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This was ridiculous. Was I really pleading with Javer of all people for comfort and reassurance?
There was an awkward silence.
“Well,” the court mage said at last, raising a hand to touch the tip of his pointed beard. “Yes.”
My heart sank. I turned back.
Draven had stabbed himself in the heart. He had carved off his own horns. He had mutilated himself, nearly destroyed himself. Why?
The alternative had been clear.
The mirror had wanted me.
What would it want from Erion and what would the reptilian man be willing to give? A lung? An arm?
We watched, we waited.
The mirror spoke to Erion.
Even through his dark scales, I could see Erion’s face shifting into an expression of dismay as whatever the mirror had requested–demanded–sank in.
Then he turned to the gallery, looked up in the direction of the Queen Regent, and like Selwyn before him, he shouted up a request.
The silence that fell across the gallery was worse than the noise.
You could have heard a pin drop. A horn fall. A blade clatter.
Then a courtier went running to the gallery door. I saw them call to the guards stationed outside in the hall.
If guards would be required, this must be serious. I glanced at Odessa and Rychel. They were quiet. Rychel’s bronze face was paler than normal.
Within minutes, a wailing filled the air from the corridor outside.
I felt a chill run down my spine as the doors to the gallery opened and two of the Queen Regent’s guards entered, dragging a young girl between them.
She must have been no more than thirteen or fourteen. Her hands had been bound behind her back.
Like Erion, the girl’s hair was blonde and wavy while her body was covered with gleaming reptilian scales.
Behind her came a man and a woman. The woman was wailing as if her heart was breaking. Which it probably was.
Erion’s sister. And his parents. Unless I was mistaken.
“How can this be allowed?” I demanded harshly, grabbing Odessa’s elbow. “How can we allow it?”
I watched her swallow hard. “It’s part of the rules of the game,” she said, licking her lips. “When a contestant enters, their family is bound by the same rules they must follow.”
“Fucking Siabra,” Rychel spat from beside me.
And then she really did spit. Her saliva sprayed the guard nearest to us. He paused to wipe his face, glaring at her with a look of intense dislike.
Rychel didn’t even notice. She darted forward, her long black hair whipping behind her, as she stood in front of the girl.
“All of you are fucking monsters,” she cried, the fury in her voice palpable.
I longed to join her. Longed to scream my protests in the Queen Regent’s face. But I couldn’t risk being removed from the gallery. Not when Draven’s fate still hung in the balance.
“You really haven’t had enough child sacrifice yet?” Rychel shouted, her voice carrying across the gallery. “You haven’t learned your lesson? Who agreed to the Blood Rise? Who sets the terms? Who do you think?”
