Page 71 of A Queen Of Broken Realms
“Hail Queen Leucosia,” they respond.
Everyone on the dais aside from the guards and Ashen sits. As soon as we’re settled, the demons of the audience do the same.
A tense silence descends on the cavern affectionately known asThe Gauntlet.
“Tonight is a unique event,” Ashen says as he slowly stalks toward the front of the dais. His fist grips the hilt of his sheathed sword with bleached knuckles. “There will be no resurrected souls for your ravening entertainment. No revived immortals, breathed to life to be torn apart before your eyes. Tonight, your Queen gives you better sport. Deserving prey. The traitors of the Shadow Realm.”
The floor between the two sides of the cavern comes to life with sound. Sections of the stone separate from one another on hidden gears and tracks in kaleidoscopic shapes. They whirr and tick and fold to reveal the brutality hidden one the level below.
It’s a maze of alleyways and high stone walls. Some pathways come to a dead end, others have long stretches of straight passages that seem to emanate the very essence of deceit, their traps so well hidden that not a hint of danger is visible, even to my preternatural vampire sight. A section near the center is a wide courtyard where a few weapons lay the floor for the taking. In several places there are obstacles, like giant axes that swing like pendulums, or an unstable bridge over a steaming pool of acid, the only path toward the exit of the maze. The final goal is a small, round podium beneath the carved wall at the far end of the cavern.
Ashen says nothing further to the rows of demons who speak in hushed tones as the final sections of the floor slide into place beneath them. Some lean forward in their seats, shifting to get a better view of the playing field. Ashen strides back toward our line of chairs, his gaze a heavy presence on my skin.
“This is reminiscent of some fun times in Rome a couple millennia ago, don’t you think, Reaper?” I say as Ashen takes his seat and folds his hand around mine.
“I’m still not sure about your idea of fun.”
“Come on now, it’s going to be a great show. They’ll be talking about it for years.”
Ashen’s slides a flat glare in my direction but doesn’t argue. His hand heats around mine.
Two doors slide open at our end of the arena and eight unarmed demons enter the playing field. They’re divided into two groups, and they can’t see one another from their starting points on the maze. I spot a few familiar faces. Joash is there with his amputated arm, the wound already healed. There’s a woman I recognize from the battlefield in Romania, but I don’t know her name. The soldier who practiced his archery skills with my head is in Joash’s group, so I guess that means Zida never got to eat him and he resurrected. She hisses behind me as though reading my thoughts. I spot Pyrrhus as well, who crouches a little, taking stock of his surroundings.
The drums crash around us. Ashen leans forward in his chair. I cut a glance at Ediye and her worried expression is lightened with a flash of a devious smile.
When the drums stop, the crowd erupts into cheers and shouts. Some people call out instructions, taunting the participants to take one turn or another. There’s no way the traitors can know if what they hear is helpful or harmful, so they seem to ignore the shouts raining down from above like poisoned arrows.
Both groups stalk forward with cautious steps. Joash’s is the first to run into trouble.
As the group turns down a corridor, someone steps on a hidden panel in the floor. A screen drops from the wall at the far end of the hall to reveal a line of crossbows. A slew of bolts releases with a mechanicalshing.
Several of the demons drop to the floor quickly enough to avoid being hit, but one is not so lucky and howls with fury and pain as he looks down at the arrow lodged in his stomach. The second group of demons startles as they hear his scream from a few corridors over. Cheers and shouts and the sound of stomping boots fill the cavern.
“That’s Duman,” Ashen says as he leans in close and nods toward the injured demon. We watch as Duman slides the bolt from his guts with a gritty groan. When it’s free, he keeps hold of it for a weapon.
“I like the psychological warfare aspect,” I reply, gesturing to the other group of demons as they continue their procession through the corridor with heightened caution. Ashen hums in agreement, and I can’t tell if he picked up the edge of sarcasm in my voice.
Truthfully, I don’t totally love my idea to put on a show. The Council was excited by the prospect when I proposed my vision and took only two days to update the playing field from whatever their last event had been, complete with a few specific requests from me. I’d rather leave such games to history, but I’m not ruling humans or the beings of the Living Realm. I’m ruling demons. If I want to change the conversation about how this realm will be run so that I can start healing this place, I have to first communicate in their language. And I intend to make a point they will not soon forget.
“Maybe it’s time to speed things along in Pyrrhus’s group,” I say as I meet Ashen’s eyes. He gives a hint of a grim smile and turns away to nod at a soldier who stands at a podium, the alcove of which is lined with buttons and switches. She flips the first one and I hear the gears whirl to life for a door in the pit below.
Urtur stalks from the shadows beneath us. The crowd erupts with excitement. Pyrrhus’s group can’t see him yet from where they stand back-to-back around a corner, their legs bent, bodies tensed for a fight. But they know something is coming as they crowd chants, stomping their feet in rhythm with their single, repeating word.
Beast.
Urtur stalks forward, his head low. He takes his time to drift down the corridor. A salvo of shouts and cheers bounce off the cavern walls. Some demons in the stands rise to their feet, leaning forward as they strain to get a better view of the giant black jackal as he approaches the corner. He stops just before the turn.
The jackal growls.
Pyrrhus’s group takes off at a run. Their progress is erratic with their wariness of the unseen traps in the maze. They keep glancing back toward the demon jackal as he rounds the corner. Urtur bares his teeth.
The audience’s attention is trapped between the beast and his prey. But not the guard who controls the game board.
I give her a nod. She gives me one back. The group of demons reaches the end of the corridor just as slits open along both sides of the hall around the corner the height of both walls.
The first demon reaches the turn, his attention still snagged on the jackal as Urtur stalks forward. He doesn’t see the danger slipping from the shadows in the wall.
He rounds the turn and impales himself on Valentina’s blade.
