A couple more people laughed, commenting on how it should be a good show tonight.

“Sacrifice . . . fights?” Kordas gasped out.

“Hah! Wars don’t win themselves, you know, and Abyssals don’t get fed just anything. Deals are respected here, and paid in full. Sacrifices are made. Bulls and rams weren’t enough after the first decade, and we always have prisoners to execute anyway. So we give them a chance; last one alive lives another year. Makes for great fights! Mouthpiece goes in, three pellets are loaded between the jaws, and off they go.”

“Shows traitor protestors what shooting their mouth off really means!”

Laughter erupted again, sounding very far away and hollow, while Kordas dry-heaved.

This place—this place—

It was only with Star’s steadying hand on his shoulder that he was able to remain in his seat for the rest of the interminable meal.

19

At least I’m still a Duke for the moment. But I’m not going to have the authority to do things now . . . now what do I do? His thoughts ran around in his head like frantic little mice, as he and Star left the Dining Hall and headed for the Hall of Gates. He dragged his feet, moving as slowly as he could. The Hall of Gates was echoingly empty. Probably everyone back in the Dining Hall was still enjoying the joke played at his expense. Except maybe the Emperor.

At least I spoiled that fat toad’s fun.

“Star, when I’m not a Duke anymore, are the orders I’ve already given going to be carried out?” he asked forlornly.

“Of course they will,” Star replied promptly. “They are on paper, with the proper seals of authority. They will keep on being carried out, regardless.”

And it was then that he heard someone behind him, the sharp staccato of dress heels on the marble floor, someone heading his way. He looked back over his shoulder.

It was Merrin.

Merrin, who, once he saw that he’d been spotted, slightly raised his hand. “I say, there, Valdemar—”

Fury erupted in him, and he didn’t even stop himself. He turned and rushed the bastard, plowing into him at full speed, seizing the lapels of his coat and running him into the wall behind the Gates so hard that Merrin’s breath was forced out of him in an “oof.”

With the strength of too much pent-up rage, he raised Merrin off his feet by his lapels, jamming him against the amber paneling of the wall.

“Come to gloat, have you, you little weasel?” he snarled. “Was this your plan all along? Did you know this was going to happen when we met at the Gate in Valdemar?”

“Valdemar—” Merrin wheezed. “Wait—”