Page 52 of Under the Iron Sky

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“You’re late.”

His body only just corporeal from phasing, Ikarus looked over a shoulder to the shadows where this building met the black gate surrounding it. To anyone else, the thin sheen of mist whirling there might’ve looked like nothing, just another stream of the red vapor that covered this kingdom like a near-sheer crimson veil, but Ikarus knew better. “Didn’t realize you kept a record of my comings and goings, Aeris.”

The mist shifted, shadows curling in on themselves to reveal a hooded, dark-skinned Ethereal.

“I hate it when you do that,” Ikarus said, adjusting the red embellishments on the sleeves of his black jacket. He hadn’t seen his friend since he’d brought those healers to the castle for Serone, but that didn’t mean he appreciated being snuck up on.

Aeris ran a hand through the shoulder-length braids that were bound with a silver ring at the base of his neck and followed Ikarus up a set of winding stone steps, gold eyes shimmering with amusement. “I know you do.”

“So then why do you insist on doing it?”

“Forgive me for not wanting to socialize with every passerby while I waited for you—and stop being sour just because you can’t hold it for more than a minute.”

A full-blooded Ethereal, Aeris’s gifts rivaled the darkest nightmares. Misting, the ability to turn any or all parts of his body into mist-like matter that enabled him to hide undetectable in any shadow or slip inside an enemy’s chest cavity and rip out their heart was a particular favorite.

Over the course of his life, Aeris had mastered the gift to near perfection, and although it’d made him one of Ramapheal’s most feared generals, he preferred to use said gift to hide whenever he wanted to avoid making small talk. With anyone.

Lethal warrior, he might have been. Socialite, he was not.

In true social pariah form, Aeris nodded to the fairy who greeted them at the top of the stairs, but said nothing as she opened the double doors to the building and beckoned them through.

The main hall was bursting. A band performed on an elevated dark wooden stage while aerial dancers swirled in sheets and chains suspended from the ceiling, arms and wings curling the smoke from ash-sticks and red vapor into their own sort of mesmerizing dance.

Three women worked the red crystal-topped bar: two slight Dar’rak with deep emerald hair who took orders while using low-level telekinesis to prepare the drinks, and a fairy who put her four dragonfly-like wings to use, swooping up and down the thirty-foot-high wall of shelves behind the bar to gather the ingredients and glasses needed to appease the riotous crowd below.

Small round tables occupied most of the floor, each one packed to capacity with drunken revelers throwing down coins and daggers, some stripping their wealth right down to the bone to bet on the fights taking place in the rings carved deep into the middle of those tables.

Mutt fights weren’t the draw of the Pitt—that honor could only be reserved for the massive circular crater at the very back of the room where all the main fights were held, but the tables did a good job of keeping the regulars entertained while they waited for the warm-up fights to finish. Which should be anytime now, if the loud hisses and boos coming from the main ring were any indication.

As they made their way through the crowd, Ikarus grabbed two goblets from a passing server wrapped in a low-cut black dress, her cheeks flushing as he slipped a silver coin onto the tray—something Aeris was quick to notice. “She liked you.”

Ikarus handed Aeris a goblet, then took a deep swig from his own. The crimson wine was deliciously warm, the added herbs and spices tingling his throat in a divine way that demanded further inspection. The fairies may not have been the best fighters, but darkness below, did they know how to brew. “Not my type.”

He downed his goblet and had just swiped a second from that same server when Aeris asked, “So where were you?”

“I went to see the healers.”

“How is Serone?” Aeris asked just as a Dar’rak from one of the more lively tables suddenly stood and thrust his hands in the air, spilling frothy ale onto the other patriots beside him. “Yes! That’s it! Rip his fucking arms off!”

Ikarus glanced at the table, to where one of the two small scaled rodent-like creatures battling it out had clamped down on its opponent’s arm with tiny teeth. The other mutt squealed in agony, but just as the fight looked over, it spun around, its leathery wings sending the coins laid around the edge of the ring skittering to the floor in a wave of gold and silver, and bit into the other creature’s throat.

Blood sprayed across the wagers. Half the table broke into cheers, their bets won, but apparently that was the Dar’rak’s chosen winner’s blood staining those coins, because he turned, the pure exhilaration that’d been in his eyes mere seconds ago now burned away into icy rage, and pulled out a knife. “You cheated! You used your powers to turn your mutt around so he could carve into mine! I saw you!”

The woman seated on the other side of the small ring unsheathed her own dagger from behind her back. “I did not!”

The man lunged, she dodged, and then the entire table was sucked into their brawl. The Pitt had a way of doing that, of bringing out both the best and the worst of everyone trapped beneath the cracks.

Watching another table join the chaos, Ikarus answered, “Healing well. She should be able to return home in the next day or so.” And not a moment too soon.

After that mess of a raid a few days ago, his dragon had been sent right to Naemanor, a fortress of mist and stone deep in the northeast territory. Only the most skilled healers were allowed to enter, and once they took their veil, surrendering their faces for the divine art of healing, they never left.

He knew she was in the best possible hands there, but that didn’t make the separation any less nerve-wracking. He wasn’t exactly a calm person at the best of times, and having her hundreds of miles away had knots twisting in his stomach.

Ikarus was still furious with himself for letting it happen. One moment they’d been doing a final sweep of the Anabarian coastline, searching for any last stragglers that might’ve not heard about their latest raid and come looking for refuge, and the cannons had just appeared out of the ocean.

Luckily Serone had seen the oncoming blast and swerved in time to save him, but it’d meant she’d borne the brunt of the attack. Ikarus didn’t think he’d ever be able to get the sound of her answering shriek out of his head, or any that had followed on the short flight home afterward.