Chapter 50
FIFTY
Never forget the reason you left your home realm behind. Here in the Fringes, we do what we want, and we don’t apologize for it.
CELINE
I review the dueling rules with single-minded focus. If I don’t think about something other than the crushed expression on Malach’s face when he saw Gavin, I’ll gouge my sperm donor’s eyes out before it's legally allowed.
My wings are already twitching and fluttering on their own, but so far, I’ve been able to hold back the more noticeable theatrics. We’ll get our pound of flesh.
Radiant Rule of Dueling #1: Dueling vows are sacrosanct—an incontrovertible tradition. Right. Dear old Dad will piss all over that tradition as soon as he gets the chance, but he can’t avoid it at the beginning. There are too many angels watching.
“I’m ready for the vows,” I say, loud enough for my voice to carry to the stands. “The speakers are in working order. As you can see, I used your finest set.”
There’s tittering among the sycophants.
S’lach rolls his eyes. “Of course. The vows are sacrosanct. Incontrovertible.”
He couldn’t sound more sarcastic if he tried, but he crosses to my side and waves Gavin and Malach over. His proximity makes my skin crawl, but I hold myself rigid as Malach lifts the bell-shaped receiver to my mouth.
“I, Celine, angel of truth, born of the nish thatsha, vow to honor the Radiant Dueling Codex in its entirety.” I activate my truth runes as I make the vow.
It’s not technically necessary. The speakers are spelled to prevent cheating, but my compliance makes whatever lies my father has already told the crowd harder to swallow.
Anything I do to discredit him is effort well spent.
S’lach repeats the vow into Gavin’s receiver, and his bored drawl sets my teeth on edge.
This is serious. One of us is about to die, and he’s making it clear he doesn’t care.
I don’t know why I expected anything different.
He’s shown me who he is a million times.
If I refuse to believe him, that’s my fault.
I tap my foot on the ground. Radiant Rule of Dueling #10: If angels choose to settle matters of succession through dueling, it will go to the death, unless both parties agree to submission in the presence of neutral witnesses.
The rule exists to discourage anyone from doing this over petty disagreements.
Unfortunately for the thatsha who wrote the codex, the only things my father and I have in common are red hair and the burning desire to watch each other die.
Gavin clears his throat and addresses the crowd. “None shall interfere in the outcome of this duel. Seconds are in place to ensure that all spectators remain as such.”
I chuckle. “I’m pretty sure you said the same thing to me when I was fourteen and Malach and I were sparring in the yard.”
Gavin’s right eyebrow twitches, but he won’t look at me.
The stab of hurt takes me off guard. I work at a strip club; I know how to spot guilt on a man’s face.
This is lip service. History aside, I can’t count on him to stop my father from cheating in this duel.
And if someone in the crowd attacks while my back is turned, there won’t be much I can do about that either.
S’lach will kill them afterward and pretend his victory was stolen from him, but he’ll have what he wants—the estate, with no troublesome daughter getting in his way.
“Where are your lovers?” Father sneers as he surveys the crowd. “I would have thought you would want a grand farewell.”
They’re here, they’re just out of sight, shielded by Ciprian’s magic. I asked them to stay hidden so my father couldn’t target them to distract me. His obvious annoyance tells me it was the right call.
“There’s no need for a farewell if you don’t plan to die.” I grin at him. “Where are your lovers? Oh, shit, my bad. I guess you don’t have any because someone would have to be able to stand you first, and we both know that’s impossible.”
His eyes spark with fury. Good. I’m mad, too, and I want him to feel every second of it. Revenge. Vengeance. Retribution. Words are irrelevant because I know why I’m here.
I take my place inside the dueling ground.
He strides to the opposite side lazily, the picture of reluctant violence.
It’s all an act, part of the lie he lives daily. I saw the fire in his eyes and the vein pulsing on his forehead. He’s relishing this.
Malach activates the speakers, and I wince as my tinny voice echoes around the courtyard. Once my recording ends, my father’s voice repeats the same vow. The loop will continue until one of us dies and the duel ends.
It’s annoying, but the low drone of our voices is steeped in magic. If I even think about breaking the rules, I’ll be wracked with debilitating pain. If my father decides to break his vows, he’ll pay dearly for every infraction.
