Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
ARA
Avina’s arena is massive. Telos’s would fit inside it without a problem.
Just like in the other arena, charms are embedded in the wall separating the first row of seats from the sand.
The charms surround the open space, creating an invisible barrier that keeps anyone from leaving the deathly games, while also protecting the spectators. I can’t see it, but I sense it.
Today will be the first time I set foot into the massive white stone building with its elaborate arches and statues outside of training. The figures gracing the walls and arches depict fight scenes, beasts, warriors, or the gods themselves—details I noticed during training.
The most impressive statues are the gods that line a ledge above the royal terrace. They are more than life-sized, if you compare them to humans, that is. Some stand, while others lounge on seats in an arrangement that resembles a casual gathering.
Approaching from the sky, I have little time to appreciate the details. One by one, the competing flights drop to the sand-covered round, while the rest circle above waiting for their cue, turning the sky into a whirlpool of activity, blotting out the sun with swirling shadows.
There is a hum, an excitement blanketing the entire city and the stands of the arena. A crowd gathered outside the walls as if they wanted to be close to the event, even if they didn’t have the luck to get a hold of seats.
The scent of garlic, bread, and roasted nuts permeates the air, originating from vendors roaming the rows of seats, selling a variety of items, including fruits, olives, and other food.
Others sell beer and wine, and some offer trinkets and mementos of Iza, the flight games, or Frederick’s upcoming coronation.
We are the third flight to be introduced, and there is a hush all around us when they spot Solaris. Everyone is in awe of my Phoenix.
“And so they should,” he comments. “Most of them will never see another Phoenix in their lifetime.”
“But they will see plenty of you over the next three weeks.”
“Doesn’t mean they can’t appreciate me now.”
I slide off his back, walking over to our designated spot, while our birds take off, making space for the last of Belarra’s flights. We stand next to each other around the perimeter and occupy about one-fifth of the area. The competing riders from different countries will fill the rest.
After Belarra, the gargoyles from Muntos follow with their riders. The ground trembles with the impact of each of the massive beasts.
Their gray skin is as smooth as marble, stretching into giant wings that look like a bat’s. With their strong and muscled bodies, their arms and legs ending in massive claws, and their thin, pointed tails swishing the air restlessly, they look intimidating.
But their faces are truly terrifying—like demons or devils, sporting horns of different sizes and shapes. Their yellowish eyes, glowing in their dark faces, complete the horrifying combination.
“Yikes, I would not like to fight them one-on-one,” I say, and Tate’s head snaps to me.
“I’d hope not. If you ever do, concentrate on using your gift. Most weapons shatter on their stone-like skin.”
I nod, watching the last of them take off.
Next are the riders from the Ilyn with their winged horses. Their beautiful white coats gleam in the midday sun.
“Now they are much nicer to look at and probably more fun to ride,” Zaza comments.
“I hope you mean their animals and not the riders,” Jared grumbles, and Zaza laughs.
“Now that you mention it… Girls, what do you think of that one?” She points at the dark-haired rider who led the flight that just landed.
Do they even call their units flights?
Zaza continues commenting on the incoming riders, and I’m not sure if she enjoys teasing Jared or if she is oblivious to his rigid posture behind her.
The hippogriffs of Harea land with a shriek that makes most people cover their ears.
I heard they breed their animals by crossing the wild griffins living in the desert with their fastest mares.
White clothes and headdresses adorn their riders.
Typical of their sandy country, they keep their hair covered, but unlike others I have seen, only their eyes are free, making it hard to discern if there are women in their ranks or not.
The riders of Kystis are the last to join us, and Tate tenses next to me.
I look at him in question, but he stares at the warriors in their layered armor and furs and their beasts, a mix of dragon and snake in varying shades of gray, blue, or even white.
Unlike Muntos or Ilyn, they don’t have any female riders.
And instead of leaving like all other beasts, their creatures shrink in size and wind around their rider’s throat like breathing necklaces.
“Well, that is handy,” I comment under my breath.
“Or terrifying,” Mariel throws in. “Think about it. They could hide anywhere, only to take on their original size and swallow you whole.” She shudders. “I think now that I have seen them, lindwyrms even beat the gargoyles in the category of creatures I don’t want to see in the wild.”
