He grunts. “I guess it doesn’t matter if you know. What can you do?” He quickly glances at me. “After the Reckoning, we will no longer have to live underground. The damages we’ve suffered will be reversed, and the wrongs will be righted.” Bax folds his arms over his chest and stares into the Cage. “My Liege’s bidding will be realized.”
My insides shudder. I want to demand that he reveal everything, but I have to be cautious. How do the Otherworlders think the dark priest will save them? And from what? They’ve done this to themselves—they chose to follow a false goddess beneath the surface of the earth, and have suffered the consequences of their actions. But even though his thought process is flawed, something Bax said stands out from the insanity.
My Liege’s bidding.
Not Bax’s or even the Otherworlders’, but his father’s. And he said it with vehemence in his tone.
Tucking this small piece of information away in my mind, I press on. “Then, this is not about profit for you.”
His shoulders bounce as he barrels out a deep laugh. “Protector,” he says, and looks into my eyes. “I’m not the stupid barbarian you think me to be.” His eyes study my features—really study me. They glow a bright white-blue. “What is it you’re probing for?”
“I want to know the purpose—why?” I lift my hands and fan them around. “Why attack countries only to—”
“The purpose?” he spits. “If there was no purpose other than revenge, then that is reason enough. I’m not the only one who desires to live aboveground.” His jagged teeth grind. “My Liege will make that happen.”
I’ve hit a nerve. I never once considered that the Otherworlders might be discontent living in their dark realm. It was their choice, after all. But maybe I’ve misjudged them. The Council, the Three Realms—maybe we’ve all misjudged. Though that’s not hard to do when a race is only known for their war waging, slavery, and vileness.
But just as Cavan serves the goddess Farrah, doing her bidding and living by her example, so do the Otherworlders serve their deity. I imagine that not all carry out commands from the goddesses willingly, but rather on faith and obedience.
I wonder if Bax’s actions are his own. Does he carry out orders in obedience to Bale or his father?
A strangled cry rips through the Cage, and I jerk my head toward the center of the ring. Tobias has fallen. Metal Mouth stands above him, his sword thrust into Tobias’s side, pinning him to the ground.
Before I’m aware of what I’m doing, I start toward the ring. Bax’s arm slams against my chest. “Get up. Get up,” he chants under his breath.
A deep worry line forms between Bax’s brows. My own forehead creases as I wonder again why Bax has taken a leadership role for the sport. If not for the currency, then why? How does being a ring leader further his desire to serve Bale?
Bax’s face pales, even more so than its usual gray-white tinge, and his fingers curl painfully around my arm. He bows his head. “Watch, protector,” he says. “Pay attention. You may have to fight him.”
I do. With disgust and a sickening tumble in my stomach, I watch as Metal Mouth mounts Tobias’s chest and drops his bared, wire-covered mouth to Tobias’s neck. I flinch. Metal Mouth’s head judders back and forth, his teeth tearing at Tobias’s jugular. Then he snaps his head up, ripping a gaping wound.
I close my eyes and turn my head—but not before the image of red trailing his chin . . . flesh clamped between his hideous jaws, is seared into my mind.
The stadium erupts and rocks with cheers and stomping. I know that Metal Mouth is now welcoming the praise, probably circling the ring and earning his blue light on his cuff. But I can’t look. I can’t watch.
A pulsing fire builds in my stomach, overtaking the nausea. Heated coils wrap my bones, organs, tendons. I fight the urge to storm the Cage and vindicate my league mate.
Alyah, what is this feeling?
I don’t expect a response, but I wait for it nonetheless. Bax spins me around forcefully, tearing me from my thoughts.
“Go to your man,” he says, his voice low and humbled. Then he speaks to his guards. “Get out there and claim the body before Krewl desecrates the remains further.”
I should feel humiliated and angered over Bax thinking I belong to Caben. Instead, I’m relieved that he thinks I’m so weak. And I must be, at least where my heart is concerned, because it’s taking everything inside of me not to rush past the guards and slaughter Krewl.
As Krewl and Metal Mouth rejoice in their victory in the Cage, I turn toward Caben. He closes the distance between us. “Are you all right? You look ill.”
“I’m okay, but—” I shake my head. “It’s not the violence or blood . . .” I clamp my lips closed. How do I explain these feelings? The need to release a targeted rage in order to sate the anger? I can’t.
I look up at the blackness overhead, at the full moon, and think of legends about people losing their sanity to moon madness. It’s all children’s stories and myth. Yet, for every story once spun around a campfire, there is truth to be had—a foundation of verity.
Maybe I am going mad.
The crowd explodes, cheering and whooping. They are all mad.
Bale is the goddess of the moon. And if she still has some hold on this world, if her banishment only stripped her of most of her power, could she have influence over us?
Caben wraps his arms around me, and I stare over his shoulder at the blood-soaked earth in the Cage. I shiver as the dark priest’s words finally bring some clarity.