I draw my sword.
He does the same, and we salute. Golden sparks chase the arc of my blade. Eyes wide, palms prickling, I stare at my weapon in astonishment as the angels on the sidelines exclaim.
My sword is dripping with family magic. The angels watching believe it’s a sign from the gods. I believe it’s time to get this over with.
“Obvious artifice,” Father shouts. “I never thought a daughter of mine would stoop to cheap tricks.”
“And I don’t think of you at all.” I sink into a crouch and let the memories loose. All the times he beat me bloody under the guise of training. Every bruise he left on my mother’s body. He’ll pay for them all. I swear it.
My skin tingles, and a bell rings, momentarily drowning out the drone of vows.
I launch immediately, air brushing against my cheeks as I charge.
He barrels toward me; bulky muscles tensed to spring.
I get my strength from him. I only hope it’s enough.
We collide in the middle of the square, blades clashing with enough force to rattle my entire arm. I hold him at bay and show him the full extent of the emotions he hates so much. Rage, pain, disgust, and resolve—I rub his face in them, making no effort to hide.
Metal glints near the ground, and I jump back a second before his boot collides with my gut—a boot with a knife protruding from the toe. It’s not expressly against the rules, but there’s nothing honorable about it.
“Nice try.” I deflect his blade, forcing it toward the ground and creating a tiny window to slip past his guard. I use it to slap him across the face. “That’s for being too rash,” I say. “A real thatsha never shows their hand.”
A dark shadow crosses his face. I soak it up like sunlight after a long winter.
I want him mad. I want him controlled by his anger until he loses sight of everything else. And once he’s as overcome by emotion as he always accused me of being, I’ll finish him.
“Still immature,” he barks, hacking his blade toward my leg. I block, smelling his sweat as the movement brings our faces close. “I should have killed you when I saw those cursed wings,” he whispers so the crowd won’t hear, and I drive him back with a boot to the gut.
He stumbles three steps before managing to right himself. I’ve surprised him. He expected the girl who ran, but my years away have changed me. I no longer give a shit what he thinks about my wings or my emotions. They’ve done more for me than he ever has.
I’m stronger than he can imagine. Whatever it takes, I’ll win this duel.
My back heats as my wings catch fire, the flames stretching inches past the tips of each individual feather.
“She was strong, my mother,” I call out, raising my voice to be sure everyone hears me. He can whisper poison in my ear if he wants, but I’m here to end his legacy by any means necessary. “Is that why you beat her? Did it make you feel more powerful to push her around?”
He drives his sword down, aiming for my head this time.
I meet his blade with my own, sparks exploding on impact. “You killed her because it wasn’t enough to silence her anymore, was it? You knew she hated you, and you couldn’t allow anyone to live who had the courage to stand against you.”
He roars with rage, and the pressure against my arm increases.
“Silence,” he snarls. The chill of his magic slides over me, oily and dark. A gray film coats my skin. It prods against my mind, searching for a weak point—the radiant magic visible to everyone thanks to the spelled runes bracketing the dueling ground that make all attacks visible.
The angels in the stands watch the spectacle with a combination of horror and delight.
Their entertainment doesn’t matter to me.
I already have what I want: their attention.
Bringing my wings around, I form a cocoon of fire, melting his silence until it drips to the ground to form a noxious, bubbling puddle.
I’m flushed from the heat, but the shocked look on my father’s face is more than worth it.
I smile. “If you want to beat me, you’ll have to do better than that.”
His hisses, and the silence rune carpets his skin. Faded, gray, and blown out, it resembles a bad tattoo after years in the sun. I lift my hand and prepare to shield myself.
But instead of hurling magic at me, he aims the blast at the closest speaker.
It hits hard, devouring the device, which crackles and hisses before the sound of my father’s vow cuts off mid-sentence. Black sludge oozes from the speaker, spreading across the energy field above the courtyard until it’s infected all four corners. The vows die with a strangled, metallic wail.
Someone in the crowd screams.
I wipe sweat from my brow and hold my ground. He’s done pretending this is a fair fight, and that’s fine by me. I’m used to impossible odds.