Chapter FORTY-NINE: Zan

                                    

                                          
Nothing had gone to plan, but Zan was used to improvising. He crouched next to Liss, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her attacker lowered his blade, sneering. It was Dev—not Noa Fex; his comments about the valley, and Liss' fading scream, confirmed it.
The elf's brown hair lay in tangles across his forehead, obscuring a crusted wound, but his suit was even more impeccable than Zan's—white, gold, and teal, with a high neckline and intricate embroidery depicting dozens of sunbursts. The belt at his waist boasted an equally ostentatious sheath, for the dagger dangling from his hand. 
"Stand up." His eyes were red-rimmed and tearful, despite his gruff command. 
Why was he speaking the human tongue—? What had happened to him? 
Dev wasn't a wraith, even if his glowing purple irises suggested otherwise. Zan knew a thing or two about wraiths; he'd witnessed their creation firsthand, hiding in dark corners while Domira performed her fiendish rituals. Wraiths came from the spirit realm, long dead souls granted pseudo-life in exchange for a sacrifice. Usually an animal's. They weren't fully corporeal, they rarely spoke, and he'd never seen one get violent. 
Dev was something different. Something far more dangerous. He gestured impatiently for Liss to rise, his fingertips tracing an arc of lavender light down the center of the room. 
Was this what corrupted luniya looked like? Logic said Domira was to blame. But how? The witches wouldn't have needed to kidnap a dragon if they could have stolen Darkbane magic. Then again, the Blackwater guards had once been Darkbane elves, and their magic was a well-guarded mystery. 
Whatever was wrong with Liss' friend, it didn't bode well that he'd recognized her through her glamor. 
"Fourteen, stand up. My guests deserve to know their champion's name." 
Liss was unmoved by Domira's snappish tone and Dev's eerie lightshow, but Zan felt heat building under her cloak. He wished he knew what she was thinking. 
"I want to know her beau's name." Foswida giggled, kicking the sole of his boot. 
Zan had almost forgotten about the little witch during all the commotion. Gods, she was an obnoxious runt!
Liss climbed to her feet, reaching for his hand. Her secret smile thawed his cheeks as she turned to face the stage, squeezing his knuckles. "Alice Greenlight and Sam Blackclaw, my fiancé." 
"A little young for marriage, aren't you?" Domira raised an auburn eyebrow. 
The witch's travesty of a gown had cutouts across each hip, and a plunging neckline displaying ropes of silver trinkets and gems around her throat. Zan relished the thought of choking her with her own gaudy decadence. 
"We're planning a long engagement." Liss sounded confident, though her hand shook. "Sam wanted me to experience a Revelry, but I never expected you'd pick me for a game. I was actually scared for a moment. Everything seemed so real." She peered around the room, blinking too fast. "Where are the other women?"
Dev took another step toward them, flipping his blade. "Liar. You're Engaged to me." 
Gasps and hoots of amusement rose from the crowd. Liss' nails scraped Zan's palm, her fingers stiffening. She fixed her green eyes on Domira. "I thought the game was over." 
A throng of outlandishly costumed imps and wraiths milled about behind the redheaded witch, who was pacing the wide, bare stage, one hand laced between her silver chains. "I thought so, too. But my new friend disagrees. We have what you might call... a special bond." 
If only her wine-stained lips really were a bloody gash. 
"He keeps telling me how you grew up together. How you asked him to get engaged, then you ran away and left him for—I believe what he wants to say is, 'this ugly human?'" She waved an arm in Zan's direction, chuckling.