Page 77 of Bonded To The Arena Master

Fylvek grass turns beneath the repaired vents. Metallic lolean blossoms stand in rigid silver rows along the wall. Red dust gathers at the edges of the glass. Orders wait beneath stone weights for patients who may arrive tomorrow and find a Crown seal where my door used to be.

I have spent the hours since the verdict trying not to imagine Draxon crossing the lower gate.

Grolm holds out the slate.

His bone-white carapace is bare of the guard-captain mantle. Plain black armor replaces the crimson markings of House Obsidius. The Crown stripped his authority with Draxon's, but he carries himself as if the command still belongs to him.

"He asked me to deliver this after the Council recorded it," he says.

I take the slate.

Arcane light warms my palms. The formal invocation appears first, written in old legal script dense enough to require careful reading.

Draxon challenges Royal Edict Seventeen under an ancient right predating the Council. He demands a hearing before the storm-court. He contests the law's honor, purpose, and fitness to govern demon survival.

The next line is simpler.

Grand Arena. Midday. I challenge the law, not the sentence.

I read it twice.

He is still here.

The Council recorded the challenge before he crossed the gate. Exile has been suspended until the Matrons answer him in the arena. The reprieve may last hours, but the knowledge clears the fog that has occupied my thoughts since Zira's ruling.

Draxon refuses to leave obediently.

I refuse to let him fight alone.

"Where is he?" I ask.

"Under guard on the lower bridge. The Council is preparing the arena."

"Does Korgath know?"

"The entire eastern promenade knows. Korgath's servants began reserving gallery space before the challenge was fully entered."

Of course they did.

Korgath expects Draxon to answer law with pride and violence. He expects the stripped arena-master to stand on red sand and demand respect from a court that already voted against him.

He may not expect me to bring the parts of Ti'lith he considers too low to matter.

I set the slate on the central table.

"I need Miana Vence and Jory."

Grolm glances toward the Crown guards. "They will question any gathering."

"Then tell them I require help removing inventory before their seal closes. It is even true."

"You intend more than packing jars."

"You may report me after midday."

The crimson in his eyes brightens. "I no longer report to the Crown."

He leaves.