Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden (30 page)

In the arena, one of the soldiers had broken away from the others and was now on his way back with a metal poker. Joel trembled when he realized one end of the rod was red hot. The creature seemed to realize this as well and scrambled to gain its feet. It wasn’t fast enough. The soldier holding the hot poker lunged, and Joel looked away.

It bleated, one of the most mournful sounds Joel had ever heard. Beside him, Hasain wheezed and fell back in his seat, visibly trying to distance himself from the horror below. Face pale and constricted, the young lord looked as though he might pass out. Joel put a hand on Hasain’s shoulder, causing him to jump. The grief and terror in his eyes were nearly enough to undo Joel.

“Hasain?” he whispered. His cousin declined to respond.

The soldiers retreated back through the gate, and the bars were once again lowered, locking the three gladiators and single beast inside the arena. As if by magic, the shackles holding down the creature fell away, clanking as they hit the sand. An eerie hush fell over the crowd, and Joel could hear his heart pounding in his ears.
What now?

Men and beast stood in a stalemate for what felt like an eternity before one of the gladiators lifted his pike and took a tentative step forward.

The creature’s response was instantaneous. It dropped into a low crouch, holding out a trembling hand. “No,” it cried. “Please, mercy!”

Joel retched, clapping a hand to his mouth. “It speaks.”

“Of course he speaks.” Hasain’s terse voice reprimanded Joel as if he should have known better. The Radek lord’s dark eyes were still trained on the arena. “Demharlin are people, just like humans. He may not speak much of the Imperial language, but he’s no animal. He understands what they mean to do.”

Demharlin?
Joel thought back to one of his academic texts,
Annals of the Unknown Peoples
, which outlined the different known species of Otherfolk. The demharlin derived from old harpy, goblin, and demon bloodlines and tended to live high in the mountains or on cliff sides where they could keep an eye out for predators. Joel grimaced. Hasain must be right. The more Joel thought on it, the more sure he was.

“Why doesn’t he fly?” Hasain whispered. If Joel hadn’t been so close, he wouldn’t have heard his cousin speak.

Joel kept his voice low. “Perhaps magic? Maybe it can’t fly—”

“
He
.” Hasain corrected in no uncertain terms. “He’s male.”

The demharlin shrieked again, and Joel turned back to watch. The barbarian had thrown the pike but missed. Wild eyes searching desperately for an escape, the demharlin skittered away from the weapon, kicking up sand in its wake.

Joel watched as it ran to the far wall of the stadium. Using clawed hands and feet, the demharlin latched onto the brick barrier and hauled itself upward. The people seated above gasped. Some of them even leapt to their feet. Joel held his breath. The poor creature was nowhere near the top of the wall yet and very likely wouldn’t make it. Already winded, it slipped, losing almost half of its progress. The warriors were now directly below, waiting like hunting hounds at the base of the wall.

The demharlin didn’t accept defeat just yet. Spreading one feathered wing, it flapped hard, sending gusts of wind and sand into the gladiators’ faces. The men fell back just enough for it to leap into the air in an attempt to take flight—the opposing wing hung limply at its side, refusing to work. The demharlin wailed and crashed to the ground.

Joel chanced a look at Hasain. Now they knew why it hadn’t flown before.

Hasain’s pale features drew tight. “They broke his wing. Those bastards. This was never a fair fight.”

The three men encircled the writhing creature, and Joel prepared himself for what was sure to follow. The demharlin reared onto its haunches, dark feathers standing on end. Even now with three swords drawn on it, it pleaded. “Please, mercy.”

Joel couldn’t hear the words so much as feel them in his torn heart. He pressed a hand to his mouth. “He still refuses to fight. The poor creature.”

“Untamable. Wild. Ferocious.” Hasain’s voice sounded a thousand leagues distant. “That’s how people judge them to be. But what of you, cousin? Would you call the demharlin a monster?”

