Chapter 32
RYNETH
The drums started before the doors opened, a deep rhythm rolling through the corridor and straight into Ryneth’s chest. By the time the gates split apart, his pulse was already trying to keep time with them.
It would have been easier if Daven had been by his side.
But this part had to be done alone. That was the Aureate.
Daven had told him twice in the corridor that he would be waiting the second it was done. That he would be the first thing Ryneth saw when Helion finished looking at him. It hadn’t helped as much as Daven had wanted it to.
Still, Ryneth didn’t know what to do. Not really. Milanov had been wrong. He wasn’t made for violence. He wasn’t cruel. The only time he’d truly lost control had been with that prisoner. And that death had been justified. Hadn’t it?
Then the sound hit him.
A living roar that slammed into him so hard he nearly stopped walking. Thousands of voices folding into one hungry sound. Cheers. Whistles. Shouted names. The kind of noise people made when they’d come for blood and were already having the time of their lives.
For one strange, suspended second, all Ryneth could do was stare.
The arena opened around him under the glass dome, all floodlights and packed bodies. Sand stretched beneath it, bright under the lights, raked smooth except for the black-and-gold line of Luminary guards at the edge.
Beyond them, row after row of seats climbed upward, already overflowing. Merchants still in their city coats. Families with children lifted high on their shoulders. Couples leaning over the rails. People laughing. Pointing. Waiting.
Waiting for him.
Ryneth’s stomach tightened so hard it almost hurt. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. But he’d been naive, that much was certain.
This wasn’t a private rite hidden behind walls. This wasn’t some controlled display of power. This was for Helion.
For every citizen who had come out to watch. And there were thousands of them.
How was he supposed to kill a man here? In front of all of them?
He couldn’t do this.
His boots sank into the sand as a Luminary guard walked him forward. The grit shifted under each step.
He felt too open. Too exposed.
Here, there was no cover. Just him inside the pit and all those eyes.
Light, he could feel them on him.
For a flickering second, Ryneth thought back to those eyes on the screens that night on the ship. He had never known who had bought him. Or who had truly been behind it. Maybe this had always been a game.
The kind Concordant loved to play.
“Follow me, please,” the guard in front of him said.
Ryneth obeyed absently.
It wasn’t until they reached the heart of the arena that Ryneth blinked like he was waking up. He shook himself out of the dark spiral just in time.
“Wait. I can’t do this. I can’t—”
He turned toward the great double doors, already stepping back. Suddenly his chest felt too tight. His pulse was out of control. He couldn’t do this. Not here. Not like this.
He opened his mouth, ready to say whatever he had to say to make them stop—
And then he froze.
High in the lower stands, a little boy sat on his father’s shoulders, both hands clamped over his ears against the drums. He was too small for the noise. Too small for the spectacle. But his eyes were huge as he stared down into the arena, not excited like the others, just overwhelmed.
Tavi, Tavi, Tavi, his mind sang. He was all Ryneth saw.
Not his face, not really. Just the shape of him. Those small shoulders and thin wrists. That look children got when they were trying very hard not to be afraid in front of adults.
The memory made him choke.
Nereth Solan.
That voice. It moved through his mind, as clear as if it had been spoken beside him.
You don’t need to be cruel to stand between violence and the people it wants.
Ryneth went still.
“Sir?” the guard asked, hesitating. “Are you—”
Then the great double doors split open behind him.
The arena erupted.
Ryneth turned as Luminary guards marched Bekn onto the sand in a black formation, chains bright at his wrists, two more at his elbows, forcing him forward.
The purple prison jumpsuit clung harshly to his frame under the floodlights, ugly and unmistakable against the gold of the arena.
His hair was a mess, his mouth bloodied, but his eyes were alive with hate the second they found Ryneth.
Whatever Ryneth had wanted to say—apology, excuse?—died when he saw the look of hatred on the blond man’s face.
“There he is.” Bekn chuckled, voice carrying far too well. “Helion’s newest little executioner.”
Ryneth felt sick. But the crowd loved it, roaring louder as they watched the horror unfold.
One of the guards yanked his chain, but Bekn barely reacted. His smile widened knowingly. “Hear them, Ryneth? Same sound as the night they put you in a cage. Different arena, same game.”
Ryneth went still. Static licked over his knuckles. “I’m not like you.”
Bekn’s smile sharpened. “No. You’re worse. Your kind are the reason I created Attica. Because our people were bleeding by the hands of our Imperial family. Because Helion wanted heroes and got monsters. And now they’ve made another one.”
