Ruler of Beasts (Dorothy Must Die, #0.6)(2)

TWO


The morning of the First Annual Beasts’ Boredom Battle was clear and sunny. A cool breeze rustled in the branches. Cornelius had gone to great lengths to turn the Lion’s royal clearing into a suitable battleground. The grassy center had been dug up, and the earth beneath packed into a hard, flat surface. The perimeter of the clearing was hung with banners. A group of stoats and weasels played a rousing march on tiny trumpets, and birds fluttered through the air with brightly colored ribbons in their beaks like living streamers. Dozens of animals, ranging from fierce-eyed hares to massive, muscular wolves and bobcats, were assembled in the clearing, ready to fight. The Lion sprawled on his platform, eyes heavy-lidded, feigning indifference to the clamor below him. Only Cornelius could tell from the glint in his eyes that he was following the action eagerly.

Once upon a time, the Lion had feared them. It seemed almost impossible looking at him now. But a broken twig behind him in the forest would have sent him scurrying up a tree back then. Once, he had literally hid in one all night until the tiniest of hares had moved from his spot beneath it. The Lion knew he was larger than the hare, stronger than the hare, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t bear to have the hare’s beady little eyes boring into his. Somehow, he would always blink first. Now he could gobble anything up before it had a chance to blink. Now they were his subjects. Now they were the ones who jumped at the mere hint of a wave of his tail.

The weasels blew a fanfare on their trumpets, and the first of the competitors stepped forward into the ring: a hare and a badger. The badger bared her sharp little teeth, and the hare boxed at the air with his powerful forepaws. Barely waiting for the signal, the two animals leapt at each other.

This is what he was waiting for. Action. The Lion clapped his paws in delight, and then remembered he was pretending to be bored and sank back on his haunches. The Scarecrow had told him once that a ruler was not supposed to appear to be excited about anything—he’d read it in one of his books. But the Lion wasn’t so sure. Wouldn’t his excitement encourage his subjects to do more of what he wanted? He wanted—he needed—more of this. He didn’t know how to put it into words like the Scarecrow could, but seeing the animals facing off in the makeshift ring was the first time he had felt anything at all in days.

The hare clocked the badger on the side of the head. Snarling, the badger sank her teeth into the hare’s side. The assembled animals cheered fiercely as the smell of blood carried across the clearing. Ordinarily, they were more or less peaceful, and took the worst of their disputes to the Lion to be settled. But they were still animals, and deep down there was something inside each of them that would rather bite and claw their way to a solution than talk it out.

The Lion wasn’t sure who he was rooting for. The hare was feisty and fast. But the badger was single-minded and would not let go. The hare pummeled the badger furiously with his fists, but she only sank her teeth in deeper. His eyes glazed over with pain, and finally he flopped to the ground in defeat. “I yield,” he gasped. The triumphant badger released him. The hare limped off to lick his wounds as the other animals crowded around the badger in congratulations. Cornelius quickly swept the ring to prepare it for the next fight.

The Lion stretched and leapt lightly down from his platform, pacing toward the defeated hare. “Good fight,” he said, nodding his head at the competitors.

“Thank you, sir,” the hare said, still cleaning blood from his fur. The Lion smiled and licked his lips, opening his jaws wide.

“Too bad you lost,” he said, and swallowed the hare whole.

The Lion had surprised even himself. He hadn’t intended on eating the hare. But seeing the hare give up had been too much for him. The Lion had run away one too many times in cowardice. Giving up was not to be tolerated.

A momentary hush descended on the clearing as the animals realized what had just happened. “No one will be permitted to drop out of this delicious contest,” the Lion remarked. “I haven’t enjoyed a meal this much in years.”

But what he really enjoyed was the reaction of his subjects. There was a tremble that went through the onlookers. One that he had caused.

“The winners will be awarded the finest dens and burrows in the Forest of the Beasts. The losers will be eaten!” he announced in a fit of genius that was worthy of the Scarecrow. He clambered back up to his perch, settling down with a satisfied burp. “Who’s next?”

As soon as the Lion’s subjects realized their lives were on the line, the fights grew even more fierce. “Law of the jungle!” the Lion remarked happily to no one in particular as a fox furiously battled a beaver. (The fox won; the beaver scrambled for the edge of the clearing, but the Lion quickly pounced and devoured him. “What fun!” he roared.) But as the afternoon wore on, the Lion grew full—and bored. The losers, at first resistant, gave up and stopped putting up a fight. The Lion pardoned several of them at random, just to give himself something to do. Relieved, they slunk off into the trees, fleeing the Lion’s temporary mercy without a backward glance. As the next competitors, a bobcat and a ferret, stepped into the ring, the Lion roared in exasperation.

He couldn’t explain it—somewhere between swallowing the hare and this moment, the thrill had subsided again.

“This isn’t interesting at all!” he complained. “Just go home, all of you.” The beasts froze, staring at him in confusion. “Go home!” he bellowed. “Did you hear me?” None of the animals waited for him to say it again. Seconds later, the clearing was empty except for the Lion and Cornelius.