“These people are never short of horrors, it seems,” Iltis observed in a disgusted tone.
Lyrna guided Jet past the statue and on to the arena, the Cumbraelins now streaming through its arches. She had caught a glimpse of Lord Antesh urging them on before disappearing inside, but had no opportunity to impart any orders to him, not that she expected him to follow them now with the Blessed Lady so close.
She dismounted before the tallest arch and proceeded into the gloomy interior, shouts of combat echoing through the vaulted stairs and corridors as the Cumbraelins overcame any opposition. The Queen’s Daggers spread out around her in a protective arc, Aspect Arlyn and Iltis both close on either side with swords drawn.
“If I may, Highness,” the Aspect said, pointing to a stairway nearby, leading down into the depths of this structure. Lyrna raised a questioning eyebrow and he went on, “The cages where the Garisai are kept. They may be of use.”
She nodded and gestured for him to proceed, following as he led the Daggers into the stairwell. The tumult of battle greeted her as she descended, emerging into a long rectangular chamber, lined on each side with cages. The Daggers and the Aspect were engaged in a struggle with a dozen Kuritai. The Aspect moved with the typical fluid grace of the Sixth Order, belying his years as he parried and spun in the melee, cutting down a Kuritai and blocking the blade of another who lunged at one of the Daggers. But the Kuritai were also fearsomely skilled and Lyrna forced down a surge of rage at the sight of yet more of her people falling to the blades of the slave-elite. I am just a queen.
She sent Iltis to join the struggle with a flick of her hand and looked around, her eyes alighting on a corpse lying nearby, a man of considerable girth with a stab wound to the chest, a gaoler judging by the keys dangling from his belt. She bent and tugged them free, going to the nearest cage and drawing up short at the sight of the occupant.
There was no smile on his lips now, no mischief in his eyes, his hair hung limp and greasy over a face devoid of all humour, or admiration. “So you see,” the Shield said, voice barely above a grunt, “you managed to put me in a cage after all.”
She said nothing, turning the key in the lock and hauling the cage open, standing aside with an impatient gesture as he lingered. He emerged slowly, casting a brief glance at the continuing struggle in the corridor, the Kuritai now reduced to three, backed up against the bars of the cages as hands reached from within to claw at them in desperate fury.
“This is the last war I fight for you,” the Shield said.
Lyrna tossed him the keys as the last of the Kuritai was brought down, moving to the stairwell and ascending without a backward glance.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Reva
“Kill her!” Lieza shrieked, thrashing in the Arisai’s grip. “Kill her and it ends!”
Reva’s hand jerked in the sand, inching closer to the bow as if by its own volition, her eyes still fixed on the Empress’s smiling face. “She makes a fair point,” she called. “With me gone this war is over, but she will still die and you will remember her end for a long time. I’ve ordered them to spare you, for how could I harm my sister? Wouldn’t you rather give her a quick death?”
Reva tore her gaze away, turning to Lieza, now sagging in the Arisai’s clutches, eyes imploring, her ragged breaths the only sound in the arena, the silence unbroken by the barest murmur as Reva’s hand closed on the bow . . .
Something whined past her head and thudded into the sand next to the bow. An arrow, the fletching shuddering with the impact. Reva’s gaze snapped up to the top tiers of the arena, finding a line of figures silhouetted there, each holding a bow. She groaned as her despair deepened. Varulek’s Kuritai hadn’t done their work after all. One of the archers raised his bow above his head and Reva squinted, finding something familiar in his bearing, the breadth of his shoulders reminding her of someone she knew, someone surely lost to the ocean. Her eyes went to his bow. It was long with a single elegant curve, so unlike the double-curved strongbows favoured by the Volarians.
Slowly she turned and lowered her gaze to the arrow buried in the sand. Swift-wing feathers, she saw, eyeing the fletching. A bird only seen in Cumbrael in the summer.
She raised her gaze to the Empress, and returned her smile.