Chapter 19
Nineteen
Vox
“Ipresent the winner of the Precision event—Vox Vylan, Heir of the First Line,” the Master of Ceremonies announced over the sound of the crowd. “Securing a two-event lead!”
People clapped respectfully, but I knew they’d wanted Kyler Tarrin, the hometown Heir, to win the archery competition. I didn’t blame them.
I smiled politely at the crowd, then turned to Kyler, bowing low. “Good match.”
She blushed, and I realized she felt so much younger than me, despite us being separated by mere years. She’d lived here, on the other side of the ocean, being nurtured by a family who loved her, in a town that viewed her like a favored daughter. She hadn’t lived through the shit I had.
“Thank you, Heir Vylan,” she murmured, although I could see her disappointment.
It was a shame, but very few people could beat me in an archery competition.
I’d been practicing for as long as I could hold a bow.
Being able to direct your elemental abilities like a dagger was a point of pride for the Vylans, especially my father, and training for the skill had started long before my magic developed.
“It was very close. Perhaps next time you will beat me?” I said roughly. Was I trying to make her feel better? Avalon had made me soft.
Kyler smiled. “You think?”
No, not really. But I didn’t say that. I shrugged, giving her a neutral expression. “Perhaps.”
I wanted to celebrate with Avalon the way Hayle had—by kissing her deeply.
Instead, I was forced to basically ignore her as I walked back to my tent, filled with provided attendants but no one who actually cared if I won or not.
I wasn’t mad about it, though; I didn’t want a single member of my family here.
The sun was beginning to sink in the sky, and we still had one more competition to go.
Hand-to-hand combat was the grand finale, and rightfully so.
I had all but won the Tournament of Second Heirs, unless Hayle beat me in the Combat event, which was far more possible than Kyler Tarrin beating me in archery.
“The final competition of the tournament is none other than Combat!” the Master of Ceremonies yelled.
“Firstly, we will draw the Wildcard for this round.” He reached into a large, ornate container and pulled out a piece of paper.
“The Wildcard for the Combat round is… Lierick Abaster, of the Eleventh Line.”
The Eleventh Line all hollered. I looked over at Lierick, wondering if there hadn’t been a little persuasion in the drawing of the Wildcard for this round.
Whatever, it would be good to put him in his place.
Both in the power hierarchy, and when it came to Avalon.
Hayle had told me what he’d done last night; he’d kissed her.
I swallowed down the growl. She was mine—well, mine and Hayle’s. She would never be his.
Hayle raised an eyebrow at me, and I could almost hear his voice in my head telling me to keep my shit together. It would be fine. I would decimate Lierick Hanovan, he’d realize his place, and we could get on with our little revolution.
“First pairing: Vox Vylan of the First Line and Eugene Rovan of the Fourth Line!,”
I allowed the smirk to curl my face. If there was anything guaranteed to make me feel better, it was beating the shit out of Eugene Rovan.
Hefting my sword up, I completed a couple of stretches to loosen my shoulders, though I wouldn’t need it. I stepped into my ring with Eugene, who was glaring at me poisonously.
Fucking little weasel. I hated him. Actually, that was an insult to Avalon’s pet stolt; Eugene was worse than a weasel. He was the shit beneath my shoe.
I stood in my fighter’s stance, doing complex forms to warm up, playing up to the crowd just a little, but mostly to prepare myself for the quickest fight of my life.
“Fighters, at the ready! To yield or first blood!” the Master of Ceremonies shouted. “Commence!”
Eugene, despite all the training we’d had, decided to go on the offensive immediately.
Sighing heavily, I spun out of the way, coming out behind him and lifting my foot to kick him in the ass.
It sent him flying forwards into the dirt, making the crowd holler.
Breaking my stance was showy fighting, but Eugene was no threat.
I pressed my boot to his spine and my sword tip to his cheek. “Do you yield?” I asked him, bored.
“You think you’re so fucking powerful, don’t you, Vylan? Guess what? Even the great Vox Vylan can be cut off at the knees.”
Rolling my eyes, I nicked his ear with my sword. “That’s true. But the person who brings me down will never be you.”
When we got to the final round, I was panting. I’d just gone head to head with Hayle, who definitely didn’t take it easy on me. The whole square had been silent while we fought, holding their breath to see who would win, or if we’d kill each other instead.
