The thread of gold light vanished into Ruvan's cupped hands as he closed his fingers around it gently. In the royal box he lifted them to his lips, murmured something, then tucked them into his sleeve.
"That was Orlov's rank, Hajin... he did not receive it, he collected it," Aria said inside his skull, her voice thin.
"Collected it for what?" he muttered, wiping blood from his chin.
"I do not know, that is the horrible part."
Trumpets blared from the dais, the chant of ninety thousand voices swelling until it shook the whole enormous arena. King Atheron descended the royal stairs alone, leaning on his cane, a thread of sweat shining at his temple.
"You look like a man carrying a live eel, Your Majesty," Hajin said quietly.
"A fair description, Baron," the King murmured, his smile far too sharp, "bow your head, it is traditional."
"If this is a trap, I'm going to be so annoyed."
"Everything is a trap, my boy, some are merely better dressed."