Joel felt his cheeks go hot. He’d told little Calisto Nemesio not so long ago that he wouldn’t dare pass judgment on any creature, but hadn’t he, just now? He took in a sharp breath of air. “The monsters aren’t the ones in the cage. They’re the ones who
make
the cage.”

Hasain’s dark eyes sought Joel out for only a moment before the shrieking demharlin drew their attention once more. The gladiators advanced, taking swipes at the creature, backing it against the wall. The spectators who had considered fleeing when the demharlin climbed the stone barrier now peeked their heads over the side, trying to get the best view.

When one sword hit true and gouged a deep, red wound into its arm, the creature finally fought back. Joel clapped a hand over his mouth as he watched the frightened demharlin morph from a being desperate for escape to a raging, bloodthirsty beast.

Not unlike a giant cat, the demharlin pounced on the closest man, taking him down in a whirl of fangs and claws. The unnamed gladiator managed a single, choked scream before the demharlin took hold of his head and twisted it until it had made a full circle. Joel retched again but managed not to vomit. Thankfully, he was too far away to hear the crunch of bones being broken. The demharlin threw the lifeless body aside and turned its fierce gaze onto the two remaining warriors.

The crowd wailed in unison, and the last two warriors, Nikodemos and the barbarian, hesitated for only a moment before they rushed the creature in unison. The demharlin met them head on, teeth bared and claws at the ready.

The men’s swords rose and fell so fast they were but a blur, a haze of silver and crimson. The demharlin screeched in agony, a haunting sound even the roar of the crowd couldn’t drown out. A moment later, Nikodemos grunted and fell onto his back, holding his stomach—or rather, trying to hold his intestines inside his slashed gut.

The demharlin let out a shriek as it too toppled to the ground, convulsing, flailing. Blood spurted every which way, from gashes on its stomach, arms, and face. The barbarian danced around the creature, avoiding the demharlin’s wings and tail, seeking any opportunity, any opening, to lay a final blow. When the poor creature rolled onto its back, the warrior found what he was looking for. With one swift strike of his broadsword, he cut a clean line across its throat. Joel could hear one last gurgled cry and then only the cheers of the spectators. The monster was dead. From the seat beside Joel, Hasain let out a strangled gasp.

The demharlin lay still, eyes open and unseeing, a smudge of black feathers resting atop a pool of crimson, and blood seeped from the creature’s gored throat. Hollow emptiness filled Joel’s heart. Had this horror show finally come to an end? Was it over?

It seemed Hasain had seen enough. Joel glanced over just in time to see the young Radek lord sweep away. His drawn face nearly matched the color of his white mage robes. Joel began to stand, to give chase, but Hasain waved him down. The devastated look in his eyes told Joel all he needed to know. His cousin wanted no company. He needed to get away from this ongoing nightmare. Joel didn’t blame him.

“We have our victor!” proclaimed the master of ceremonies.

Joel watched as the barbarian stood over the writhing form of Nikodemos the Murderer. The roar of the crowd was too loud for him to ever hope to hear their words, but the two men were indeed speaking. Nikodemos’ lips moved as he stared up at the other man with wide, pleading eyes.

Across the field, the gate was lifted and a troop of soldiers marched onto the field. Nikodemos grew more frantic. He raised one bloodied, shaking hand and pointed at the barbarian’s weapon. Joel could taste the bile rising in his throat. The man was asking for mercy—for an end to his suffering.

Give it. Show mercy. For the love of The Two, someone here must know the meaning of the word!

The soldiers shouted as they approached, commanding the victor to drop his sword. Joel held his breath.

Please. End his suffering
.

The barbarian looked deliberately at the soldiers as he raised his weapon high into the air. With a single downward thrust, he granted mercy.

Nikodemos took one final, shuddering breath and then went still. The hands clutching his gashed stomach slipped to the ground. Numbness settled over Joel’s mind and soul. He couldn’t even think to look away.

The entire amphitheater was on its feet—cheering, laughing, screaming—everyone except Joel. He could only stare at the gleaming crimson sand, the mangled body of the demharlin, the corpses of the fallen gladiators. His heart ached for home, for a place where mercy wasn’t uncommon and barbarians weren’t the only ones to dispense it.

