day.’
A gold ornate signet ring gleamed in the candlelight. ‘You’d better not leave that here. I’ll be strung up in the Citadel before you’re even considered a culprit.’
Rosary waved her off. ‘They wouldn’t string up their beloved lone wolf.’
‘They would if they thought I was a thief. The Union wouldn’t bat an eyelid before blaming me for it. Take your stolen goods elsewhere.’
‘Are you judging my life choices?’
‘Never, oh noble one.’
‘I take jewellery, you take lives. We’re both thieves.’
‘Difference is, I don’t sell my spoils on the black market.’
Rosary pulled a face, as though imagining a stall of bloodied corpses for sale. She sighed. ‘Well, we can’t all fight for coin. Some of us have no choice but to steal to live.’
‘You poor little human.’
