Darkly Forsaken (Darkly Devoted Series, Book 4)

Chapter 1 part 2

THE GUARDS loaded me into a horse-drawn cart that would take me to the arena. As the carriage started to move, I regained consciousness and awoke to the sound of screams. They were not shrieks of terror that I was so used to. They were happy screams.

The streets were alive with music and celebration. My left eye was starting to feel numb and swollen. Although I was weak from starvation, I managed to push myself up into a sitting position. I couldn't believe what a show the people were putting up and down the main boulevard of Delion Palace. Some of the revelers were Nivarrins.

"Long live Prince Balan," they screamed at the parade of soldiers and slaves. They made it rain in rose petals. Red roses. Sarastri red. In the light of the sun that I had been deprived of for so long — I saw my hands shake with disgust.

They were cowards, all of them. They were afraid of what Duke Nicolet would do to them if they hadn't shown up to smile and make merry to welcome their foreign ruler. In their heart of hearts, I knew every single man, woman, and child wanted nothing more than to see Prince Balan gutted like a fish and hung from the flag pole in front of Delion Palace.

As the procession moved past the square before the palace, I had to avert my eyes. Delion Square would forever be stained with the blood of the old ruling class. Eighteen years ago, Duke Mighell had all the aristocrats executed by firing squad in that very square and their bodies thrown into the mines to feed the monsters that lurked deep in the earth.

My parents were among those who were killed.

Perhaps, they were the lucky ones. The rest of us had a lifetime of starvation and torture to look forward to.

Those unlucky enough to survive the bloodshed were put to work building a new Nivarrin. On the backs of the enslaved populace, casinos, world-class spas, and five-star hotels were built. All the glitterati whose boats now dotted our harbor would never see the darker side of this city, the oppressed people that died for the sake of their gold-gilded toilets.

Beside the cart, girls wearing shifts followed in a single file. These were the honorary sacrifices that were being delivered to Delion. Perhaps, I would have been among them had I paid more attention to my looks or if I hadn't punched a guard in the throat and tried to run for it last night.

They couldn't have a prisoner girl clamping her teeth down on their precious prince's privates, could they? It was no wonder they were going to send me to feed the demons for sport.

Even as I stared with pity at the prisoner girls, I felt my eyes widen. Among them was Issirae. She was my friend on the streets. As she saw me, she raised her hand from the folds of her flaxen robe toward me. The sight of her there with the other imprisoned girls filled me with a pulsating rage.

"Sora," she whispered before one of the guards herded her away from the side of the prisoner's cart.

"Those monsters," I hissed under my breath. I could barely contain my anger as a white limo appeared in the distance behind us. That was Duke Mighell's vehicle. I imagined the illustrious prince was in it. If only I could blow it up with the power of my mind. That was, unfortunately, not my gift.

"You're northern," a male voice said from amide the pile of hay in the cart. "I can tell by your accent."

"Who are you?" I snarled. A man wearing shackles like mine sat up with a stalk of hay in his mouth. I noticed he had dark skin, strong shoulders, and wise eyes. I estimated his age to be in his early thirties. If we were going to fight demons together, it wouldn't hurt to make a friend.

"They call me Zaspyr. I'm a thief," he told me as he showed me a brand on his shoulder in the shape of an M for malefic. I guessed that was his first strike, and being carted off to the arena was his second. "You're too pretty to be here with me."

"Thanks," I snarled and sat down. I was feeling weak and light-headed. I noticed my bare feet were bleeding, and pus was running from an area of skin under the shackles. Too bad I didn't die of an infection inside my cell. Did my body even have enough strength left to mount a fever? "I-I just hope they give me a clean death," I said. "I heard if you aren't completely dead when they throw you into the pits, your soul is trapped forever."

"Here," Zaspyr said as he offered me a rag to wipe the blood off the side of my face with. "It isn't much, but the demons are attracted to the smell of blood. Let's make a pact, little sister, to kill the other if either of us is overtaken by the demons."

I nodded at him with relief. So this is what it had come to — mercy killing of my own countrymen.

"What did you do to land here?"

"I used to be one of the courtiers in Delion. At one point, I even trimmed the Marquees' nose hairs. I stole from the storehouses to barter for a smuggler to take me over the border. That didn't go very well."

"I wish you had slit Leonel's throat," I whispered under my breath. One of the guards sitting at the front of the cart struck the side of our pen with his staff. He was the same one who had threatened to relieve me of my tongue.

"What did I tell you about talking, little strumpet?" he snapped.