Chapter 20
Aryana
Aryana limped down the stone slab into her cell. Some of the others were unable to walk on their own and were tossed back down by their champions.
The kalators of the Demon Trials had something in common tonight.
Pain.
“What is the point of this?” Aryana whispered to herself. “Kalators used to be elite warriors.”
“Until one almost won the trials.” The agony was evident in Jesir’s voice. “Even though we aren’t official champions, we are eligible to win the crown if there is nobody left.” He ripped his shirt and began bandaging his head. “That came close to happening two Demon Trials ago.”
“Demons must not have been pleased with that.” She squatted to inspect her injured leg. Blood oozed from the wound. She lightly touched the bite mark and flinched. At least werewolves couldn’t transmit their ailment to vampires.
Jesir managed a nod. “There was a panic. Nobody wants a lowly kalator claiming the crown. And so after that, we became no more than entertainment. Poor bastards that everyone wishes to see tortured and killed in the most gruesome of ways.”
Shit. Zarathos must have found it funny when she professed her capacity to fight. But then she should have considered it earlier. When he’d said she’d need to hide her fighting skills, she should have known. The arch king didn’t want his kalator looking like a competitor in the trials.
Jesir grimaced as he finished tying the wrap around his head. “Some are already on their way to the grave.” He glanced over at Neri, who lay on the ground, her hand over her eyes, whimpering, and Pohan, who was curled up, not making any sound.
As she looked over the other kalators, she realized even though she almost died, she had gotten off the easiest. “So there is no possibility a kalator can win the Demon Trials alongside a champion?”
Jesir let out a humorless laugh. “No one would allow it. Even if by some miracle they made it to the end, the champions would kill their own kalator before letting that happen.”
She expelled a tremulous breath.
There’d be no killing Zarathos after the bargain was fulfilled. He wasn’t that foolish. He’d make sure she was dead before the trials ended, and she’d never get the chance to strike back.
The realization sat her on her ass, which was still sore, but she didn’t care. It was all futile. She wasn’t a demon queen. She was only a piece Zarathos was expertly shifting around the board.
Her fingers brushed against the Bloodbinding mark under her dirt covered gown.
Could she use it to get to him? But what might work and what would get her killed?
If she revealed it, he said it was a death sentence for both of them.
But if she was going to die anyway… and yet, what if her revealing it was akin to breaking her bargain?
She definitely wouldn’t be helping him win the trials.
There had to be a way to survive the Demon Trials and not violate their agreement.
“Who volunteers for this?” she asked. She had, but she hadn’t known the extent of the barbarity and she had wanted to protect the humans. But why would Jesir or Neri agree to be treated this way?
“You think we volunteered? Did you volunteer?” He shook his head, then flinched, touching his bandaged wound.
“But you signed a contract.”
“There’s a thousand ways to force someone to sign a contract.”
Gods, they’d been coerced. Unlike Aryana, who had offered herself as a kalator. And unlike her, they stood to gain nothing.
A loud commotion brought her out of her thoughts. Demons were pouring into the corridor outside the cages.
Jesir emitted a long groan. “And here they come.”
“They?”
“The council and those with special permission get the added pleasure of coming to the dungeons and having their fun.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
But Jesir huddled toward the rear of his cell and shook his head again, making himself as small as possible. It was enough that Aryana saw what he meant.
The demons came with sticks and whips and they began banging on the cells, launching the lashes through the bars, striking the kalators.
Gods. More? This was too much.
“Where is the vampire princess?” she heard some asking. The guards pointed in her direction and her stomach dipped. The demons lunged toward her cell.
“There she is.” A goblin and a winged creature with a large stallion’s head glared at her.
“Can you do it?” the goblin asked the winged horse headed demon.
“Give me a moment. We’ll make her scream.”
The goblin leered through the bars. “I want to smell her flesh burn.”
Lightning sparked between the winged creature’s hands.
A wendigo. The lightning flashed and grew.
Aryana braced herself, but escape was impossible in this small cell.
As a vampire, she’d survive the hit, but it would damn near melt the skin from her bones.
Helplessly, she raised her chained hands above her face as if that might block the strike.
“Back up, boys. This one belongs to me.”
A demon with large hands, a broad jaw, and feline shaped eyes stood expectantly behind the pair.
