Page 134 of The Shadowed Oracle
Dean met the gladiator in the very middle of the stage. The gladiator paced a moment, then charged, all flailing arms and curses and desperation, while Dean kept that same leisurelypace until the very last, waiting, easily evading to his right with a slide, and cutting down his attacker in one motion.
At this, the crowd had gone eerily quiet.
And on the baldachin, the tension was just as taut.
“You asked for me?” An older male dressed in a bejeweled tunic appeared at the queen’s side. His hands were clasped innocently over his heart, chin tucked. On his chest was a sigil of the Occanthus bird clutching a golden standard in its mouth, the marker of the game’s coordinator.
“I’ll need more gladiators,” Enitha said without looking at him. “Send them out and release Haxus at once.”
“My queen?” His face had gone pallid. “You mean, simultaneously?”
“Yes! And hurry!”
But the coordinator didn’t move. “Your majesty,” he proceeded with caution. “Haxus. It knows no friend, no ally. He will attack whoever is closest. The gladiators will be forced to defend themselves.”
“That’s not for me to worry about. My only concern is that these… thesetraitorsdo not gain any favor with the crowd. I want them begging for their lives. I want my message to be clear!” She turned and, seeing her vassal hadn’t moved, screamed, “Now!”
The scolded Viator scuttled off down the stairs.
Replacing him at Enitha’s side, was Lucilla.
It was a welcome change for Ingrid to behold. The lady’s maid no longer carried the look of a meek victim as she watched the violence before her. She did not cry. She did not pout. She did not peer at her feet in shame. Inversely, she’d brought back an oddly bright disposition with her.
Any others on the baldachin might’ve thought this was a welcome change. That Lucilla had altered her mindset towards the games in the brief minutes she’d left to fetch the game’scoordinator. After months of sulking up there in the best seats the arena had to offer, looking like a dark spot on the otherwise joyous occasion, she had now seen the light. Any onlooker close enough to see her might’ve thought she’d come to understand what the games meant to the city. Might’ve thought she was enjoyingherself, even.
But Ingrid knew better.
Now that the first wave of gladiators had been felled, Lucilla’s eyes danced at her in anticipation. Ingrid nodded back, and Lucilla gave an odd sign with her fingers. It was a gesture so small, so innocuous, that even Ingrid wouldn’t have caught it… if she hadn’t been told what it meant just the night before.
With a serene smile, Lucilla grazed her thumb over the length of her index finger, confirming that the time to act was now.
And so Ingrid Lourdes stood, and readied to take the leap.
Chapter Forty
A rippleof ice spread up from Ingrid’s toes and stopped at her ears. She could no longer hear the crowd, the clinking of Enitha’s cup, the bored tapping of Sylan’s foot. She could only see directly ahead of her, that dead space between the raised platform and the arena floor. The only thing that snuck through was a low grunt.
“Ingrid, please don’t.”
Sylan’s words effectively confused her, like most of his actions leading up to that moment, but he could do more than that. Not after the plan she and the lady’s maids had hatched. Not after they’d spent the entire night preparing. Sylan was, quite literally, stuck in his seat.
Few luxuries were afforded to a female like Lucilla, always taken for granted, ignored, tucked in a corner like one of Enitha’s vulgar pieces of furniture. But Lucilla’s strength that day came from that very same underestimation. She might’ve been quiet, and kind, and small, but she did have knowledge of Enitha’s seating arrangement.
“Ingrid,” Sylan called out again, jerking upward, but unable to lift himself even an inch from the wooden seat.
Dean had been right. As absurd as that little Swinnett looked, it did come in handy. When she’d had the idea for Lucilla to spread the sticky webbing on the chair Sylan would be occupying, she had her doubts, but now that she was zipping past the drunk and unsuspecting Enitha, she swore to never ridicule Dean’s ugly collection again.
Everything seemed to slow as she reached the edge of the balcony. Using her hands as leverage, she catapulted herself over the balustrade and landed feet-first into the battlegrounds. The drop was farther than she’d anticipated, but the mud eased her fall. The worst of it was a filthy dress, and she hated that particular dress anyway. It was one Enitha had prepared for her, something she’d gladly burn when they escaped.
When, she thought,not if.
A quick scan of the arena proved there was still time before the second wave of gladiators was released, and before Haxus was unchained. She got to her feet and started into a jog, limping at first, then, by the halfway mark, was able to sprint to her friends.
“Tell me this was part of your plan,” Tyla asked, wasting no time. She tossed Ingrid a sword and gripped her at the shoulders, checking if any damage had gone unnoticed after the rush of the fall. “You didn’t just come down here to die with us, did you?”
“No one is dying.” Dean kept one eye on the imprisoned creature as he added, “But damnit Ingrid, couldn’t you have waited until we at least injured this thing?” He looked to her with wild eyes, but managed another smile. “Hurry. Get behind me!”
“I’ve got her.” Raidinn had already taken the liberty of shielding the Oracle, his face painted with blood, his eyes wide and hungry for more. “That thing is the least of our concern,anyway.” He looked up to the queen’s viewing station. “The bloody Prince of Hydor is still up there, in case you all forgot.”
