Arkyn watches him as servers spill out onto the mezzanines below, offering refreshments to concerned folk. The summoning drums begin tothump. A timely distraction for the jittery crowd.
By the time Einar composes himself, tears wet his cheeks.
Perhaps noticing Arkyn’s stoic expression, any remaining humor falls off his face. “Creators, you’re serious.”
“You believe me incapable?”
Einar bites down on the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth, but Arkyn sees it.
Loathesit.
“Do forgive me, old friend, butKaan Vaegoris very much out of your league. You’d be wise to let whatever lust you feel for his blood continue to fester.” He raises his brows, jerks his chin toward the chewed-up tips of Arkyn’s fingers. “Despite whateverforcesyou’ve somehow amassed.”
Arkyn simmers while five brimstone welts begin to bulge across the arena’s crumbled face, like fleshy sores. Some of them burst, spewing magma and belches of sulfuric smog as the razah bust toward the surface—coaxed by the summoningthump-thump … thump-thump …
“So the Tri-Council won’t support my claim to the throne?”
“Even if your blood were to sing true to the Vaegor line, your supposed pah didn’t claim you as his own. Didn’t title you prince and certainly didn’t announce you as his heir.”
Each word is another smear of fire across Arkyn’s flesh.
Not that he lets on.
“The Citadel’s favor sits heavily with the twins, given their legitimate royal claim and tri-bead status,” Einar says, flicking a pointed glance at the single ruddy bead dangling from Arkyn’s ear. “As I mentioned, Tyroth and Cadok have plans for the north.”
“So you intend to trial Kaan, condemn him, then gift The Burn to the twins?”
“Of course not,” Einar scoffs. “ThegreatKaan Vaegorwill not simply hand himself in, but this …incidentis the trigger we’ve been waiting for. Our sources suggest Kaan’s been brewing his militia for phases, and given the tight seal he keeps on his kingdom, he’s the only one who truly knows its might. It’s unanimously believed that taking him down will require the twins’ help—and their respective battalions. They’ll earn their patriarchal rights to reclaim the territory through bloodshed.”
Arkyn hears the words he’s not saying. That the Tri-Council doesn’t want to get their hands dirty unless they have no choice.
“We have treaties in place with the twins,” Einar continues, shrugging. “They pledge that any bloodstone mined from The Burn postwar will be split three ways in exchange for our continued support.”
Hard to miss the way Einar’s voice hitches at the mention ofbloodstone.Nobody relies on it quenching their lust for immortality more than the Tri-Council members—drunk on power and control, desperate to cling to it for eternity.
Nobody suffers more without it.
“Forgive me, Arkyn, but anything you can bring to the table would simply fall short.”
Arkyn’s smile is small, his attention dropping to the battle pit. “Of course.”
Though he’s used to others underestimating him, it never fails to burn.
“But you must know that I willalwaysbe a supportive patron of this establishment, and ofyou.” Einar leans forward, his attention homed on the five razah punching free of their molten wombs, wrestling to the surface. All the while, the offerings wait for the battle that’ll likely be their end—gathered behind large chunks of stone or tucked in rocky crevices that’ll make for messy deaths. “Given we have time before the falls, I’ll stick around for the show a little longer.”
“I thought you were growing bored of the entertainment?”
Einar rubs his sharp jaw with his thumb. “Between you and me, most of my beaded brothers do nothing but sit around collecting dust these daes, crunching on shards of bloodstone, and the fun ones have theirtoysto keep them entertained. Even without your Fire Lark gracing the stage, this trumps their stale company.”
“Well, I’m honored,” Arkyn lies, preferring his own company to thefeel of licking Einar’s ass. Something he’ll resent less once the toothy crown he wears is replaced with a melted bronze one.
He looks down at the unfolding carnage he’s grown used to over the phases—the means to an end—fingers tapping as he prepares to wield his secret weapon. Taking a moment to mourn the loss of what could’ve been … given he’s imaginedhimselfripping out Kaan’s throat with his teeth more times than he could count.
He resigns himself to the fact that he’s grown quite fond of the itch that wriggles and writhes beneath his skin, lusting for blood. After all, where would he be without it?
Dead.
“And what if I managed to get thegreat Kaan Vaegorinto this battle pit? Make a scene of his demise for everyone to see—punishmentfor his slights against the Tri-Council?”
