Page 49 of Of Songs and Silence

“The dragon,” I say.

Cepheus’ smile widens enough to show his glistening white teeth. He’s more pleased by my decision than I would have expected, and it sends a shiver of terror down my spine.

“Tell them, Melodi. Give them the order,” he says, gesturing toward the center of the podium. “Project that lovely voice of yours, and tell these prisoners their fate.”

Ah, so that’s why he looks pleased. I didn’t balk, and now he has a chance to show off my savagery. It is a test—one I cannot fail. I move from the throne to the railing. I’m grateful for the water around me because if I had to walk right now, I’m certain my legs would not hold my weight.

Centering myself, I direct my thoughts outward, channeling them to the crowd as loudly as I can.

“The dragon,” I declare, and the crowd erupts as I return to my seat.

Two of the prisoners are selected and freed from their chains, while the others are driven to the sidelines by the tips of the warriors’ tridents. The ground shakes and the sea shivers as a large portcullis opens below the stands.

I had half-hoped the dragon was a nickname for a weapon, some quick way to put these poor souls out of their misery.

But a growl ripples through the sea, shaking the throne beneath me. It is the most harrowing noise I have ever heard. Another growl bellows out, and my body goes weak. Fear radiates off of the prisoners as they are forced to stand their ground in the center of the arena.

A ring of bubbles glides out of the doors, followed by the spark of orange flames and the hiss of fire meeting water. And then, I see it. With green and blue scales, yellow eyes and monstrously sharp teeth—the enormous head of the dragon.

It is somehow both beautiful and terrifying all at the same time and I can’t bring myself to look away. My lips part in horror, my knuckles going white around the arms of the throne.

“Do not worry, Granddaughter. She will not hurt us,” my grandfather says with a cruel smirk.

I think back to the book in my rooms and the few things I remember reading about its loyalty to the monarchy. It shouldn’t be surprising that my grandfather has twisted that relationship the same way he does everything else in his orbit.

Flames shoot out from her mouth in a bright burst of color as she looks at the sacrifices we have given her. Black smoke is trapped in large bubbles, racing to the surface of the water as if they are trying to escape. There is an oily sheen coating them, almost iridescent as they spin and twist upward.

The dragon tilts her head—her yellow eyes flicking up to the box and fixing on me.

Something passes between us, some understanding or energy, and I know, in my soul, that my grandfather is right. Something snaps into place, as if she is acknowledging me as belonging to her.

Flashes of silver pull her attention back to the arena. The warriors are hurling rusted spears from the sidelines for the prisoners to attempt to defend themselves.

One of them lands in the prisoner’s leg, and the crowd laughs uproariously. The dragon eats him first, her giant body ambling through the water before she devours him whole. The sound of crunching bone echoes through the arena, and the crowd cheers.

It’s surreal, being in the midst of the gathering’s macabre, fickle energy. Feeling their satisfaction as a man loses his life to the whims of a madman and his captive beast.

The dragon is barely finished spitting out the spear when she turns to lunge for the second man. Another growl rips through the water, the soundwaves blowing back my hair as she races after the prisoner.

I wonder if the man was a warrior before he was imprisoned. He’s able to fight longer, to dive and swim and leap away from several blows that should have killed him. My chest tightens, hope almost rearing her naive head until one of the warriors on guard interferes.

She spears the prisoner with her silver trident when he swims too close to the line of warriors, and his weapon falls from his hands. Blood pools from his body like an angry geyser. Before he can so much as widen his eyes in shock, the dragon has devoured him too.

There is nothing but resignation on the faces of the other prisoners as two more are called to fight. Not horror, not repulsion, but acceptance. I would wonder why they bother to fight at all, but I already know the answer to that. A quick glance at my grandfather and the crowd tells me all I need to know.

It’s for the show.

Violence is a sport here, and I have no doubt that their fates would be worse if they didn’t acquiesce and give one final performance for their king.

For the next two hours the crunching of bones, the cries of the dying, and the cheers from the sadistic crowd echo through the arena on an endless, blood-curdling loop.

CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE

AIKA

Rain pours down, and lightning splits the sky in the distance. The storm is intense, but it isn’t as menacing as the man standing before me on the deck.

Or Mayima, rather.

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