He leaned forward as far as the chains allowed, the guards tightening around him instantly. “I saw you that night, remember?” His smile turned sharp. “Pretty thing in a cage. Sold under bright lights.”
Ryneth swallowed. The words hit home.
Bekn’s eyes glittered knowingly. “And now look at you. Bought again by Helion after they shipped you off like trash.”
A low murmur rolled through the crowd. They were getting impatient.
“Not bought,” Ryneth snapped.
Bekn grinned wider. “No?” He lifted his shackled hands as far as he could. “Then what do you call it? The Imperial gave you away, Ryneth. He handed you to his pet cousin.” His gaze cut back to Ryneth with deliberate cruelty. “To Helion’s youngest weapon. And now he has you.”
Ryneth’s jaw locked. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me.”
“I know enough.” Bekn’s voice sharpened. “I know you were trembling when they put you in that cage. I know Helion dragged you home and dressed you up in gold.” He looked Ryneth over from head to toe, slow and ugly. “And now they want you to kill on command so the whole city can clap.”
The crowd noise blurred into something meaner. Hungrier. As if they could hear their conversation and agreed.
Stop it. He’s just riling you up. You’re not like them.
Not. Like. Them.
Sand pressed into the soles of Ryneth’s boots. The first hard snap of static jumped between his fingers. “I’m here to kill you.”
Bekn laughed, quieter now. “Ah. There he is.” He tilted his head, chains clinking. “You think this is justice?”
“No. But hunting innocent people isn’t justice either.”
The words sounded harsh spoken aloud. Ryneth expected the man to justify himself. To explain why he’d done it. Maybe even act sorry.
But Bekn just grinned. “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t seem like the cleverest of them, do you?” When Ryneth went still, Bekn pressed harder. “You really don’t know your prince at all, do you?”
Ryneth’s chin jerked up. “Don’t mention him.”
“Don’t mention him?” Bekn tipped his head back and let out a barking laugh. “Let me tell you. Before you landed in his lap, Daven Caelith fucked anything that looked at him twice. Pretty things. Dangerous things. Anyone stupid enough to think it meant something.”
Ryneth’s stomach dropped. Standing there, he felt like a target. Like Bekn had dragged him into the center just to tear strips off him in front of the whole arena, not the other way around.
“So tell me.” Bekn’s smile was sharp as a knife. “How does it feel being the latest body he dragged out of chains and into his bed?”
That hit. Hard.
“It’s not like that.” Ryneth flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles. His palms burned. Static spilled brighter now, crawling over the backs of his hands in pale blue threads.
The nearest guard took half a step back.
“It’s exactly like that.” Bekn jerked hard against the chains, eyes blazing. “You were bought under lights like the low-class piece of property you are.”
“No.” Ryneth’s voice trembled.
“Gold doesn’t change what they put a price on.” Bekn laughed. “Out of all people, you should know. You monster. You freak. You want to kill me? Go on then. Kill me.”
The drums pounded. The crowd screamed louder.
Ryneth looked up. Through the blur of faces and floodlights, he saw the boy again, high on his father’s shoulders. Small hands gripping his father’s head. Wide eyes fixed on the sand.
Tavi. Tavi. Tavi.
The boy was looking right at him.
“No!”
The word tore out of him, but the skin over his hands prickled.
His forearms tightened. His incisors started to ache.
Pressure built at the roots, sharp and crawling, like his body was remembering how to bite.
Power climbed under his flesh, hot and wrong and eager, answering every beat of his pulse.
Bekn was still talking. Still smiling.
But Ryneth didn’t hear the words anymore. He knew, dimly, that he should step back. That he should breathe. That he should let the guards finish it. But his body had already gone somewhere he couldn’t follow, all instinct and heat and the old animal panic of being cornered.
He stepped forward, and static cracked sharp across the sand.
The first lunge happened so fast the crowd gasped.
Ryneth crossed the space between them in a burst of blue light and teeth.
“Freak,” Bekn gasped, but he barely had time to twist aside before Ryneth’s hand closed around the chain at his wrist and ripped him off balance.
Metal snapped tight. Sand sprayed. One of the guards cursed and stumbled back as Ryneth dragged Bekn forward hard enough to tear him straight out of formation.
The crowd lost its mind. A roar slammed down from every side of the dome, loud enough to rattle his bones.
Bekn hit the sand on one knee and laughed through the impact, breathless and wild. “There he is,” he spat, blood on his teeth. “That’s the monster they wanted.”