Chapter 30 #2
“Give them hope,” Ahm corrects. “Taran is wrong about it. He doesn’t understand.
Hope is powerful. It has been the only thing that has kept any of us alive, rather than simply surviving for years.
Did we believe that we would escape this hellhole?
By my fangs, of course we didn’t. But hope…
it kept us from despair. And if our people die with hope in our hearts, then we will fight like warriors, rather than fearful worms in the dust. You can grant them that. ”
It’s a heavy role as the leader to know the truth and still walk toward my death, while having the strength to lie to those I rule so that they run with joy toward it.
I straighten my shoulders, before marching toward my army.
The vampires turn their anxious gazes toward me.
I burn with pride, as they drop into the formation that I taught them, which would look like a scarab beetle if they had shields to raise over their heads.
I never gave speeches to my Eternal army. I rode on my demonic lion in front of them, and they followed.
But now, these vampires aren’t looking at me like I am a King or commander. I am simply a captive like them, to whom they have given their trust.
“Remember my training. Watch each other’s backs.
” I push my long hair out of my eyes, scanning up and down the lines.
“No matter what comes through that door, don’t let fear guide you but the pounding of your own blood.
You know how to fight now. We will survive.
By the Void, let’s prove to these dragons that they are right to shackle us in silver because they should fear us. ”
To my surprise, the vampires cheer.
Then they clank their shackles together, chanting the battle cry of my kingdom. “Blood! Blood! Blood!”
Savage joy surges through me.
My shadows lash around me, darkening the arena.
I raise my own bound hands. “Blood!”
The arena falls to a shocked silence.
I turn back to meet Taran’s gaze in challenge, before dropping my hands with a clanking of my shackles.
Suddenly, the blast of trumpets splits the air. Their fanfare rolls through the arena like thunder.
I flinch, scanning the crowds, which are filled with fresh excitement.
Then my heart stutters.
Freya.
She looks like a flame come to life.
She is dressed in a red, woolen dress, which glitters with thousands of golden threads woven through it. An amethyst feather pins her dress on one side, and on the other, a golden wooden dragon.
She is wearing a dragon crown on her head.
So, she truly is the Dragon Empress now.
My heart aches that Freya has removed my crown, while Daire lost his.
Freya is walking gracefully on Aurelius’ arm into the arena. Yet her expression is blank.
I tilt my head in confusion.
She is normally expressive and filled with life.
What is she hiding?
I glance at Daire, who is strolling casually next to Freya. He is wearing a fine linen ivory tunic, which in an identical way to Freya’s robe, sparkles with golden thread. A lavender cloak hangs from his shoulders.
His expression is the same as Freya’s.
To anyone who hadn’t obsessively watched them like I have, then they would appear composed and regal.
But they are pretending.
They hate being here.
They hate what is happening.
And they have a secret scheme; I can taste it.
My pulse roars in my ears. Sweat drips down the back of my neck.
Are they planning to save me?
I growl in frustration.
I don’t want them to risk themselves. How many times must I offer my death at their feet, only for them to jump into the Void with me?
But why does that warm my chest?
They won’t allow me to walk alone to my death.
My lips curl into a smile, revealing my fangs.
Aurelius’ golden armor gleams under the light of the braziers like he is the sun descended from the arena’s roof.
Everyone is watching their new Emperor.
I take a step forward, and Yara and Ahm mirror me.
I will put on a good show for my fated mates.
And if I die, then I will die well for them.
My nestmates approach the box created by the silk awning that flutters with golden dragon banners.
Maximinus doesn’t even bother to stand to greet the Dragon Emperor.
“Burn him to ash, Relius,” I mutter.
Instead, Aurelius merely ignores his uncle.
Aurelius’ expression is coldly emotionless. When he turns to face the arena, the trumpets fall silent, but the amphitheater fills with cheers instead, which echo up to the face of the false sun. Dust shakes down onto us gladiators, coating us like we are already being buried.
I wipe my face with the back of my arm.
Aurelius raises his hand, and the crowds fall silent.
My heart is beating too fast.
Ahm presses against me, and his warmth is all I can feel.
Unexpectedly, however, Freya raises her wrist to her mouth and presses her lips across the Ankh mark, as if absentmindedly wiping her mouth. A single moment, then Daire strokes the tip of his wing across it, before Aurelius grabs Freya’s arm, and as if by accident, brushes against my mark.
My eyes widen.
My skin feels like it has been set alight.
Are they sending me a message? A signal?