Gib groaned as he found his feet. The day’s council meeting had gone just about as well as expected. He was glad to be done with it at last. Honestly, by the end of some days, he could scarcely recall which sides of the debates he supported. Gib rubbed his temples and waited for the balcony to clear so he could rejoin Marc.

The other understudies were sluggish as they left their seats, still casting wary glances at the Crowned Prince. Deegan, for his part, seemed content to ignore them. He waited until only their party remained before turning to grin at Aodan. “Is this what you have to sit through every day?”

The bodyguard shifted in his seat and stretched both arms over his head. “Usually I sit in the window down there. It’d be a good place fer a nap if not for the pissin’ and whinin’.”

Deegan laughed as he stood, taking a moment to stretch his own limbs. “I would have thought you’d like being up here so high so you could have a grand view of everything happening.”

“What’s there to see? Just a bunch of miserable old codgers hell bent on makin’ everyone else miserable too.” Aodan leapt to his feet so quickly it startled Gib. “You lot with me now. I gotta get outta this cage before I go mad.”

Deegan and Diddy shook their heads but followed without objection. Smiling, Gib brought up the rear of the party.

As always, the stairs were packed, but the benefit of moving with the royal procession gave Gib a glimpse of what true privilege really was. People all but fell out of the way on their trek to the council room floor. Gib grinned when they came upon their destination, but they didn’t wait there for long either. Aodan swept onto the council floor without hesitation, and the two princes and Gib had no choice but to follow.

The councilors still at the table quieted, and Neetra glared openly as the party made their way to the head of the room. “Is it to be common procedure for the servants and understudies to traipse through like this?” asked the High Councilor in a snide tone.

King Rishi gave a withering scowl but declined to respond. Instead, he watched as an efficient switch was made. Without a single word, the royal guardsmen who’d been standing behind the table moved as a unit, encircling Crowned Prince Deegan. The prince was ushered out of the room in near silence, no doubt to be taken back to Queen Dahlia. At the same time, Aodan took his place in the window sill behind King Rishi, beckoning Diddy and Gib to join him there.

Despite the fluidity and silence of the exchange, Neetra scowled when it was over. “Such disruptions are most inappropriate.” He stacked several papers and tapped his fingers on the tabletop. When King Rishi still refused to acknowledge him, Neetra pressed on. “I can’t help but think Seneschal Koal would have well-founded criticism for such behavior.”

Gib winced. That was going to do it. If Neetra was looking for a reaction, his wish was all but granted.

King Rishi slammed a fist on the table so hard that quills and inkwells shuddered beneath the force of the blow. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have demanded he go to the Northern Empire!”

Neetra was on his feet in an instant. “Someone had to go! Arden is in no position to ignore a summons from the Northern Empire. Surely you must see this!”

Koal would have already put an end to the heated exchange, but when Gib looked to Marc, the dean sat frozen in his seat. Was he not going to say anything? Someone needed to stop this before it got out of hand.

King Rishi jumped up as well, his chair nearly toppling in the process. “Easy for you to say when you have nothing to lose! My Right Hand and son are both out there!”

“I would have gone!” Neetra wailed, pointing to the various councilors still present. “I will have it be known that I offered to go, but the King, in his infinite wisdom, denied me!”

King Rishi leaned across the table. “Why would I send a snake to do my bidding? You look to poison our entire country, admit it!”

Marc finally stood up and put a hand on the King’s shoulder, only to have it knocked away. He opened his mouth, but his voice was lost in the commotion. Gib pressed back into the window as far as he could go and noticed Diddy doing the same. Their eyes met for a moment, sharing terror. Even Aodan poised himself, ready to leap in if the argument continued on its downward spiral.

Neetra wasn’t finished yet. The flash in his dark eyes reminded Gib of a cat chasing a bird. “The King’s allegiance to Arden is most reassuring, given the circumstances of how you came to part with your homeland.”

