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“Don’t scream.” It’s all the warning he gives before he lifts his wing, using it as a screen so no one sees—and pours his cup of wine down my back. The pain is dazzling, and I jerk up, knees hitting the table.
He holds me down. “Best not to get an infection before the fight,” he explains belatedly. “Trust me, I’ve seen it.”
Next he blots my skin with a napkin. For someone who’s tried to kill me more than once, he’s surprisingly gentle. I’ve seen his claws; he’s taking great care not to hurt me, and I can barely feel his fingers brush against my skin.
“All done,” he says, lifting his wing. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
I’m breathing hard. My wounds are burning from the wine, but it’s the sort of heat that I know is good for me. I’d never admit it, though. “I’ll be out of here before tomorrow.”
“Famous last words.” Hokzuh raises an inked arm, nods at the neat rows of script that swathe his scaled hide. “Every line is the name of someone I’ve killed in the arena.”
There have to be well over a hundred names, but I betray neither fear nor awe. “Meguh carved them into your arm,” I state. It’s not a question. “What are the words in red?”
“The names of demons.”
My interest spikes. There are demons in the arena? “But demons can’t be killed—”
“Eat first.”
Hokzuh dives into the platter the servants left for us. I reach for a skewer, but I don’t bite.
“It’s not poisoned,” he says, amused by my hesitation. “You should be hungry.”
It’s not poison I’m worried about. I pick through the dishes in front of us and look at what the others are eating. Chicken, not snake. Spinach and cassava leaves, not snake.
Not Ukar.
Finally, I bite into a drumstick. The chicken is moist, still hot, so I suck in a puff of air. As I chew, the spices linger on my tongue, whetting my hunger. Slowly my appetite returns, but I refuse to look like I’m enjoying myself. I refuse to owe Meguh anything.
But to Hokzuh I mutter, so low I hope he doesn’t hear, “Thank you.”
His ear perks, and a corner of his mouth tugs upward. He heard.
I eat and eat, filling myself with strength. I am on my third bowl of rice when the nobles suddenly stop throwing peanuts, and the dancers fall into a deep bow.
Queen Ishirya has risen from her seat. Strange, how I’d forgotten about her until now. She moves like a shadow, gliding elegantly to where the dancers performed. Something about her eyes arrests me. I’ve never seen eyes like them on a human before: they are ancient like old gold, like the heart of a flame, like—
The queen swivels her head, catching me neatly in her snare. She smiles.
That same lethargy washes over me again. Quickly, before it’s too late, I splash wine over my face. And breathe.
I breathe again.
No one else seems to notice. Not the servants, not King Meguh, I’d wager not even Hokzuh.
I’m trembling all over, and I throw a glance at the dragon. Gold flecks shimmer in his pupils. They weren’t there a moment ago, but he’s not the only one. Everyone’s eyes shimmer, as if clouded over with a glittering haze.
Golden dust swirls across the chamber, but Meguh and his nobles eat as if nothing has happened. The musicians keep playing, and the horn makes the same peaceful drone as before. What do I do?
If Ukar were here, he’d tell me not to be so human and impulsive. He’d tell me to calm down and think through my next step. But Ukar is not here, which makes me angry as well as human and impulsive. And dead certain this is not a mistake.
I shoot up, charging at the queen.
I get close enough to see my reflection in the black pearls dangling at her earlobes, in the lariat of opals and rubies hanging from her neck, and in those blazingly familiar pupils.
Then I’m intercepted. One of her bodyguards grabs my wrist. Her skin is unnaturally cold. Damp, too, like a corpse. I’m thrown, and I hear my spine thud against stone. The bodyguard cocks her head at me when I grunt. She sounds disappointed that I didn’t break.
She’s about to throw me again, when Hokzuh arrives, his eyes still spangled with gold. Using his wings, he bats the bodyguard aside and plucks me up with one claw. He pins me against the wall, and I brace myself. My ribs are bruised, my back is swollen, I’ve had no time to heal. I’m not in any shape to fight.
