In a booming voice so sudden it made Jac (and half the Arena) jump, Richard said, “What happened to all those flashing, razored words you were throwing at your prince from such safe distance? You hoping to find them there among the blood and sand?”
“Do something,” Jac hissed at Z.
They ignored her, leaned forward in their own bronze seat, hazel eyes trained on Richard like they were afraid to miss his next move.
Richard continued, “You would stare me down, call me traitor, but only when out of reach, and now can’t even face me for shame?”
The rebel’s laughing didn’t cease, but she slowly wobbled to her feet, back still to Richard. She turned her face first to peer at Richard over her shoulder with one bloodshot eye. Then she staggered, bit by bit, around to show him the limp, mangled arm she held clamped to her chest. Much of the flesh from the elbow down was gone from her right arm. Two of her fingers had been ripped clean off, and the rest of the hand was in ribbons. But she smiled at the prince. Even as tears shined in her eyes.
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“If someone doesn’t calm him, he’ll bring the whole Arena down on our heads,” Jac dared to let her voice rise beyond a whisper, knowing all she was doing was giving name to the thoughts of everyone sitting in this box. “Hundreds of citizens will die. We will die. Belle isn’t here—only you can calm him, Z.”
“I was waiting, Your Highness,” the rebel called for all the Arena to hear. “You did say I was to face every monster in this Arena, here beneath this Full, Dry Moon!” The rebel threw her left arm out wide like a child reveling in the rain, but her right arm could only fall limp to her side, weeping its own steady stream of red tears. To the heavens, she shouted, “What fouler beast has walked these sacred sands than you, My Dear Prince? I can’t name even one!”
Grinning mad, the rebel stumbled sideways to kick the corpse of the beast that had claimed her arm.
Warin shot Z a panicked look and said, “The lady is right, Lord Vigore. Only you—”
“Shut up,” Z growled, low and rumbling. “I’m a disgrace to the name Vigore and a shame to this queendom. I’m Inhuman. A word from me, from any of us, would only burn him brighter. Our one hope would have been Nyx, but as Lady Jacqueline observed, she’s not here. All we can do is not make it worse. Let him aim his rage at the one small point before him, and pray to both Mothers and the Daughter Iabelia that it doesn’t spread too far beyond.”
Richard called, “Then let us begin!”