Page 129 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
At least she would live. And if she’d taken her potion, that meant his power to hold life and death bargains was gone. Every deal he had ever made was null and void.
He wanted her to live, needed her to survive. He’d been determined to make her take the potion. And yet, he hadn’t expected her leaving to hurt this much.
Aryana had left, and she wasn’t coming back.
And Zarathos was as good as dead.
Zarathos walked into the box high above the arena. Members of the trial council were seated in their robes in the box next to them. The council provided the remaining champions with a spot to watch the special trial today. There were two champions left alive—Noctyssa and Valkotha from Espiritu Malignos who hadn’t secured a crown. So they’d arranged a gauntlet across the floor of the arena. A crown sat at the end of the course. Whoever made it through first would enter the final round of the trials.
He had considered not attending, but the least he could do was give himself a fighting chance by keeping up appearances. The stands were full of awaiting spectators though the syndicates weren’t active today. They weren’t allowed to take bets on champions. The kingdoms wouldn’t stand for it. They could only take bets onkalators and none would be present today. A small sense of relief moved through him that Aryana would no longer be a part of their schemes at all. Neutrolisis broke all magical connections. Even though she’d have the mark on her wrist for life, they could no longer make money off of her pain and fear.
Tigon slurped on the meat of some dead creature near the back of the box, taking up several rows with his bulk.
Xaphoron sat, lounging on a cushion with three female demons in sheer dresses surrounding him, running their palms over his body. A sneer crossed his face. “Missing something, Your Majesty?”
Zarathos’s stomach soured. “I’m preparing for the final match. Something you should spend more time and effort on if you hope to win.”
But Xaphoron didn’t seem fazed. He twirled a finger casually in the hair of one demon while stroking the cheek of the other. “Where is your little helper?”
Zarathos’s hackles rose, though he expected the question. Aryana may have left, although he had no idea why she went to Xaphoron to do it. But he trusted her not to reveal his vulnerability. “She has run off, not that I need her.”
“Run off? Does she have a death wish?” Xaphoron’s gaze sparked with deadly triumph. “No, I have it on quite good authority that you told her to go.”
Dread pulled through his gut and he felt nauseous. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“You told her to go and supplied her with… what was it? Oh yes. Neutrolisis. A potion that would allow her to break her bargain with you without dying.” He tsked. “Poor, pathetic Zarathos. She tricked you into falling for her, then didn’t just leave you. She could have kept that information to herself, but she needed to make sure that you went down after she left.”
Zarathos stalked forward, rage sparking through his chest. “Shut the hell up.”
Xaphoron extricated himself from his consorts and rose to his feet, fingering the knife at his belt, a pleased grin on his ugly face. “She betrayed you.”
Zarathos snarled and lunged at Xaphoron. He didn’t care. He possessed nothing left to lose, and his sole desire was removing Xaphoron’s self-satisfied smirk by any means necessary.
Xaphoron was ready for the fight. The two lashed out at each other. Zarathos no longer cared if his blood was drawn. He struck out, but his opponent slammed Zarathos against the back wall, a knife held to his throat. “Shall I kill you?” Something was different about the rage in Xaphoron’s gaze. It was heightened, uncontrolled—personal. His hand shook with barely controlled restraint. “Consideringwhatyou are, the council would surely forgive me for the tiny indiscretion of ridding you of this world, before the next trial. In fact, they’d probably see it as a favor. Besides, we both know it’s your deals you hide behind that grant you power, not your fighting prowess.”
He was right. His deals had kept him alive and now that Aryana was gone, he had nothing. Not her, not his deals.
He was nothing.
A blade was laid at Xaphoron’s throat. “Release him and stand aside,” Marbas growled.
“Ah, and so the last piece falls into place.” Xaphoron sneered. “Did you not hear? You are no longer bound to him. He is nothing but a pathetic incubus bastard.”
“You will leave the fighting for the arena,” Marbas said through clenched teeth, “or I will end you.”
Zarathos almost wanted to tell Marbas to forget it. The word was out, and everything was lost. Then he caught the fear and pleading in Marbas’s eyes, and something raw and protective surged within him.
Marbas was still fighting for him.
“You know the council wants him dead. Weallwant him dead,” Xaphoron said, his eyes flashing threateningly. “Beware, Marbas, you are holding a sword at your future king’s throat, and I shall not forget it.”
“The trials aren’t over,” Zarathos growled.
Xaphoron backed off, sheathing the dagger. “No, they are not. I look forward to ending you tomorrow.”
Marbas lowered his sword but held it at the ready until Zarathos exited the room.
The crowd cheered in delightful hunger as Noctyssa and the champion from Espiritu Malignos started their obstacle course. Noctyssa wielded the sword that Lentira had died holding and already used it on Valkotha, who gripped his side as blood poured out of him. Zarathos’s stomach churned, sick of the death, the violence, the killing.Why were they like this?