I nod, grimacing at the appalling picture she painted.
Soon, the arena’s sand is filled with contestants, and the crowd hushes at the blare of a horn. Everyone’s eyes settle on the big stone balcony housing the royal family.
And there they are. The king and queen sit on huge thrones, hewn from the same white stone as the rest of the arena, their heads adorned by crowns that sparkle like shards of ice in the sun.
Frederick stands by their side, his posture ramrod straight.
Just like his parents, he wears a crown and the royal colors. Only his is smaller and less sparkly.
Even if they are far away, I could swear their eyes are on Tate and me.
The hushed mass of people surrounding us heightens the tension until I’m nearly ready to shout something, just to break it.
TATE
“Bear witness as the flight games start anew.” My father’s voice booms, answered by a cheer from the crowd. His voice is strong and loud thanks to the sound gifted standing right behind him, but he looks even frailer than the last time I saw him.
And it must be even worse than he looks—my father handing off power is something I thought I’d never see.
“This year’s trials will be in honor of Iza, who sees what’s hidden and who grants glory to the worthy and silences the weak.” His eyes seem to float over the contestants, not quite making contact, showing no reaction upon reaching me.
“Each realm has chosen contestants, units to represent them. Courage, cunning, sacrifice—these shall be weighed, not in gold nor titles, but in blood, bone, and resolve.”
Another cheer goes up, the crowd clamoring for the entertainment to begin. The sound repeats outside the arena, giving the impression of an echo. At the mention of blood and bones, I have the sudden urge to carry Ara out of here. What was I thinking? I should have kept her out of it.
“Tread carefully as you cross into Iza’s sacred grounds, where no other can shield, and no lie can guide—for secrets, once uncovered, cannot be buried again.”
Ara shifts next to me, muttering something under her breath, too low to catch it over the roar of the masses around us.
My father’s eyes come to me, and when his words follow, I’m not surprised.
“Perhaps some of you hope the trials might restore what was so willingly cast aside, but you’ll soon realize this is not for the faint of will, and only the worthy walk out unchanged.”
He already made it plenty clear that I’m the disappointment in the family, that I let him down. I hold his gaze, not giving him the satisfaction of showing any emotions. If that’s all he got, I'm not worried. What worries me more is my brother’s smug grin once his eyes fall on Ara.
I clasp her hand, squeezing it, reassuring myself that she is right next to me. She smiles up at me, and I can’t help but mirror it. My brother's face has darkened with fury when I look back at him, and I have the sudden urge to rub it in by leaning down and kissing her.
But I don't, because there are more eyes on us than just his. And I certainly don't want to do anything that would upset Ara.
I'm sure the two oldest Blackstones are in attendance too, since there are competitions held for infantry as well. They also seem the kind of tight-knit family who would show up solely to support each other.
“This year, we honor not only the flight games, but the turning of the age they herald. Upon the final eve, when the trials are done, and the goddess satisfied, my son—Prince Frederick—shall be crowned king to the throne of Belarra.”
He pauses longer this time since the crowd expresses its adoration for my brother.
“While another cast aside this legacy, he has stood in the light — steadfast, loyal, and unshaken, so to him the crown shall pass.” He motions my brother forward, who is once more all smiles and charm.
“And now. Let the veils fall and the truth rise. May your steps be silent, your eyes sharp, and your hearts unshaken.” He pauses.
“Let the trials begin.”
The roar of the crowd is deafening this time, but breaks off into hushed awe when a golden flare of light draws everyone’s gaze up to the ledge at the top of the arena, displaying the gods. A few gasps sound when one statue starts to move. Iza.
She steps out of the image as if she has had enough of lounging around with other gods and instead takes a few steps forward. The ledge places her well above everyone in the arena, even the king.
Golden light surrounds her, and where her image was beautiful to behold, her presence now is so brilliant, so terrifyingly striking, it’s obvious she is no mortal. Her eyes trail over us standing in front of her, beneath her, and she smiles.
“I’ve waited so long for this,” she breathes, and still her voice thunders through the stands, echoing off the building around her.
“So many beautiful secrets,” she purrs, and I don’t like the way her eyes rest on Ara for a moment.
“We will have so much fun together.” She claps her hands. “Let the games begin.”