BooksBarbecue
Back The Endless Skies
Chapters (57)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. Map
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. EPILOGUE
  54. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  55. Also by Shannon Price
  56. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  57. Newsletter Sign-up

We’re shoved, chains and all, into a holding cell. After locking the cell behind us, one of the humans motions for us to put our hands through. I do as I’m told, my eyes tracking the human with our swords. The chains clang to the ground, their sound muffled by the increasingly loud cheers from the crowd that’s gathering in the stands above.

Guns pointed, the soldiers motion for us to back up, and Sethran mutters for us to do as they say. Once our backs are to the far side of the cell, the humans toss our weapons and shields haphazardly onto the ground. I hand Ox his bow, and he trades it for my axe.

“We can fight for her,” he says. “Both of us.”

I touch his shoulder in respect, and he returns the gesture.

The humans guarding us snap to attention as General Marchess approaches. Like yesterday, he wears black from head to toe, only this time, he also wears a bright purple cape. The colors scream against the grayness of the city around us. It is meant to show his wealth. To give his people someone to put their hope in.

If they are truly starving, I think, why wouldn’t they put their faith in a man like this?

“Leonodai,” General Marchess says, “I will enjoy watching you die.”

Sethran spits on the ground at General Marchess’s feet, catching the human’s immaculately clean boot. Our commander straightens up, raising his sword into a fighting position. “You are confident we will,” Sethran fires back. “Do not underestimate us.”

Marchess turns away just as foot soldier runs up, breathless. I don’t catch all he says, just part of the humans’ language that sounds like a Leonodai name, Ellia or Ellian.

“Whatever happens, fight like hell,” Sethran says, drawing my attention back. “My order stands. If you see a way out—any way that might help us find the cure—take it.”

The heavy thud of boots on the arena stairs above us creates a rhythm like the beat of a musician’s drum, and I fall into it. The only exits will be out through one of these passageways or straight up. I wonder if Marchess purposely designed this arena thinking we’d be here someday. I wonder if he knew how cruel it’d be to put us under the open skies we can’t fly home to.

I don’t have much fight left in me, but I’ve got some. Tightening and untightening the grip on my axe, I try to focus on what’s forward, not behind. The gate in front of us rattles as it’s pulled up.

The crowd roars, eager for us to die.

35

ROWAN