Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(43)
More chairs scraped back from the table, and Eon and Ruri also moved their seats so that they were sitting in a straight line with Heinrich, me, and Zariza. A few seconds later, Cisco joined them. That left Maximus and Driscol as the only ones still actually sitting at the table.
Several more seconds ticked by in silence. I couldn’t see what Maximus was doing, but I could clearly smell his pungent onion annoyance, along with more than a little hot, peppery anger. He didn’t like being upstaged and ignored.
Driscol cleared his throat. “Come, King Maximus. Let us move your chair over to the designated spots so that you have the best view possible.”
He was trying to spin it as though moving the seats had been planned all along, but his voice was soft and weak, and it was easy to tell that he didn’t even believe his own lie.
Maximus murmured his agreement, and Driscol carried the king’s chair to the far end of the line, positioning it a few feet away from Cisco’s. Driscol started to fetch his own chair, but Maximus waved him off.
“That will be all.”
Driscol visibly bristled at the curt dismissal, but he swallowed his anger, bowed his head, and headed over to the table where Mercer, Nox, Leonidas, and Maeven were sitting. Driscol started to take a seat there, but Mercer grabbed the empty chair, pulled it closer, and put his boots up in it. The Mortan crown prince crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his seat, and sneered at the other man.
Driscol bristled again, but he finally gave up and took a position next to Seraphine, who was standing with the DiLucri servants along the back wall.
I didn’t bother to hide my smug smile as I reached back and grabbed my cider off the table. Everyone was watching me, including Sullivan, so I raised my mug in a silent toast to him. Sullivan grinned at me just like his father had. I smiled back, then turned around, facing out toward the arena again.
Without saying a word, I had wrested away some of Maximus’s power and mystique and had shown everyone that I wouldn’t be bullied, cowed, or intimidated by the Mortans.
Maximus might have avoided my assassin’s arrow, but I had still come out ahead in this opening round of the Regalia.
*
Still basking in my small victory, I focused on the arena floor, where the opening ceremonies were about to begin.
Three large wooden rings, each one about a foot high, had been set into the hard-packed dirt, while thick cables had been strung up at varying heights and anchored to tall wooden platforms that rose more than a hundred feet into the air. Rectangular bales of hay lined the arena’s circular wall, along with enormous balls, hoops, and other props. Black wrought-iron poles were also spaced along the wall, each one topped with a small lit cauldron. The flames danced, and the smoke curled through the air, mixing with the crowd’s sour, sweaty eagerness.
Everyone was ready for the show to start.
A familiar figure pushed through one of the gates in the wall and strode out to the center ring. Cho looked as dashing as always in his white ruffled shirt and black leggings and boots, and Calandre had made him a special red tailcoat covered with tiny gold dragons to mark the occasion. Performers from every kingdom participated in the opening ceremonies, but choosing the ringmaster was an honor that passed from kingdom to kingdom, and this year it was Bellona’s turn.
Cho had been absolutely thrilled when I’d selected him, but in my mind there was no other choice, since he was by far the best, most entertaining and enthusiastic ringmaster I’d ever seen. But I was also making a pointed statement by choosing him. Cho and Serilda had been exiled and outcast from Seven Spire years ago, and I wanted everyone to know that they were back home where they belonged.
Cho turned around in a circle, holding up his hands and asking for quiet. The crowd did as he commanded and slowly fell silent, but he kept his hands up, smiling wide, as did the dragon face on his neck. I’d never seen either one of them look so happy before, not even when they were eating sweet cakes. This was Cho’s moment to shine, and he and his inner dragon were fully enjoying it.
“Lords and ladies, high and low!” Cho’s deep voice boomed out like thunder. “Welcome to the opening ceremonies of the Regalia Games!”
The crowd roared in response, their cheers, yells, claps, and whistles so loud that the collective sound seemed to shake the entire arena.
Cho kept his hands raised a few seconds longer, soaking up the excitement and adulation, then lowered his arms to his sides and dropped into a formal Ryusaman bow. He held the bow until the crowd had finally quieted down. Only then did he straighten up and offer everyone another wide smile.
“Let’s start the show!” he yelled.
Loud, raucous calliope music sounded, dozens of performers rushed through the gates, and everything started happening at once. Acrobats tumbled into view, while wire walkers darted out onto the cables overhead, doing their own handstands and somersaults. Morphs shifted into their other larger, stronger shapes, jumping through hoops, balancing on poles, and doing other amazing tricks, while magiers juggled balls of fire and ice, tossing them back and forth to each other at dizzying speed.
Many of the performers were from the Black Swan, of course, but I had also chosen performers from several other Bellonan gladiator troupes, including the Blue Thorns, the Scarlet Knights, and the Coral Vipers. Each performer was wearing the colors, costumes, and crests from their respective troupes, representing the best of Bellona. The gladiator tradition had been born in Bellona, and it was a part of our history, our culture, in a way that it wasn’t for the other kingdoms.