Chapter 185
The morning comes with an unsettling stillness in the ether, and yet my nerves are anything but calm.
When the package arrives—a diadem of petrified starfish, coral, and gemstones—I don’t know whether to admire its beauty or feel repulsed by its origin. The craftsmanship is undeniably stunning, but when Rhea gently takes it from my hands and murmurs, “He’s sending a message… always sending a message,” my unease sharpens.
“Do you mean Kota or Raif?” I ask cautiously, watching her expression.
Her gaze is distant, her thoughts clearly miles—or years—away. I’ve learned by now that when Rhea becomes this unfocused, answers are hard to pry from her. So I don’t push. Instead, I let her carefully fix the diadem on my head, her fingers deft despite her frail demeanor.
“You wear it well,” Rhea whispers, her voice trembling slightly. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, they’re startlingly clear. “But remember, messages can be rewritten. The story is not theirs to tell.”
I nod, though I don’t fully understand. The weight of the diadem feels heavier than it should. Is it the physical weight of the gems and coral—or the pressure of what it represents? Kota’s intentions grow clearer by the day, and they’re far from honorable.
The door to the adjoining bathing chamber opens, and I turn just in time to see Cora step into the room. My breath catches. Even on two legs, even with the confines of mortal beauty, my grandmother looks every bit the mythical princess that she is by birth.
She wears a dress unlike any I’ve seen—crafted entirely of white bone beads that shimmer like moonlight under the water, cinched at the waist with a thin gold cord. It’s striking and bold, a perfect match for her presence. But it’s the ring that catches my eye—a rough, uncut diamond set in gold.
Early that morning, Cora received two packages: one from Kelis that arrived alongside my own and, a little while later, another that was handed over in a silent, nervous handoff. As soon as Cora opened the package, we both knew immediately who sent it and the symbolism it carried.
“From Khale?” I whisper, my throat tight with emotion.
Cora’s hand brushes over the ring with a reverence I’ve never seen her show to anything material. “Yes. And I’ve accepted,” she says simply, her voice steady. She looks proud—of the ring, of the dress, of the man who sent them to her.
Tears well in my eyes, an uncontrollable mix of happiness for her and grief for all the time we’ve lost. Time is stolen by battles, separations, and sacrifices made for the people we love. I step forward and wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly.
“You look like a bride,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.
Rhea, who has been silently observing, tilts her head thoughtfully. “No,” she murmurs. “She looks like a warrior. Mind yourselves on the field of battle.”
Cora’s brow furrows. “Field of battle? What do you mean by that?”
Before Rhea can answer, a sharp pounding on the door startles all of us. The sound is followed by the stern voice of a guard. “You are summoned. The tourney is about to begin.”
“Tourney?” I ask aloud, confusion lacing my voice.
The guards don’t answer. They step inside, their faces impassive as they gesture for us to follow. I glance back at Rhea, whose pale face now holds a shadow of worry. “Mind yourselves,” she says again, her voice carrying an edge of warning.
We’re ushered into a gilded rickshaw, its opulence doing little to calm my growing unease. As we’re carried through the streets of Ao, I can’t help but notice the celebratory air around us.
The city's architecture is stunning—ornate structures carved from volcanic rock and bioluminescent flora weaving through the buildings like veins of light. But the people… they’re gathered in droves, cheering and shouting, their energy electric.
Some cheer in celebration. Others… don’t. Their faces are harder to read, their cries tinged with something darker.
The closer we get to the massive arena at the city’s center, the thicker the crowd grows. The energy becomes suffocating, and my heart pounds as I realize: The arena isn’t just for sport. It’s a gladiatorial arena—The Pit.
My stomach churns. This is where Wake has been kept since our arrival. The dungeon wasn’t just a prison—it was a barracks for fighters. His cellmates weren’t just prisoners—they were men destined to fight and die for the entertainment of the crowd. The full weight of what he’s been enduring crashes over me like a tidal wave.
We’re led up through the stadium to a lavish royal viewing box. King Raif sits at the center, his wiry frame draped in gold and tattoos that ripple over his skin like stories etched in ink. Kota and Kelis flank him, seated on slightly smaller thrones. Kota’s gaze rakes over me as I approach, his indulgent smirk making my skin crawl. He gestures for me to sit beside him.
I catch Kelis’ reaction as Cora enters. His expression tightens, his jaw clenching, but after a beat, he nods stiffly, gesturing for her to take the seat beside him. She does so without hesitation, her head held high.
The arena below us begins to fill, the noise of the crowd rising to a deafening roar. Thousands of Enkian fill the stands, their cheers echoing through the massive structure. The open field at the center—the Pit—looms ominously, its dark sands glinting faintly under the bioluminescent light.
My chest tightens. I can barely focus as Raif stands, raising his hands to the crowd. The noise dies down almost instantly, replaced by a charged silence. His voice booms out, smooth and smarmy, carrying effortlessly across the arena.
“People of Ao,” he begins, his tone laced with self-satisfaction. “Today, the next step of our glorious revolution begins!”
The crowd erupts into cheers, and my stomach sinks further. This isn’t just a game to them. It’s a spectacle, a statement. My gaze drifts back to the Pit, and a horrifying thought grips me: Wake will fight here. Fight to the death. And I can only watch.
Beside me, Kota leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Enjoy the show,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with amusement.
I force myself to sit still, to breathe evenly, even as the dread in my chest grows unbearable. The field of battle is here, and the war has already begun.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
