Tainted

Chapter Thirteen

Behind me, the crowd screams against the trap door. It sounds like there are more people in the audience then we've had in a while. They must've caught wind of the king's visit for Moon Day; they're all here to see and be seen by him.

The wooden door seems to rattle with the yells of the crowd. It's a jumble of noise but I can make out one word they call over and over: Thief.

The groan of the iron chain sounds on the other side of the trap door and I hurry to push against the knotted wood, my muscles straining more than they should. I'm panting by the time I squeeze through and into the holding cell.

I can still feel my stitches and every ache and strain of my body. I should have had more time to heal. I should be more prepared, especially if I'm to fight every Ill-Fated in this prison. Or at least every Ill-Fated until the sun begins to sink and the nobles decide to stop for their dinner.

I wonder if they'll all be exhibition duels, or if any of them will be Death Duels. Normally the Death Duels don't happen until the second day of the Moon Day festivities, but I can imagine the warden making a special exception just for me.

The sound of the crowd grows louder and louder, their anticipation becoming almost unbearable as the guards drag the iron chain across the door.

The guards turn the winch, opening the door, and the morning sun pours into the holding cell. It sears the skin of my face and I throw up a hand to shield my eyes.

The stadium is packed. People are even standing against the top railing, squeezing against each other in the sweaty heat of pre-noon, trying to catch a glimpse of the king.

I sense him before I see him. It's like a chill settling against my shoulders, and I turn, catching sight of his ermine-trimmed, orchid-colored cloak. His golden crown sits low over his brow. He smiles at the warden, but his eyes are on me.

The stitches on my arm pull as I raise a hand to wave. I grit my teeth and form my lips into a wide, flirtatious smile.

The king frowns slightly. My wave stutters and falls.

"Distinguished nobles," Warden says, and the crowd quiets. A band plays faintly in the background, but I can't see where they've put the instruments. They're usually tucked into the corner of the stands on the far left, but there are too many nobles crowding the seats to allow for the band.

Warden has truly outdone himself with today's duel. Purple and grey streamers twist up and down the arena's columns, supporting the colors of the king. Fresh flowers rise from baskets along the seating partitions. I can smell their fragrance from where I stand in the arena, so I can only imagine how the nobles must be choking with it. I'm sure it's meant to drown out the metallic scent of fresh blood.

Warden stands and everyone falls silent. There's a rustle as people fold hands in laps, smooth skirts over feet, and tuck hair behind ears. I see Alani come up behind the warden. Her circlet glints in the sun, and for a second it's the same brilliant glow as the king's crown.

Warden waits. His lip curls over those yellow teeth, his beetle black eyes glittering. He claps his hands together and I hear a banner unfurl behind me. I turn to look, but Warden's just unveiled my own banner. My opponent's banner is still rolled tightly to the right, two guards standing at the top of the crumbling steps waiting for the signal to let it fly.

"And now," Warden begins. He pushes back the wide sleeves of his black cloak and reaches out to take the king's hand, but before he can, the king reaches out with his own, grasping the warden's chipped fingernails and holding them high. The king, though shorter than the warden, looks down at the prison leader. Not in malevolence, but in conspiracy. It's the quick, secret look of two people who have built the pyre and are now waiting to watch the world burn. It's a look I know I will never forget.