Read Online Counting Shadows (Duplicity) by Olivia Rivers - Free Book Online Page A

his smile growing as Chagra nears Lor. Lor shakes his head, as if to clear his mind, and drags himself away from Chagra.
    “Father!" I scream. “Stop the Match! Now!”
    Father finally glances over to me, but only for a second. “Calm down, Faye. Don’t make me have to restrain you.”
    His voice is toneless, but the threat is real. I glance over my shoulder at Jolik, hoping he’ll shake his head at me and smile, telling me that he’d go against Father to protect me. But he does none of those things, and just stares blankly out into the arena with his arms crossed over his chest, like he’s warding off my gaze.
    I bite my lip, glaring at him, and then look down at the arena. I don’t have any choice but to watch the rest of the Match. Watch as Lor dies, as Chagra rips his tattoo to shreds. Watch as I lose my last connection to Ashe.
    Lor is still backing away from Chagra. I taste blood in my mouth, but refuse to stop biting my lip. It’s the only way I can keep myself from screaming out directions to Lor.
    He’s still dazed, unable to pull himself to his feet. But he manages to drag himself through the dirt with his arms, away from Chagra.
    But he’s not going the right way. Lor should be going towards the center of the arena, where he can’t be cornered. Instead, he drags himself toward the far corner.
    Chagra increases its pace, slinking forward until it’s only inches from Lor. Lor yells something at it–his words are in a different language, and I can’t tell what he’s saying. But it sounds furious.
    Chagra snarls and bristles, making me wince. Lor should know better than to yell; Chagra likes playing with its victims, but not when they talk back.
    “Father,“ I say. ”
Please.
”
    He doesn’t even look at me.
    Chagra crouches, its tail lashing back and forth, and prepares to leap. Lor desperately grabs at dirt, but a handful of sand won’t stop Chagra. Even another stone probably wouldn’t stop him, now that it’s scented blood and is closing in on the kill.
    Chagra leaps. I want to look away. I should. But then I see Lor’s hand grasp around something and throw it forward. There’s a glint of metal, a shrieking howl, and a second of silence that lasts an eternity.
    Then noise so intense I feel like I’m drowning in it.
    Everyone stands from their seats, clapping, whistling, cheering. They point towards the arena floor, as if all eyes weren’t already on it. Most of the crowd is grinning while they cheer, their eyes wide with the after-effects of adrenaline.
    Father yells something, but I hardly notice. My eyes are on the arena floor. Lor lies there, his blood pooling on the ground as it seeps from the claw-marks on his side. Chagra lies beside him, the hilt of the long-sword protruding from the beast’s mouth, and the tip of the blade poking out from its skull.
    I replay in my mind what I saw, trying to piece the scene together. Lor had moved toward the corner because his sword was there. He’d dragged himself to the weapon just in time. And when Chagra leapt at him, he’d simply held up the sword and let Chagra’s momentum do the rest.
    I smile.
    “Kill the prisoner,” Father says.
    And my smile disappears. I whirl toward Father’s seat, finding him leaning forward with his hands still trying to strangle the armrests. He looks ready to pounce on Lor himself.
    “Kill him?” Jolik repeats.
    I’ve never heard Jolik question an order, but now there’s genuine confusion in his voice. My own voice is gone, stuck in my throat along with the quickly-retreating relief.
    “Yes!” Father snaps. “Give the order. Kill that prisoner.” He stands from his chair and faces Jolik, his face twisted into a snarl. “That’s the point of a Match, isn’t it? To dispose of unwanted criminals?”
    I choke back a hysterical laugh. Disposing of unwanted criminals? Does Father
really
expect anyone to buy that? The entire point of Matches is vicious entertainment, pure and simple.
    Jolik nods and