The room fell silent. Neetra was striking below the belt. Why was no one reprimanding him for it? King Rishi sneered, arms trembling, but amazingly enough, he managed to stay his tongue. Gib’s lungs felt as though they would burst.
Please let this be the end of it. Let Neetra think he’s won for now
.

The quiet lulled on just long enough to give a false sense of security. They all should have known better.

“Of course,” the High Councilor continued tersely, “I suppose you haven’t much choice, have you? After all, should Arden reject you, where would you next go? Burned bridges aren’t safe for crossing.”

In a heartbeat, King Rishi launched himself, and Gib thought for sure this had to be the end for Neetra. But Aodan was beside the King in a flash, pulling him back. Marc, likewise, had hold of the King’s opposite arm. Somehow, the two men managed to restrain him.

No one could stop him from yelling though. “You speak treason! I could have you hung for this, Neetra Adelwijn. If you weren’t the brother of Koal and my Queen, I would—”

Neetra lurched back, cowardly eyes glancing around the table at the gathered councilors. “He meant to attack me! You all saw it! And even now he threatens my very life!”

“Get out!” King Rishi screamed, still struggling against his captors. “All of you,
get the hell out
!”

The councilors leapt to their feet and grabbed their belongings. Quiet as death, they all scrambled for the door with red faces. Gib thought to get to his feet and join them—surely the hall would be better than in here—but Diddy grabbed his arm and held fast.

As the last councilor departed, King Rishi slumped against his bodyguard, visibly shaking. Marc grabbed a chair and brought it to him. “Sit. Take a breath.”

“And fer fuck’s sake, Rishi,” Aodan gasped. “Calm down. What the hell were ya thinkin’?”

King Rishi put his face in his hands and sat still. His choppy breaths were the only sound for the longest time. “I can’t listen to him anymore. There’s nothing I do, nothing I say, nothing I think that isn’t under his constant scrutiny. He speaks against me at every opportunity, turning the councilors on me!”

Marc was grim. “He’s trying to rattle you, make you doubt yourself. Don’t give in to him. When Koal returns—”

“What if Koal doesn’t return? No one will say it, but we’re all thinking it! What if he doesn’t come back? What then? Koal was always the voice of reason.”

“You’re already lettin’ him get the upper hand. Ya need to calm yourself and look at this rationally.” Aodan dropped his voice, barely a whisper against the King’s earlier outburst. “Neetra knows his only strength lies in Koal’s absence. That’s why he’s makin’ a scene now. Once his brother returns, he knows he won’t stand a chance of gettin’ his way. Don’t think the other councilors don’t see it. They know what he’s doin’.”

King Rishi was quiet for a long time, but finally he lifted his strained voice. “Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it.”

“You’re a seer now?” Marc tried to smile, but Gib could tell the dean was still shaken from the shouting match. “Look, I want Koal to return as much as anyone else, but worrying like this won’t help. We’ve had no word indicating danger.”

The King shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. For the first time in my life, I can’t see where I’m going. I’ve finally lost my way, and Neetra only stands to gain from that.”

Aodan folded his arms over his chest. “Horseshit. That imbecile couldn’t lead the way outta a wet bag. Only fools follow fools. If they wanna go with him, let ’em.”

King Rishi’s smile was empty. “Even the councilors who were on my side when Koal was here are second guessing themselves now.” His dark eyes flicked toward Marc, who reddened under such close scrutiny. “They need Koal’s firm leadership, I suppose.”

“I’ve never appreciated Koal’s position before now,” Marc admitted. “Not as well as I should have anyway. How in hell does he manage everything? I can barely make it to council meetings on time—”

“Where were you, anyway?” The King shot Marc a narrow look. “We stood there forever waiting for you.”

“Today wasn’t my fault, I promise! The damned door to my office keeps slipping open. I had to have Nawaz come take a look at it. I tried to be on time. Ask Gib.”

Gib winced. He wished Marc hadn’t mentioned the door at all. Not now.

