Chapter 38 Devora
Devora
Apparently “out” meant a seedy tavern on the outskirts of the main village square, with cobwebs and some sort of dried bodily fluid I didn’t care to question smeared on the outside of the cracked wooden door.
When Scarven opened it, the scent of sweat and stale ale hit me in full force.
I wrinkled my nose as I stepped over the leg of a man passed out in the entryway.
Gnats buzzed around my ear. I almost missed the small red coin Scarven passed to the bartender from the sleeve of his shirt.
The bartender’s eyes scanned the motley crew of patrons mulling around the tavern before he jerked his head, and without missing a beat, Scarven lifted a section of the bar top and held his hand out for me to pass through.
I swallowed my trepidation and stepped behind the bar, with him close on my heels.
My shoes crunched over nut shells and broken glass as the bartender led us to a door in the back of the kitchen.
I’d chosen a loose black tunic over leather pants tucked inside my calf-high combat boots.
I had no idea what to expect of our little “outing,” but I had a feeling my gowns wouldn’t help me tonight.
The bartender inserted a key into the lock, then tugged it open to reveal a narrow tunnel curving to the right and out of sight.
I stopped at the threshold. There was no way I was going down there.
Was this it? Scarven’s way of capturing me, lulling me into a sense of security before he struck and made me one of his experiments?
His hand slipped under my tunic to rest on the small of my back, against my bare skin. I tried not to flinch at the unexpected contact. “Don’t be scared, Selena,” he murmured in my ear. “I think you’ll like this.”
I think you’re very wrong, I thought, but forced my feet to step into the tunnels. The path sloped down at an angle, leading us underground. Clammy sweat formed on my palms, even though the air dropped several degrees as we descended.
At first, it was mostly quiet. Water dripped to the stone floor, creatures scurried across dirt, and glass hitting tables echoed from the tavern we’d left behind.
Then…I heard it.
A low rumbling. Feet pounding. Voices shouting. Growing louder, like thunder rolling down my spine, the farther we walked through the tunnel, until suddenly, the path opened up into a large dome.
Hundreds of people were packed in the space. Bodies pressed in on each other, leering and screaming at something beyond my line of sight. I stood on my tiptoes to get a better look.
In the center of the raucous onlookers was a square stage raised on several platforms of wood.
Two people stood on the stage. One male—shirtless, chest heaving, blood dripping from a gash in his cheek, and one female, her hands shifted into claws and teeth bared.
Black hair was matted and clumped on one side of her head.
The two circled each other in slow steps while the audience shouted, bags of money and betting slips raised above their heads.
It was a fighting ring.
I blinked against the onslaught of blood, alcohol, and adrenaline racing through the dome. Everything was so…harsh. It was palpable, tangible, grating against my skin.
“What do you think?” Scarven said in my ear.
Another test. Everything was a test. It was a good thing I was a great actor.
“It’s…exhilarating.” I let out a sharp exhale, keeping my eyes on the fighting ring. “A little frightening. What is it?”
“I told you I like to provide a means of escape for my people. There are many facets of indulgence. This is one of them.” He tilted his chin toward the man and woman still circling each other.
“For some, this is intoxicating. The rage, the suspense, the violence. The beautiful dance of two people locked in battle. Who will draw first blood? Who will be the victor?” A smile curled on his lips.
“It’s a game. One many of my people enjoy playing.
I simply give them the ability to do so. ”
A cheer erupted from the crowd, jolting me back to the fight. The woman dodged something, but I couldn’t see what the man had done. She let out a feral screech as she dove to the side.
The man just stood there watching her. That was when I realized he must be an Illusionist, casting an illusion only she could see.
She cowered on her side, and I sucked in a breath as he pulled a short dagger from his waistband. The noise from the crowd picked up. I could feel their anticipation, their thirst for blood, hammering in my ears.
The man lunged, but the girl was quick. A Shifter, if her claws were any indication. Her hand shot out to clutch his throat, and in one smooth movement, her other hand came up, claws ripping across his head.
He let out an anguished cry as blood poured from the center of his face. My hand flew to my lips. His eyes dangled from their sockets, the skin at his nose and cheeks flayed open.
