Black Reign

Ellette

Silence dominates the arena. A tender thing that instills itself within each and every one of our hearts.

My eyes are fixed on the black-furred, wolffish mass that shakes itself once, twice. Dust clouds curls from the ground as the beast scrapes talons against hard, leeched yellow rock.

The faint clanking of metal against metal grows to a thunderous rumble in my ear. It makes me realise the distant burning in my chest. I have been holding my breath and hadn't let it out. Slowly I release it and make to control my breaths and heart rate but my attention is snapped away by the almost painful feeling of my heart pounding against my ribcage.

Are letting out another beast? Another Gramr? An Ivy, perhaps? Not a drake, for all out drakes have fled to the outer islands for the breeding season.

It is because of my tumultuous thoughts that my legs move, taking one step forwards. Another. Until I am close enough to wrap my fingers around the steel mesh wires that crawl over the fighting ground's rooftop in a dome. Jagged metal digs into the skin at my palms when I fist a hand around them but the pain is hardly there. My attention, once more, returns to the metallic clashing of chains that breaks the silence.

And then it stops.

And footsteps sound.

My heart drops as I see a man in Skincarver leathers walk into the arena with only an axe upon his body. He does not even hold it, instead letting is rest in its sheath across his shoulder blades. The man is someone I recognise immediately. Not only does the lack of finery flaunt his status as a Skincarver Commander, but the state of his blade: scratched and marred beyond repair. The curve of the axe is disrupted by notches in the steel. Thousands of beasts were felled by that blade. And thousands more it will take before its last sunrise is seen.

He deliberately stands in the centre of the arena where the sunlight bathes his bronzed skin, illuminates the dark silver of his eyes that are almost grey. He makes to speak, but I do so first.

"Commander Thorne," my voice is calm, composed—I dare say: queenly. "What is this meant to be?"

The Gramr sees—smells—him then, and screams tear through the air.

Gramr! Some bellow.

Commander, look out!

But their caution is unnecessary. Like the reckless commander, I know the beast cannot prowl the day. But, unlike him, I feel a spark of fear within me.

I clench my teeth hard enough for them to ache as the sun beats down upon my skull and warms my hair. There is hardly a moment for me to shift my gaze to the Gramr before it moves.

It launches itself forwards with raised claws. They inch backwards, poised to strike and claw at Thorne but, as soon as a single shaft of daylight touches its furry paw, it shrinks away howling. Shrieking.

"A demonstration for you, my queen," he says, barely acknowledging the cowering creature before him. "And the people."

My blood burns, fire lancing across my skin in an untamed whirlwind of heightening rage. "We require no demonstration, Commander." The flayed edges of the steel wires dig further into my skin. I compose my self in a split-second, meet his eyes across the distance. "Remove yourself from this madness. You need not risk your life for such...spectacles."

Even from where I am I can see his smile. He shakes his head. "I am afraid I cannot, Your Highness."

I refrain from gritting my teeth. "I am your queen, Thorne. You will obey my orders as I command. Remove yourself from the fighting grounds or I will have my guards force you."