Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(95)
Paloma the Powerful, indeed.
Chapter Twenty-One
The cheers and applause went on for quite some time before Paloma morphed back into her normal self and vanished into one of the arena tunnels. When she was gone, Cho signaled for the bone masters, who came forward, hoisted Mercer to his feet, and took him to be healed.
I looked over at Maximus, who was still in his seat, staring down at the arena floor with a stony expression. I drew in a breath, enjoying the hot, peppery scent of his anger.
Serilda stepped up beside me and handed me a glass of cranberry sangria. I clinked mine against hers.
“To Paloma,” I said.
“To Paloma,” she echoed.
We both took a long sip, enjoying our friend’s victory.
Now that the tournament was over, most people were getting to their feet and plodding down the bleacher steps. But two men were going against the flow and running up the steps as fast as they could—Mortan guards.
“Evie,” Serilda said in a low, warning voice.
“I see them.”
Serilda and I might have escaped from the Mortan camp, but the danger wasn’t over. Sullivan sidled closer to me, while Auster tapped Leonidas on the shoulder and gestured for the boy to stand.
Maximus noticed the guards, and he watched their approach with narrowed eyes.
Maeven also spied the two guards, and she frowned, realizing that they wouldn’t be moving so fast if they didn’t have important news. She went over to Maximus and started to say something, but her brother snapped up his hand, telling her to keep quiet. He never took his gaze off the guards.
Maeven’s lips pinched together, and she retreated a few steps, but I could smell her anger smoldering like a glowing ember that was trying to ignite into a full-fledged fire.
Nox was still sitting beside Maximus. He glanced up at Maeven and slowly, subtly scooted his chair away from the king. He didn’t know what was happening, but he didn’t want any part of it.
The two Mortan guards rushed onto the terrace. Unlike Nox, they didn’t have the good sense to stop and judge their king’s mood before approaching. Instead, the guards hurried forward, planting themselves in front of Maximus and cutting off his view of the arena below.
Maximus glared up at the two guards. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The men realized their mistake, and they both immediately dropped to one knee.
“Your Majesty, I apologize for the interruption,” one of the guards said. “But there’s been an . . . incident at camp.”
“What sort of incident?” Maximus asked.
The guard wet his lips and swallowed, as if nervous about delivering his news. I wouldn’t have wanted to deliver it either. Beside him, the second guard scrunched down, like he was a tortoise trying to tuck his head back inside his shell to keep it from being bitten off by some larger predator. Maximus, in this case.
The first guard wet his lips and swallowed again, but he forced out the words. “It’s your, um, pet strixes, sire. I’m afraid that they’ve all . . . escaped.”
Well, that was a diplomatic way of putting things.
Maximus’s face hardened. “What do you mean the strixes have escaped?”
“The cages are empty, Your Majesty. Somehow, the strixes escaped and flew away. We’ve sent guards on the older strixes after them, but so far we haven’t been able to recapture any of your . . . pets.”
Maximus tilted his head to the side and studied the guard, as though the other man were speaking some foreign language that he was trying to decipher. “And what about my other special pet?”
He had to be talking about the caladrius, judging from the way the guard’s face paled and from the sweat suddenly shining on his forehead.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but it also escaped.”
The guard said the words in a rush and then grimaced, as though he expected Maximus to jerk forward and slap him.
The king remained in his chair, absolutely still and quiet, and the only visible sign of his anger was the muscle that kept tick-tick-ticking in his jaw. I could smell his rage, though, and the hot jalape?o scent seared my nose with its fiery intensity.
Nox was still sitting beside the king, with Maeven standing behind him. Neither one of them moved, and I imagined they would have even stopped breathing, if they could have. They might not be able to smell Maximus’s rage, but they realized exactly what was coming next, just like I did.
An eruption.
Maximus slowly rose to his feet. Nox stood up as well, although he scurried back to stand beside Maeven. The two guards stayed on their knees, both of them visibly sweating and shaking now.
“So all my strixes are gone, every last one of them, along with my other pet?” Maximus’s voice was perfectly calm, smooth, and even, but the scent of his rage grew stronger with each passing second, and I had to crinkle my nose to keep from sneezing.
The other royals, nobles, advisors, servants, and guards were now staring at Maximus. All other conversation had ceased, and everyone was waiting to hear what was wrong—and to see how he would react.
“Well?” Maximus bellowed, when the guards didn’t answer.
The first guard wet his lips yet again, and his voice came out as a low, trembling rasp. “Yes, Your Majesty. All your pets are . . . gone.”
Maximus stared at the guard, his amethyst eyes practically glowing with anger. His nostrils flared, and his hands clenched into tight fists, although no magic crackled across his knuckles.