They didn’t know that I’d once fucked Avalon pressed against Hayle Taeme, so our rivalry was a lot more for show these days. The only true competition we had anymore was who could make Avalon come the fastest.
First blood had been purely by accident—a wild swing by me causing his forearm to brush against the sharp edge of my blade. It had barely nicked, but those were the rules.
He’d grinned as he’d bowed. Fucking likeable asshole.
“Good match, Princess,” he teased.
“Fuck off, Taeme,” I grumbled. “Go kiss your girlfriend.” The kiss her for me too remained unsaid, but he winked. He knew.
The other match began, and I watched Lierick Hanovan’s form as he competed against Avalon’s brother, Bach. Bach was a surprisingly adept fighter, and I wasn’t going to lie, I was impressed. He was wasted up there in the north, but I wouldn’t wish the Dawn Army on my worst enemy.
Avalon was watching the fight without blinking, and I leaned against the rail. They were both sweating and shirtless, and although I would never say it out loud even if I was being tortured, it made my dick hard.
They danced across the sand, their faces serious, the square completely silent except for the sound of their weapons crashing together.
Finally, Lierick got lucky, the tip of his sword grazing Bach’s stomach, drawing blood and ending the fight.
“The winner is Lierick Abaster, the Wildcard!”
The crowd went crazy. Who didn’t love an underdog story, even if they didn’t realize that he was about as underdog as I was?
The attendants raked the sand, and Lierick sucked down some water as we prepared for the last round. I’d be glad to be back at Boellium. Win or lose, we’d be on the boat back to the war college tomorrow, and I’d have Avalon in my arms before she even put down her bags.
Finally, as we entered the large ring in the center of the square, I smirked at Hanovan. “Don’t worry. I’ll make this quick.” I slipped off my shirt, which an attendant collected and ran back to my tent.
As he rolled both his eyes and his shoulders, I didn’t miss the way Lierick’s eyes slipped to my chest. He might have looked like a golden god, but I wasn’t exactly hideous. Someone whistled in the crowd, and the Master of Ceremonies shushed them.
“Ladies and gentleman, this isn’t that kind of entertainment. A little decorum, please,” he said, his tone exasperated. “Apologies, Heir Vylan.”
I waved a hand. “It’s fine. We should begin.”
He bowed his head. “Of course. Fighters, at the ready! To yield or first blood.” He stepped out of the ring. “Commence!”
Lierick was no Eugene, or even Hayle. He was obviously well trained, by someone seasoned. Hayle was a predator; he would circle you and attack with ferocity. But Lierick was disciplined, his style a lot like my own. This was going to be a close match.
I feinted forward, and he parried easily. “Aren’t you worried you’re showing your hand?” I asked lightly, issuing a few tentative strikes to keep him on the defensive, but also to find his weaknesses. I hadn’t seen him fight nearly enough.
Doing a rather impressive set of strikes back, forcing me onto my back foot, he smirked. “They’ll know me eventually. Let this moment be their first impression.”
Then it was real combat. I advanced forward, and he retreated, weapons flying through the air with precision, until speaking was impossible. It became almost a choreographed dance of skill, muscle, and sweat.
I didn’t know how long the round had gone for; I was living from ragged breath to ragged breath, looking for an opening. My muscles were aching, sweat dripping in my eyes, but I didn’t take my attention from Lierick for even a moment.
Finally, he dropped his guard, not by much, but enough for me to kick sand up in his face and sweep his legs from under him. He landed hard in the sand, and I pressed the tip of my sword to his heart.
“That was dirty,” he panted, and I couldn’t even muster the energy to be smug.
“If you want to survive, you have to stoop to the methods of your enemy,” I growled low. “Do you yield?”
Lierick nodded, though it looked like it pained him to do so.
“Lierick Abaster from the Eleventh Line yields. The winner of the Combat round, and of the Tournament of Second Heirs, is Vox Vylan, our esteemed Heir of the First Line!” the compiere shouted.
There was applause again, maybe a little rowdier than the last time.
I bowed, before heading back to my tent alone.
As quickly as it had appeared, the fighting ring was dissembled, as were the Line tents.
Trestle tables were put up in their place, as well as a giant bonfire, constructed in the center of the town square.
The crowd was buzzing with the promise of a party.
Workmen were waiting for me to vacate my tent, and I gave them a respectful nod as I gathered my things.