Page 97 of Keeping Sarah

Deacon

My back was against the bouncing door of the throne room to block the guards from plowing it down. Every time they knocked into it, my head rapped against the solid wood.

It was dumb luck the door was at a small landing at the top of stairs—it meant they could not pour much force behind their shoves. I imagined only four guards at a time could push from their side. Even with that advantage, I could hold the door myself for only so long before my strength gave out. My thighs were burning from bracing the door shut, my back shaking.

I shouted at the others, “Get the throne!”

Tiger tried to drag the throne himself, but it didn’t budge until Sarah, Ode, Elizabeth, and Jenny pushed it from the other side. Even with all the help, the throne was too heavy to be easily delivered as my replacement.

Once they finally got it close, Elizabeth grunted, “Put it by the doorknob, so they can’t get leverage.”

They wedged it there, and part of me still didn’t want to move, in case the throne was not enough. But my strength was sapped. I stepped from the door, and it banged against the throne, but did not budge it.

For now.

“What do we do?” Ode asked.

The only other opening of the throne room was the viewing balcony which overlooked the fighting pit of the arena. Smoke hung a stench low in the air. My mouth tasted like ash.

Riot fires, I presumed. Violence was a propellant for more violence, like a raging child that birthed itself. The rampaging city had a voice of its own—screams combined with mad laughter. Though I could not see the brutality and bloodshed, it assaulted my senses.

Looking over the edge of the balcony, I noted the long flags that hung there. They were the signals used to start the fights. Around thirty meters long per flag, they didn’t come close to touching the ground level. If we climbed down them, the drop from the very end of the longest flag would kill us.

But if we can use them to swing into the stands of the arena, perhaps we could get somewhere.

I looked back at my cohorts and did not like their odds.

Ode’s voice was frantic as the insistent banging against the door continued. “Deacon, what do we do?”

“Calm down, Ode,” Sarah said soothingly.

But Ode was verging on hysterical. “Calm down? I just…I just…” She stared at Rex’s fading corpse. The delirium became rage on her face. “I just wish I could kill him again.”

Jenny said, “Well, you did it right the first time, so that’s not an option. How about we focus on a strategy to get out of here and save your life?”

“Allour lives,” Elizabeth groused.

Sarah turned to me. “Why are they trying to get in here, if they already know Rex is dead? It’s not like they can bring him back.”

One of the guards had seen it happen when the door was still open to the hall. Tiger had slammed it shut, and I had braced the door after that. They had pounded on the door ever since.

“They want in for the loot,” I told her. “You have an eye for décor, Consort, and this room is well-appointed. How much did those vases cost?”

She shrugged. “I don’t even know. They were bought by proxies. I just told them I wanted something shiny for the flowers.”

Tiger dumped the flowers onto the floor and slammed the vase against the table. It rang like a bell, instead of shattering. “Your proxies bought solid gold vases for your flowers, Sarah.”

Her jaw dropped in shock. “It’s not justpaintedto look like gold?”

He shook his head. “This vase alone would be enough to buy a house. You have ten in here. And other valuables, as well. This room…” He shook his head. “If I were a guard, this room would be a gleaming target.”

“And the guards know they will not get paid after Rex’s death,” I added. “So they will line their pockets any way they can.”

“Shit,” Sarah muttered.

The banging at the door suddenly stopped. We all quieted down to listen. Then a new sound came at the door—the clanking of bone on bone. I ran to the door to glean more information from the sounds, but the throne and the door muffled them well. I knelt on the throne and leaned closer to the door to try to hear what had changed.

The door pressed against the throne once more. Only wide enough for two fingers to get through. Or a voice. “Everyone, it’s me, Abyss. Let us in.”

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