“The trick to defeating an Illusionist,” Scarven said at my side, “is to go for the eyes.”
The crowd erupted. They stomped their feet, hands clapping as they screamed. The woman held her victim in her grip with flared nostrils. Before I could blink, she snapped his neck, and his body went crashing to the floor.
My heart pounded harder, mirroring the cheers from the spectators. I forced down my bile. I knew Scarven was watching for my reaction. I had to keep this pretense up—no matter how shaky my knees were, no matter how much I wanted to leave this Fates-forsaken province behind, I had to fake it.
I swallowed and faced Scarven, hoping the redness of my cheeks looked like frenzy and not my sudden nausea. “Are you in charge of all this?”
He waved a hand in the air. “My men organize it. Different times, different venues. We must keep things confidential. It’s by invitation only, of course. But I provide the entertainment.” He steepled his hands in front of his face, eyes locked on the stage in some sort of sick pride.
Another duo had just been brought out. Two males this time, one with long hair and a metal bracelet on one arm, and the other with a belt of broken weapons. They looked barely eighteen.
“Would you like to get a closer look?” Scarven asked. I gave a quick nod, barely feeling my neck move, and he pushed me through the crowd by my waist.
Bodies bumped against me, sweat rubbing my shoulders as we waded deeper. My feet slipped on something, and I clenched my teeth together when I looked down and saw splatters of blood across the floor.
Scarven stopped moving when we were right up against the stage, separated by several feet of wood and nothing else. Now that we were closer to the fighters, I could see their faces better.
They weren’t angry. They weren’t hungry for blood.
They were scared.
The long-haired one with the strange bracelet flicked his bloodshot eyes to the crowd, a deep furrow on his brow. The other had a twitch in his shoulder—it kept jerking, like an invisible string was pulling it up. He blinked rapidly as the announcer told them to get in position.
“They’re all mine,” Scarven said, watching the two men face each other. “Veridians from across the empire who have found their way into my fold. Their magic was weak, but I gave them strength.”
He made it sound like these people had a choice. Like they came to him seeking help. Rage burned inside me, but I kept my features neutral.
“You see this one?” Scarven nodded to the long-haired boy on the left side of the fighting ring.
He put his arms up as the second boy came running at him.
“He was a child when I found him at the base of the Mistwood Mountains. A Shadow Wielder without a home.” The second boy lunged, fist aiming for the long-haired boy’s arm, connecting with the bracelet with a resounding crunch.
“And I made him into something greater.”
Light burst from the boy’s bracelet, sending a shockwave through the crowd that temporarily blinded me. When the brightness dimmed enough for me to see the stage, my mouth fell open.
The long-haired boy had a whip of lightning in one hand and shadows in the other. Just when he slammed his lightning whip down, his opponent disappeared.
A Strider.
He rematerialized directly behind the first and jumped onto his back. They thrashed around the stage. The first one gripped the second boy’s forearm and sent a beam of light into his skin. The Strider jumped down with a yelp, cradling his burned arm.
“What do you mean, you made him?” I asked Scarven slowly, my attention still on the fight.
“Magic is in the blood, Selena,” he responded.
“A mere tool at our disposal. If you can figure out how to bend it to your will, you can do anything. It’s just like healing an illness.
You take ingredients and mix them together to create medicine that heals the body.
I combined this boy’s magic with that of another, and made him into a Lightbender.
One stronger than we could have anticipated. ”
At those words, the Shadow Wielder and Lightbender hybrid shot out both hands toward the other boy.
Shadows and light collided in a brilliant beam of power, lighting the entire dome with enough force that I had to shield my eyes.
The two coils twisted together in an arc, then dove straight for the second boy.
He opened his mouth in a scream, and they shot down his throat.
His arms flung out wide, his entire body shaking as a glow emitted from his pale, bruised skin. Then he went still, slumped to his knees, and landed face-first on the ground. The shadows and slivers of light snaked away from his body, back into the long-haired victor.
Cheers enveloped me from all sides. But the one left standing didn’t appear victorious. He wasn’t beating his chest in triumph. He slumped his shoulders, retreating back down the steps of the stage as workers came up to clear the dead body.