Are they here to stop the games?
Even as hope surges through me, I know how dangerous it is.
Yet can’t I allow myself this final delusion…to dream as Lazarus would have?
If I die in this hope like the rest of my vampires today, then I shall at least die happy.
I steel myself to hold Aurelius’ icy gaze, as he stares down at me.
He doesn’t look away. Then he raises his arm.
“In the name of my brother, King Tarquin, may the Imperial Games begin.” He slashes his arm down like a sword.
I still don’t look away.
Instantly, the drums beside Taran awake. Their voices roll through the underground amphitheater, rebounding off the marble pillars and domed roof.
Boom, boom, boom.
I can feel their rhythm in my guts.
Useful, during battle.
Idiot dragons.
I twist back to the vampires. “Get ready.”
I drop into a crouch, nodding to Yara.
She steps beside me, yanking Ahm behind us.
When I hear the door grinding open, my gaze shoots to it.
Here they come.
Adrenaline rushes through me, along with the exhilaration that subsumes me before any battle.
My Omega is watching. My Blood Lover is up there, who I have sparred with. My best friend is with them.
I am not fighting for the dragons. I am fighting for the people who I love.
“Don’t break ranks,” I order. “Vampires don’t need weapons. We have fangs and claws. Use them.”
My own fangs and claws extend.
I am breathing hard, barely holding myself back, now that I am panting for battle.
Then a howl echoes from behind the door.
“Shadow Wolves,” Yara spits in disgust. “The cowardly lapdogs of the dragons.”
I clench my jaw. “Then let’s see whose claws and fangs are more dangerous.”
Shadows spill through the doors first in a sea of darkness. Then like Viking ships sailing on them, a dozen giant black Shadow Wolves in shifted form stalk into the arena.
Their leader, who is more powerful than the rest, raises his head and howls.
Ribbons of shadow curl endlessly through his coat like smoke.
His eyes glow green.
Gasps ripple through the arena.
I don’t turn my head to look.
We are being fed to these shifters. The dragons don’t expect us to be able to defend ourselves. They have no idea how strong I am, however, or how strong my people can be when their situation appears desperate.
People never observe nature enough.
They should see how fiercely a mouse will fight when it is backed into a corner.
It can take on a cat and win.
“Hold,” I yell above the sound of the drums, as the wolves prowl further into the arena, circling us. “Don’t run. They are no different to any other combatant. Don’t fight to their strength, only yours.”
The leader of the wolves bares his fangs, inhaling deeply.
Then his gaze snaps to mine like he has caught my scent.
“When he attacks,” I whisper to Yara, “don’t engage. Drop back and protect Ahm, no matter what happens.”
“Lan…” Yara protests.
“That’s an order.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The wolves raise their heads and let out a haunting howl.
The vampires, as I have taught them, draw together back-to-back into a circle. The younger ones are trembling but they’re remaining steady. Their shackles clink against each other.
The Shadow Wolves circle them. Their black paws stir up the sand. They are silent now and unnervingly patient.
The crowds roar in excitement.
I push Yara and Ahm away toward the edge of the arena, keeping an eye to place myself firmly between them and the giant wolf, which is padding toward me.
I lower my head, baring my fangs.
Then the leader of the wolves raises his head and howls.
The pack explodes forward, ripping into the nearest vampires. I flinch at the screams.
I glance at the battle.
One vampire has a wolf by the throat with both shackled hands, dragging the shifter close enough to bury his fangs into his shoulder.
I grin, viciously.
My lessons have stuck then.
Next to him, the youngest vampire fights with the oldest in the group, as if they are one. They protect each other’s backs, as I have taught them to. One twists the silver chain around the wolf’s neck, while the other claws at the shifter’s guts with his claws.
I grit my teeth, however, at the pools of blood that are forming, where wolves have forced vampires to the floor and are savaging their necks.
Another scream.
Another death.
The crowd is stamping their feet, clapping, and cheering.
I struggle not to dive into the chaos, when another wolf forces a vampire down into the sand, dragging him away by his arm to be torn apart by the pack.
But I swore an oath to Lazarus’ nestmates.
I will protect them with my life.
I have to stay and guard them.
When the Shadow Wolf leader prowls toward me, I crouch lower, allowing my shadows to lash around me.
“No one has fought me and lived,” I snarl. “Die well for the new Emperor.”
The wolf growls in rage. His ears flatten onto his head.
I hold myself still.
Then the wolf lunges.
I dodge at the last moment, and his fangs snap on air.