Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(47)

Saedii takes her place on a balcony, reclining in a throne-like chair, the back crafted of three crossed blades. Her pet sits at her shoulder, watching with glittering golden eyes. A small legion of guards lurks around her like beautiful shadows.

The pixies march us down to the edge, onto a broad gangplank that hangs a little ways out over the pit. I hear a commotion behind, turn to see Finian being led to us, surrounded by more Syldrathi. He looks a little disheveled, but mostly unhurt, and I give him a fierce hug, a quick kiss on his cheek.

“You okay?” I ask.

Our Gearhead peers around the arena crowd, down into the pit below us. “You mean aside from the fact I’m about to be eaten for these people’s entertainment? Yeah, I’m one hundred percent, Scar.”

“Touché, Mr. de Seel,” I smile. “How’s Kal?”

“He’s okay.” Fin frowns, thoughtful, as if suddenly unsure about that. “The cigarillo case Adams gave him … it stopped the shot. Like Adams knew …”

“How is that possible?” I ask, bewildered.

Tyler jumps in before the speculation can begin, cutting to the important part as always. “You got the black box data though, right?”

Fin nods. “On my uni. They confiscated it, but I encrypted the info hard as I could make it. They’ll have a time cracking it without wiping it altogether.”

“Good work, legionnaire.”

Fin nods at the praise, glances to the pit, and swallows hard. “So, anyone know anything about this drakkan they’re throwing us to?”

I shrug. “I slept through xenobiology.”

“They’re not allergic to Betraskan, by any chance?”

“Right there.” Ty points to Saedii’s shoulder. “That’s a drakkan.”

“Oh.” Fin frowns at the small dark-scaled reptilian coiled around Saedii’s throat. She reaches into a bowl at her side and tosses the thing a ragged scrap of meat, which it snaps out of the air with sharp, tiny teeth.

“Ohhhh,” I say, brightening considerably.

Fin’s pale brows come together in a frown. “Um, I’m not one to judge performance based on size, but isn’t it a little … little?”

Saedii stands and holds her hands outward, killing our discussion dead. She looks around at the other Unbroken, radiating a dark, imperious will, until their murmured conversations falter, until the whispers stop, until the only sound is the low thrum of the engines and the thudding of my heart.

Once the arena is perfectly still, she speaks in Syldrathi, and I translate softly.

“One who was lost is found,” she says. “In thanks to the Void for my brother’s return, we shall sing the song of ruin, and dance the dance of blood. We shall feast upon the hearts of our enemies, that their strength becomes our own.”

She points down into the pit, to a tall Syldrathi woman standing by a control panel in the wall below us. Saedii’s lips curve into a small smile.

“Release the drakkan,” she says.

The woman presses a button. The floor in the pit’s heart cracks and slams apart, sudden, violent, revealing a deeper lair below.

And out of it comes a chuddering, bone-deep roar.

“That,” I whisper, “does not sound little.”

The Unbroken around us begin to stamp their feet, solemn, all in time, and my heart drops into my stomach as a creature claws its way up out of the lair. It’s twenty meters long, sinuous, reptilian, black as midnight—a much bigger, much angrier version of the beastie on Saedii’s shoulder. It throws back its head and bellows, fangs gleaming in the scarlet light, and I feel that roar in my chest. Its claws are as long as my arm. The sting on its tail is as long as the rest of me.

“Maker’s breath, we’re gonna die,” Finian whispers.

Tyler looks at me, his jaw clenched, his eyes wide as he searches for some way out of this. He’s a tactical genius, my little brother. As much as I rib him about it, as much stick as I give him, his plans have always seen us through. And even though I’m not religious, I find myself dangerously close to praying to the Maker that Ty’s got something up his sleeve.

Saedii’s lips part in slow motion and my heart stills as she begins to speak.

“Wait!” Tyler roars.

The thunder of the stamping feet fades a little. Saedii looks down at Tyler and tilts her head, like he’s a dog that suddenly learned to speak.

“Scar, translate for me,” Ty murmurs. “Everything I say. That’s an order.”

His voice is iron, his eyes are ice, and for a second I can see so much of Dad in him it makes me want to cry.

“Okay,” I say softly.

Tyler turns to Saedii, arms wide. I translate as he speaks.

“My name is Tyler Jones. I am the son of Jericho Jones!”

A stillness falls over the arena at that, Dad’s name rippling among the warriors like flame. Just like I said, they remember the Great Man here, too.

“My father fought your people for years in the war!” Tyler shouts. “He spilled the blood of your warriors by the thousands. And his blood flows in my veins.”

The silence is total now, a subtle and burning anger reflected in that sea of violet eyes. They remember the defeat our father led at Kireina. The shame their entire cabal was subjected to after that loss.