Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(37)
The Mortans might not be here, but the other royals were, so I shifted my focus back to them, and the cliques that were already forming. Heinrich and I were standing together and were already publicly, openly aligned, as were Eon and Ruri. The Vacunan king and Ryusaman queen were old allies, given their kingdoms’ relatively close proximity and isolation from the rest of the continent, and they usually sided with each other rather than with anyone else. They kept a close watch on Morta and the other kingdoms, but their impressive navies kept their enemies at bay.
Cisco was standing off by himself, still perusing the grapes on his plate, while Zariza kept sipping her brandy, seemingly bored by this whole affair.
I hoped that Eon, Ruri, Cisco, and Zariza would align with me and Heinrich, with Bellona and Andvari, against the Mortans, but there was no way to tell. The other kings and queens had courts full of nobles and merchants to appease, just like I did, and it would be hard for them to justify aligning with me, especially if the Mortan king offered them some lucrative new trade agreements. In the end, each king and queen would do what was best for their own people. I just hoped they realized that the Mortans were a threat to us all.
I also kept an eye on Driscol as he flitted from one royal or noble to the next, shaking hands and exchanging greetings. Even among all the perfumes and colognes on the terrace, I could still smell his sour, sweaty eagerness. He didn’t approach me, though, and I didn’t seek him out. I wasn’t making any deals with him, and his precious Mint could sink into the bloody sea for all I cared.
Driscol finished his rounds, drained the rest of his kiwi mimosa, and handed the empty glass off to a servant. I expected him to plunge back into the pack of royals to schmooze some more, but instead he walked over to Seraphine, who was chatting with some Floresian nobles. Driscol whispered something in his sister’s ear, then glanced up.
At first I thought he was checking the weather, but only a few white, puffy clouds dotted the cerulean sky. No rain or snow would ruin the festivities, although the air was a bit chilly, but that was typical for this time of year.
Still, Driscol kept staring upward as though he were expecting a lightning bolt to drop from the sky or something else equally momentous to happen. What did he know that the rest of us didn’t—
A loud, sharp, violent screech tore through the air, and several shadows fell over the terrace, blotting out the sun.
My head snapped up, and everyone on the terrace and in the surrounding boxes and bleachers stopped what they were doing and peered upward as well. I shielded my eyes with my hand so that I could better see.
A legion of strixes soared into view above the arena.
My eyes widened, and my breath caught in my throat at the beautiful, terrible sight. Every single one of the strixes was fully grown, with bodies that were bigger than Floresian horses. Their dark purple feathers gleamed, while the onyx tips on the ends whistled through the air like arrows searching for a target.
One, two, three . . . I couldn’t tell exactly how many strixes were hovering overhead, and I stopped counting after the first dozen. But every single one of them was carrying a rider wearing midnight-purple armor and clutching a silver spear.
The Mortans were finally here.
Chapter Nine
The strixes continued to hover above the arena, their purple wings pumping hard and fast to keep them aloft in their loose, arrow-shaped formation. The people gathered in the surrounding boxes and bleachers gasped and yelled, and many in the crowd pointed up at the strixes and their armor-clad, spear-wielding riders. Despite my surprise and wariness, even I had to admit that the creatures’ aerial prowess made for an impressive sight.
Sullivan stepped up beside me, his fingers flexing, and the scent of his magic filled my nose. He was ready to blast the strixes and their riders with his lightning if they made any threatening move toward me. Paloma sidled up on my other side, along with Captain Auster. They both had their hands on their weapons, and they too were ready to defend me. Behind them, the Bellonan guards snapped to attention as well.
Everyone else on the terrace was still staring up at the strixes and their riders, but I looked over at Driscol. The corners of his lips twitched up into a smug, satisfied smile. He had known exactly what the Mortans were planning, and he had probably helped them set it up. That’s why they had arrived so late. The Mortans had wanted all the other royals and nobles—along with everyone else in the arena—to see just how strong they were.
I glanced around, clocking the other royals’ reactions. Eon and Ruri were both frowning, apparently not caring much for the Mortans’ theatrics. Good. That gave me a bit of hope they might align with me.
Cisco’s lips were puckered in thought, and the stench of cherry lust wafted off him. The Floresian king was obviously wishing he had his own strixes on which to make such a grand entrance. Bellona and Flores had never been particularly friendly, and Cisco would probably be amenable to whatever the Mortans proposed, as long as it benefited him, despite the fact that they had killed his cousin Lord Durante.
Zariza kept sipping her brandy, seemingly more interested in it than the creatures and riders, and the ogre on her neck also wore a bored expression. She was hard to read, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
In contrast, Heinrich and Dominic were open books. They both had their arms crossed over their chests and were glaring up at the creatures and riders. The Andvarians had as little love for the Mortans as I did, given how many of their countrymen had died during the Seven Spire massacre and the recent assassination attempt on Dominic at Glitnir.