Free of restraint, his cats began to circle Allern, moving in a whirling dance of slashing claws and teeth-baring lunges, seeking an opening as he spun, his spear moving in a blur. Reva sprinted towards the nearest cat, the whip snaking out to wrap around its leg, pulling it back as it thrashed and howled. Allern saw his chance and speared the beast in the shoulder, though the force of the thrust sent the spear-blade through the animal, stuck fast amidst bone and sinew. Allern cursed, trying to draw the weapon free, the two other cats closing in for the kill.
Reva’s whip cracked once more, forcing them back. “Leave it!” she told Allern, pushing him back from the corpse. “Take this.” She handed him the whip then placed her foot on the haft of the spear, stamping down to snap it in two. She rolled the dead cat over and took hold of the spear-blade, drawing it clear of the carcass in a gout of blood.
“Keep them back!” she ordered Allern, turning to see the Shield now on his back, legs raised to hold off the cat snarling atop him, jaws snapping, its terrible fangs within a whisker of his face. The surviving handler loosed his remaining cat and retreated, gazing wildly about, knowing to flee meant death but clearly wanting no part of this suddenly equal struggle. The freed cat circled the struggling pair in a rapid scrabble, sliding to a halt near Ell-Nestra’s head, tensing for a strike, jaws widening as it leapt . . . Reva’s broken spear-blade took the cat in the side in midair, its limp form colliding with the dagger-tooth atop the Shield, forcing it to rear back, leaving just enough room for Ell-Nestra to thrust his sword up into its neck.
He rolled free as the corpse came down, dragging the blade from the body, then crouching as the handler’s whip left a long red stripe on his upper arm. He turned to regard the plainly terrified beast-master with a raised eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
The handler stared at him in terrorised indecision; fighting or fleeing meant the same fate. Reva spared him further consideration, leaping to plant both feet in the centre of his face, sending him senseless to the sand. She knelt to retrieve his whip and a small dagger protruding from his boot.
“May I say, my lady,” the Shield greeted her with a bow, “how very fetching you look today. Red is truly your colour.”
She grunted and ran towards Allern. “You’d have a better chance with these beasts.”
Allern had driven the two surviving cats to the edge of the arena, chest heaving as he swung the whip, containing every rush and lunge they tried to make. Reva used her own whip to snag one around the foreleg, dragging it down so the Shield could finish it with his sword. She killed the last one herself, taunting it into a charge, dodging to the side, then leaping onto its back, the dagger stabbing down beneath its shoulder blades, again and again until its struggles ceased and a final piteous hiss escaped its snout.
As she rose from the corpse the exultation of the crowd descended like a deluge, the tiers above a sea of joyous faces, screaming in admiration and, she saw with disgust, naked lust. Men leered at her, women bared their breasts, and a torrent of flowers cascaded onto the sand. One landed near her feet, an orchid, the petals a pale shade of pink that darkened to deep red at the edges.
“Pick it up!” the Shield hissed at her and she noted he had a clutch of flowers in his hands. “You too, lad!” he called to Allern. “Pick them up, quickly!”
Reva knelt and retrieved the orchid, noting how the crowd’s feverish adulation rose to an even greater pitch.
“A sign of their favour!” the Shield shouted to her above the tumult before casting a cautious glance at the Empress’s balcony. “Hard to ignore for those who orchestrate these spectacles.”
Reva looked to the balcony, seeing the Empress’s slender form still seated on her bench, face veiled in shadow. She seemed utterly still and Reva wondered if she had slipped into another vacant episode. She also doubted that the Empress held any regard for the traditions formerly observed here.
She saw the Empress raise a hand to cast a casual flick at Varulek, the black-clad striding forward to order the trumpets sounded once more. This time the crowd’s obedience was not so instant, the exultation and lust taking longer to fade, leaving a simmering murmur that continued even after the Empress rose and moved to the edge of the balcony. Reva’s spirits sank at the expression she saw on her face. No fury or frustration, just warm, and sincere, affection. Her lips moved in a silent endearment, easily read, “You truly are my sister.”
• • •
