Lord's Fall (Elder Races #5)(20)

“It’s my business when it comes to me doing my job,” Eva said, her expression grim.

“What’s going on?” James said.

“Princess going to party in the Wood with the Elves tomorrow morning,” Eva said, her voice turning crisp. “So we get to party with the Elves too.”

“Sa-weet,” said Johnny.

Eva glanced at Johnny sourly as she continued, “Beluviel say that Wood don’t like machinery, and to me that sounds an awful lot like an Other land. That means we pack the guns and pull out the swords tonight. Starting tomorrow, we go on rotation and stay with princess twenty-four/seven, no matter where she go, who she see or what she do. It’s the only way she going to get to talk to the High Lord and since that’s why we came, that’s what we’re going to help her do.”

Angry, Pia had opened her mouth to verbally smack down on Eva, but she held back as she listened.

“She bitch-goddess sexy when she throw down orders like that,” Johnny said to James.

“You can call me bitch for short,” Eva said.

FIVE

Blood sprayed crimson over the sand of the arena.

It was the pegasus’s blood. What was his name again? “Alexander somebody,” murmured Dragos.

“Alexander Elysias,” said Kristoff from behind him.

Dragos stood at the window of the supersuite, arms crossed, as he watched the latest contest. He could see his assistant’s reflection in the glass. Kris had never looked away from his computer screen. Kris probably knew by heart the names of all the four hundred and forty-eight original contestants.

Dragos glanced over the VIP boxes. Virtually every demesne in the United States had some representative in attendance. He noted that Jaggar, the kraken who represented the Wyr on the Elder tribunal, sat with the human witch Councillor, Archer Harrow. Jaggar was a dominant personality. One of the reasons why he and Dragos got along was that the kraken attended to his tribunal duties for the Wyr but otherwise spent most of his time offshore.

The Elven Councillor, Sidhiel, was also present, her pale blonde hair pulled into a classic chignon. Sidhiel was one of the ancient Elves, at least as old as Beluviel and Calondir and perhaps older. She watched the arena, her expression perfectly controlled and composed. She and Dragos loathed each other with the passion of those who remembered old grudges well. No doubt Sidhiel was staying at the Plaza, where the Elven demesne kept a suite. He wondered what she thought of Pia’s trip to Charleston.

He switched his attention back to the combatants. Elysias was limping badly as he turned to face his opponent of the day, one of the harpies. The pegasus was one of the most popular of the contestants, especially with the females. He had a kind of imperious beauty that somehow missed being feminine, and a ready, gleaming smile. His human form was lean and graceful, and his mahogany skin gleamed with sweat under the strong lights.

The gash in his thigh was long and deep, and it bled freely. His footing had slipped in the sand, which was an unfortunate mishap. The harpy had been all too quick to take advantage, and she struck at him hard and fast. The wound heralded the end to their battle. The harpy wouldn’t allow him any time to bind it, nor should she. Either Elysias would have to put the harpy down fast, or the bleeding would do him in.

The harpy wore a sharp, predatory grin. Since the contestants went into the arena without weapons, all they had to use in battle was what nature had given them, and nature had favored the predator Wyr prodigiously. She had shifted into her Wyr form, and her long sharp talons dripped with the pegasus’s blood. Her hair, wings and the short feathers on her powerful legs were a fiery red.

A harpy with a redhead’s temper. Dragos exhaled in a silent snort. Talk about overkill.

Legend said the skies tore when the harpies screamed into existence. He remembered that day well. The legends were correct.

The heavy, rich scent of blood tinged the air. Elysias wasn’t the first to have bled in the arena today. Many had sustained wounds of some sort, although thus far his five sentinels and Pia’s friend Quentin had remained unscathed.

Dragos breathed evenly. The dragon was close to the surface, angered that Pia was gone and constantly roused by the spectators from other demesnes or countries who were neither allies nor friends. It liked the blood and the violence, and it wanted to enter the arena, but it had no true opponent in this place. There would be no satisfactory battle for him to find here; he could only turn the arena into a slaughterhouse.

Once, the dragon would have enjoyed such a slaughter. Ancient memories moved deep in his thoughts like a subterranean tide. He was a more primitive creature without Pia. She had a clean decency that brought out the finer things in him. With her, he almost understood what it meant to be kind, and he had just barely begun to understand tenderness. As he had told her once, she was his best teacher.

In the arena, the harpy moved to make another strike, hands splayed wide with all ten talons extended like knives. They would be sharp enough to slice through metal. They could definitely cut through the pegasus’s bones if she struck him hard enough.

Elysias feinted, and when the harpy fell for the maneuver he surged forward on a burst of speed and power. With an immense leap he twisted and kicked out with his good leg. He threw the full weight of his body behind it, and as his heel connected, the crack of the harpy’s spine was sharply audible over the sound system. She shrieked in rage and pain. They both dropped to the ground.