46
Finally, after being held in the houses of all the other Masters, the usual evening celebrations of the Games returned to Roxior’s.
An eerie ambiance filled the reception hall, which was decorated with all shades of red to celebrate the blood moon that astronomers had predicted days earlier.
I looked out the large arched window, near which Amlach and I were talking with a Master and his wife, admiring the vermilion disk that seemed to burn among the stars adorning the ink-dark sky.
I felt edgy.
We all wore robes that harked back to different blood hues, and the swaying fabrics made me feel as though I were in a thick and too-warm and viscous sea.
Wine so dark red it appeared almost black poured from the fountains onto the prepared tables, its strong aroma blending with the sweet scent of rose petals that half-naked male and female slaves with golden collars threw into the air as they danced provocatively among the guests.
The music was overly high-pitched and shrill and unevenly timed, and the strings of their instruments appeared on the verge of snapping, cutting off their fingers.
Wine dripped from the beards of men who would gulp it down without restraint, even if most of it ended up on the floor. The women’s purplish lips stretched into wide smiles so exaggerated they looked almost unnatural, nearly monstrous.
I watched people trod petals and wine puddles until they involuntarily left crimson stains, which gradually widened and seemed to create a mantle ready to swallow everyone present.
“Nauriel?”
Amlach’s voice reached me as a distant echo, so faint that I paid it no mind. Instead, my eyes met Roxior’s, who stood close to the musicians with his busty wife, her hair dark as cocoa and skin honey-colored.
The man, wearing a crown of roses that made his irises appear almost like crystals, lifted his golden chalice toward me. There was something cryptic about the hint of a smile he gave me.
Something victorious.
The victory of someone who knew he was staring at his greatest treasure. A treasure that would never run out.
For the first time since we had arrived, I recognized the falsehood behind his stingy, icy eyes and realized I had been a complete fool to think he was different from others, that he had any honor.
He was a human, and like all of them, he craved power. He was convinced I would serve as his unbreakable tool until his final breath.
“ Nauriel.” Amlach gently squeezed my elbow to catch my attention, then smiled politely at the couple.
I did the same, pretending to be mortified. “Forgive me. Your wine is stronger than the one made by elves, and it must have already gone to my head,” I said, attempting at humor, then took a sip from the glass I held.
The woman chuckled. “I feel you, dear.” And she, too, took a swallow of her drink.
“Maybe it’s best if you sit down for a while,” Amlach suggested, guiding me toward the wide, low windowsill.
The couple took it as an invitation to take their leave.
Left alone, Amlach drained both my chalice and his own before placing them on a passing servant’s tray.
Standing just outside an alcove across the hall, Mistress Yrrek shot me a deadly glare. Behind her, her sharp-toothed gladiator massaged her heavy breasts through her revealing dress and kissed her neck.
Amlach placed himself in front of me to block her view and raised my chin with two fingers.
“Just a few more minutes, then we leave,” he announced, passing his thumb very close to my lip with a frown that showed how much he hated the ruby pigment.
“Prepare yourself to convince everyone that you can no longer last even a moment without taking me.”
I removed his hand from my face and grasped it tightly as I pulled myself upright, nervously watching him. “Something is wrong.”
He began fiddling with one of the curls that the servants hadn’t put into my hairstyle. “What do you mean?”
I removed the distance between us, as if longing for a hug; instead, I used his body size to subtly scan the living room with my watchful gaze, making sure no one noticed. “It’s just . . . a feeling.”
A feeling that evoked vast forests and fresh grass, pure air, and waterfalls of crystal-clear water. Of light steps and unmatched grace and skill. Of melodic laughter and gentle voices.
A feeling of . . . familiarity.
That’s when I noticed figures cloaked in dark brown drapes from head to toe, prowling among the guests, who were caught up in the euphoria of wine and carnal pleasures.
And, beneath one of the figures’ drapes, something sparkled briefly.
Something white.
My heart leaped into my mouth as my wide eyes immediately sought Amlach’s cautious gaze. “We are not alone.”
Next, the intruders dramatically tore down their drapes, causing a gust that flickered the flames of the wall torches and table candles.
In perfect unison, they raised the bows they wore cross-body and nocked white-fletched arrows from the quivers behind their backs, their white light armor contrasting sharply against the red fabrics.
The music abruptly ceased with a piercing screech, prompting the guests to scream in terror and crowd together to seek shelter from the arrows aimed at them.
I squeezed Amlach’s hand tightly, and he pulled me close against his stiff frame.
Roxior weaved his arms as he tried to escape the shouting crowd. “Guards!” he barked, blue in the face, his wild eyes darting from one archer to another. “ Guards!”
“Your guards,” came a voice that made me whip my head toward the soldier in gray armor with copper adornments who had just appeared at the entrance of the room, “are down, you human scum.”
A silence brimming with fear settled among the guests.
My heart skipped a beat. “Araton,” I breathed.