The King sat up straight, and Aodan stiffened in his spot. A knot pulled tight in Gib’s stomach as his thoughts flitted back to the conversation he and Nawaz had with Marc earlier. He hoped the dean hadn’t just made more trouble for himself.

“Slipping open?” King Rishi questioned. “It’s not locking properly?”

“How long has
that
been goin’ on?” Aodan’s calm belied the fire in his single eye.

Marc winced, a dawning expression of regret on his face. “Just the last few days. I’ll get a smith to come look at the lock and be done with it.”

“You have it warded, don’t ya? Yer office is protected, ain’t it?” The rough push of Aodan’s voice made Gib shudder.

Marc’s hesitation was all the answer anyone needed. The King was on his feet in an instant, and Aodan was snarling some sort of profanity Gib had never heard before. Marc recoiled but stood his ground. “I’ve never had reason to ward it before! I mean, what would anyone even want in there?”

Aodan’s voice dropped to a growl as he stalked up to the dean. “Ya think that Princess Gudrin’s birth recordings are ‘no reason to ward it’?”

Marc stiffened, his crimson face contorting in rage, an emotion Gib had rarely seen on the dean’s fair features before. “I never said that! The royal family’s confidential records have always been a top priority of mine!”

Confidential records? In Marc’s office? It seemed odd to Gib. Why would a princess’s birthing records be stored there? Were
all
of the royal children’s documents kept there?

“We have to go to your office. Now!” the King demanded. His scowl fell onto Gib as though he’d only just noticed the understudy’s presence. Gib stiffened as everyone, even Diddy, turned to stare at him as well.

King Rishi narrowed his eyes. “Gibben Nemesio, were you anyone else, I’d dismiss you now, without a second thought but—Koal trusts you.”

Gib held his breath, not sure if he was meant to respond or not, but the King didn’t wait for an answer. He crossed the room in three long strides, never once breaking eye contact. “You were there the day the assassin tried to be rid of me, and yet I think you’ve not mentioned it once since the event. You can keep a secret, can’t you?”

Aodan’s jaw was clenched tight, red blotches covering his face and neck. His watchful eye bore into the back of King Rishi’s head. “Careful now. No rash decisions.”

The King waved off the bodyguard’s concerns. “He’s Koal’s understudy. It may be revealed to him with or without my consent. At least this way I have a chance to swear him to secrecy.” King Rishi redirected his focus, and Gib could barely meet the King’s eyes. “If you should learn anything sensitive about my family—any of them—you will keep their best interests at heart, won’t you?”

Gib had to take a ragged breath. The sound filled the room. “Of course, Highness.”

The King turned his back to Gib and paced over to the door. “It’s most unusual, the position you find yourself in. Don’t expect to be entrusted all at once. If you should discover anything vital about us today, know I will hold you to your word.” He paused, letting the full weight of the matter settle. “Should you betray us, you will be held accountable to the full extent of my law, Nemesio. You will be imprisoned, convicted, and executed as a traitor. Is that clear?”

Gib swallowed.
All of this, over birthing records?
He didn’t know if he could respond. It wasn’t until he felt Diddy’s hand on his back that Gib could shake his head clear and answer. “Yes, Your Majesty. I understand.”

King Rishi still refused to look at Gib, opting instead to brace himself against the doorframe. “Then you’ll also understand that now is your last chance to leave. If for any reason you do not wish to proceed, get up and go. No one will stop you and surely we won’t blame you for having the good sense to stay out of this.”

Was this a test of some sort? Gib’s emotions sought to undo him. Some part of him wanted to accept the King’s offer and leave now. If he was none the wiser, there would be no secret to keep and no worry of accidentally revealing it, but—Diddy was his friend. If there was some way he could better serve his friend and prince then he would do it. “My loyalty is to the Crown. I would serve in whatever capacity you see fit.”

Aodan remained rigid, watching Gib narrowly. Marc refused to make eye contact, and Diddy let out a long breath. A small eternity passed before the King bowed his head ever so slightly. “You may come to regret that one day. Come with us.”