He bared his sharp teeth threateningly, long sharp nails extending out of his fingers.
The other demons glanced at the crest on his robes and bowed, backing up.
The lightning between the wendigo’s palms died.
“But of course, Lord Marbas,” he said.
“She is Zarathos’s pet,” the guard said.
The demon’s eyes gleamed even has his nails retracted. “I know who she is. Open the cage.”
A wariness stole over Aryana. Still in her chains, she rose. So far, the bars had served as the only protection she had from the abuse, but if they were going to allow them inside, she’d put up a fight.
The cell door opened, and Marbas stood at the entrance watching her in her battle ready stance.
He turned away. “Come with me.”
“Why should I?”
He shrugged, looking down the row of demons being tortured. The screams and cries of pain building. The goblin and wendigo had moved on to another’s cage, taunting the poor creature inside while the wendigo rebuilt his striking ability.
“Or you can stay here.”
It was a chance, but he didn’t know Aryana was a fighter. If she waited until the right moment, she could take him out.
She took a step, and her leg radiated with agony. She grit her teeth and limped forward. Marbas watched her, his lips pulled into a frown. “Come.”
He spun in a swirl of deep crimson robes, and she followed as they left the dungeons behind.
She kept a careful eye on him, ready for when he turned on her.
He led her through several hallways before he stopped in a deserted one.
Then Marbas looked up and down the hall and dropped to a knee, pulling bandages from his robes.
Aryana stared at him. “What are you doing?”
“These wraps are covered in ground up unicorn hair. It will help the wound heal faster. Those scrapes on your back are light. They should mend soon on their own.”
She edged closer and let him wrap her leg. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
He chuckled. “I see our great arch king has already gotten to you.” The words were spoken in sarcasm. “I am Marbas. I’m a demon on the council that designs the Demon Trials.”
Aryana laid a hand on the dirt wall to steady herself while he wrapped. The moment the ointment on the bandages hit her wound, the pain eased, and she relaxed a little. “And why are you assisting me, Marbas?”
He stood, his expression clouded. “Because I want to see Zarathos defeated, and I want you to assist me in return.”
“Why do you wish for that?”
He waved a large hand. “My reasons are my own. But you can’t be pleased being his kalator. I don’t need much from you. I assume he has you under some bargain. But if you can give me information about the demon arch king, I’d be more than happy to ensure you make it through the trials.”
“Kalators are killed before they have a chance of winning the Demon Trials.”
Marbas grinned. “There is a first time for everything.”
“You want Zarathos gone badly enough that you’d put a vampire princess on the throne?”
“Anything is better than Zarathos,” he said with vehemence.
His head swiveled around and he sniffed. “Speak of the devil.” He turned back to her. “Consider my words. We will meet again soon.”
And with that, he rushed off down the hall and beyond the corner.
“Aryana.”
She jumped at Zarathos’s voice, though she anticipated his arrival.
He looked her over, his gaze stopping on her bandaged leg. “What are you doing here?” He sniffed and a deadly rage entered his eyes. “Marbas.” He whirled, as if intent on giving pursuit and ripping the other demon to shreds.
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm, and he paused, glancing at her touch, almost in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Marbas is dangerous. You need to stay away from him,” Zarathos said.
“He wrapped my leg.”
“And what did he ask from you in return?”
She pressed her lips.
His eyes narrowed. “Never mind, I can guess. You realize, assisting him could be seen as breaking our bargain.” He reached into his pocket and he pulled out the same dark green Draught of Corruption he’d forced her to drink before going into the arena. “I need you to take this again.”
Her fingers curled into her palm and she stared at the potion he held out, her stomach twisting, and a fire building in her veins. Enough with the games.
“You almost killed me today.”
“You almost killed yourself today. Did our bargain mean nothing to you? You promised to help me win the Demon Trials, not ensure both of us died before it started.”
“What does it matter? You won’t let me live to the end.”
He pulled back, his lips parting in surprise.
“Jesir told me they don’t let the kalators survive till the end because they would be considered winners. You were planning on killing me all along,” she said.
He snorted. “As if you weren’t planning on killing me after the Demon Trials. What, Vampress? Sorry that I outmaneuvered you? Now open those pretty lips and take your dues.”