Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(55)
Malir leads us to a safe vantage point. I go on tiptoes to peek out the window, gasping at the vast outline of the force gathered.
“How is this possible?” someone whispers. I shake my head. This was not going to end well.
“There are several hundred of them.”
It could be worse. The Outer Rings population is the largest of any of the rings. They number in the thousands. If they united, the Outer Rings could overrun the castle with ease. Which I’m sure is the basis of Blaine’s plan.
As we stand watching, I hear the sound of something hitting the wall of the castle. I strain to hear further noises of objects hurtling toward the castle, but it seems the person throwing is alone for now. I hope it’s not the beginning of the end. If the Outer Rings become violent, they’ll force Jovan’s hand. If the hostages are killed, Jovan will have to strike back to show power. My mind hurtles, already making contingency plans for the worst-case scenario.
I look to the side, awaiting the king's decision. Why is he stalling? Then I remember his comments about living up to his father’s legacy.
“My King?” Malir prompts, as several more of what I’m assuming are stones hit the castle walls.
Jovan stands tense for several moments. He looks my way three times. “I have a feeling they’re not going to disperse quietly. But we’ll try nonetheless. If we put more men out there, it’s going to stoke the flames. An announcement will do the same thing. We will give them time to disperse of their own accord. If they don’t, force will be used.”
I hum. What is Jovan really thinking? I can tell even he doesn’t believe what he’s saying.
“A sound plan, my King. Your father would be proud,” Blaine says. I screw my nose up at his patronizing tone. Are we walking straight into Blaine’s trap?
Jovan begins barking orders at Malir and the advisors scurry after him, leaving me to watch what's happening outside. More are joining every minute. My ears strain as stones begin flying and the Bruma push against the portcullis. How much pressure will that take?
Rhone stands beside me.
“Outer Rings, huh?” I say. He grunts.
“Should’ve guessed, I suppose. It explains why you’re so much smarter than most of the people in this assembly,” I say truthfully. I listen as the breath catches in his throat. I lay a hand on Rhone’s arm; the muscles bulge from long hours on the sleds.
“Next time Drummond says something like that, put a spear to his throat,” I offer. “I’ve found it works rather well.” It had certainly stilled his wandering hands in the Dome last sector.
“And should I hold a spear to every person who makes such a comment?” he asks.
I shrug. “You could change it up. Spear, sword, jab to the throat.” He snorts and I continue. “Maybe you could train Leo to bite anyone who says ‘Outer Rings.’”
I watch the throbbing, angry mass shout at the castle, shout at their king. I could ask how Blaine has possibly created a rebellion of this magnitude, but I don’t believe it would really be too difficult. Jovan’s people are poverty-stricken. They’re hungry, homeless, and in constant danger. It’s been this way for generations, with no leader willing to change the situation. In Jovan’s defense, I truly don’t think he realized how bad it is there.
No, it wouldn’t take much. All Blaine had to do was dangle a bit of hope in front of the pitiable Bruma to fire them to a frenzy. I look up at the giant beside me, tilting my head right back.
“Rhone?”
“Mmmhmm?” he mumbles.
“I have something for you to do.”
Chapter Twelve
The yelling and screaming is that much louder from down here. I hold my head high as I strut through the angry mass of people. My hair ripples over my bare back, sending a shiver through me as my body adjusts to the lack of fur clothing. I tell myself the shiver isn’t worry that I’m currently Frost in the middle of a rebel group. Or because I’ve left Crystal underneath my veil in the castle. As long as she doesn’t move or speak much, the ruse will be fine. I hope.
“It’s Frost,” someone squeals. I push them roughly aside, feeling the person’s ribs through their meager clothing. The thin girl looks up at me from her seat on the ground with a wide toothless beam. I ignore the penniless woman and continue on. My priority is to gather information on who’s running this show. But my presence out here serves two purposes. The second of which is already starting to happen. People stop throwing things and shouting when they see me. My presence probably seems mysterious and unexpected. Unless they’re from the Second Sector, the Outer Rings residents won’t have seen me since the Dome.
“Frost’s gonna help us!” a woman yells. I give her a menacing scowl. Not for any reason; it’s just what they expect a pit fighter to do. She jerks back and then exchanges a knowing glance with her friend. For months I tried to befriend, bribe, and threaten my way into their midst. But it took killing Slay in the Dome and escaping certain death to apparently make me untouchable in their eyes.
News of my presence spreads in front of me and to either side. I can almost see its effect rippling out through the masses. The advisor was right: there must be several hundred people here. They spill out over the cobbled road leading to the portcullis from the direction of the Inner Ring. As one ragged person turns to the next, the stamping stops, and people shift their attention from the castle to me as I stand in the middle of the group—and of disaster.