CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
TRAITORS IN THE SNOW
At this point, I might as well just join the decurio outright, considering the number of times I’ve donned their armor in the past month.
The third trial hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already out of breath. No matter how often I find myself in decurio armor, it never becomes any less nerve-wracking.
The field has been cordoned off into a square so that only the very center is available for use. Luc’s team of six stands opposite Kaidren’s as we wait for the event to start.
The arena feels tense. Possibly because this is the last trial—whoever wins this, wins the throne.
Or possibly because it’s General Tarek Fain running this event, and he lacks Flynn’s natural charisma.
He speaks in monotone as he goes over the parameters for the trial, and I find myself tuning him out.
Unconsciously, my eyes rake over Kaidren’s team. I tell myself it’s so I can assess them for weaknesses, but when my eyes pause on Kaidren, I know I’m only lying to myself.
He’s already staring at me.
I’m completely obscured by my uniform, but he easily picks me from the row of decurio and holds my gaze through the mesh over my eyes.
There’s a shift in Kaidren’s countenance. His entire body seems to exhale, as if he was holding his breath until he laid eyes on me.
There’s an intensity to his stare. A glimpse of the ruthlessness lurking beneath his calm exterior.
It’s enticing. Heated. Even from a distance, he manages to scorch me from the inside out.
I shudder and look away. He’s a distraction I can’t afford.
One I’ve been actively avoiding since we said our goodbyes outside Luc’s study.
Today isn’t about him. It’s about winning.
For this trial, the candidates are equipped with crossbows and given the task of shooting the opposing team’s targets. The first candidate to reach fifty points wins.
The targets are wooden circles propped up on posts just behind each team’s boundary line. There are three targets, each of a different size. The largest is worth ten points, the second largest is worth twenty, and the smallest—barely wider than a coin—is worth fifty.
We soldiers are responsible for guarding our targets, preventing the other team from gaining any points, and doing what we can to get our candidate close enough to the other side to aim effectively.
The most important rule for this game: only the candidates have crossbows. The rest of the soldiers can have weapons, but they’re not allowed to fire the crossbow on behalf of the candidates.
For the past ten days—since Flynn was arrested, Kaidren and I were cleared of murder, and the Tournament was back on schedule—Luc and I have spent nearly all our time refamiliarizing him with the crossbow.
Target practice has been useful, but in my time not with Luc, I fashioned two bolts of my own. Wood on the outside, indistinguishable from the other bolts in his quiver, but on the inside, they have a tshira core.
We had no way of knowing which quiver was going to be Luc’s ahead of time (at least, not without marking them in a way someone might notice), so Sef slipped one bolt in each bag before the start of the event.
Thanks to Luc’s efforts at the masquerade ball (and no doubt the influence of his parents), his team is well equipped. Each soldier has a brand-new sword in a scabbard around our hips. Kaidren’s team only has one.
This final event is as much a test of political prowess as it is a test of warfare. Aside from the crossbow, teams are only allowed to use weapons purchased by benefactors.
The rest of Luc’s team cheered when General Fain delivered our swords. I didn’t. To a trained soldier, it’s a weapon. To me, it’s just a heavy object I’ll have to try not to stab myself with by accident.
I’m a ball of sweat as General Fain begins the countdown. The energy in the arena has been tempered by Flynn’s absence, but as the General reaches “one,” there are scattered cheers.
Blood roars in my ear.
Two soldiers—myself and a quick-footed decurio named Medin—stay behind to guard the targets and Luc. The remaining four run forward.
Luc loads his first bolt. There’s no way to tell which is the modified one, at least not from the outside. I feel nothing from this one. It’s solid wood.
He fires his first bolt, aiming for the largest target, worth ten points.
The bolt grazes the edge of the wooden circle but falls to the ground.
I swallow a curse. During target practice, he would have made that.
I scan Kaidren’s team. He developed his strategy to make the best use of their single sword. One unarmed soldier stays near the targets, to guard them. The other five form a ring around Kaidren. The soldier at the front of the human shield wields the lone sword.
As Luc’s team races across the narrowed arena, the circle around Kaidren parts.
He raises the crossbow, takes aim, and releases. He’s immediately enveloped by his team.
The bolt launches in the direction of our twenty-point target.
Medin slashes it from the air with his sword. The splintered wood falls to the ground.
Luc shoots again. He makes another attempt at the ten-point target. His aim looks better this time, but Kaidren’s soldier leaps, kicking it out of the way.
One of Luc’s soldiers, Caspian, reaches the circle around Kaidren. Caspian begins a battle with the lone armed soldier on Kaidren’s team.
Another one of Luc’s team members reaches the circle and launches an attack of her own. In seconds, she draws blood from an unarmed decurio. She swipes her sword again and the unarmed soldier collapses, leaving a gap in the formation around Kaidren.
Caspian lunges through the opening, trying to rip Kaidren’s crossbow from his hands—but before he can, the circle shifts, closing in around Kaidren again.
Luc takes another shot. This time, he aims for the twenty-point target. Again, he misses.
The audience groans. It wasn’t even close.
I wince. We practiced these shots over and over. I didn’t expect him to be an expert, but he’s missing basic shots in a very public setting.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. As soon as he draws the modified bolt, I can steer it to victory. We just have to keep Kaidren from winning long enough to make it happen.
The mostly unarmed soldiers surrounding Kaidren do their best to defend him, but Luc’s team all have swords. It isn’t even close to a fair fight.
Another one of Kaidren’s team crumbles in the next few minutes. I can’t tell if they’re dead, but they don’t get back up, and the circle around Kaidren is forced to split apart.
Two unarmed soldiers fan out, drawing Luc’s soldiers away from Kaidren, while the woman with the sword latches to his side.
Kaidren and Luc take aim at the same time.
Kaidren fires at the ten-point target; Luc shoots for the twenty.
Luc’s veers wildly off track, but Kaidren’s soars toward his intended target.
Medin blocks it easily.
Kaidren’s expression darkens. He’s rushed by a decurio, but his armed guard quickly fends off the attack. It gives Kaidren the window he needs to fire another bolt. This time, he doesn’t shoot a target—he fires at Medin.
Medin isn’t expecting it. The bolt grazes his thigh, and he doubles over.
As Medin slumps, Kaidren reloads swiftly and shoots again.
I raise my own sword in a vain attempt to block it, but I’m slow, and the blade is heavy in my inexperienced hands.
Kaidren’s bolt sails true, and he hits the ten-point target.
The audience roars. The first score of the game.
“Sorry.” Medin sounds strained, and his leg is bleeding, but he rights himself. “I won’t let him score again.”
Kaidren’s guard is battling two of Luc’s soldiers. She’s quick. Even outnumbered, she outpaces them.
I loop my arm through Luc’s. “I’m going to get you closer to the targets. From now on, only aim for fifty points.”
He frowns. “I haven’t made a single shot yet.”
No one is immediately near us, but I drop my voice anyway. “I know. But one of the bolts in your quiver is modified. I’ll make sure it hits, but you have to make it look believable. Don’t worry about clean shots. Fire as quickly as possible.”
Luc calls out to Caspian. Together, we flank Luc’s sides, swords raised, as we lead him to the center of the field.
Kaidren did well selecting his lone armed soldier. She’s disposed of one of Luc’s soldiers and is still holding off two more, leaving Kaidren a wide berth.
Medin is charged by one of Kaidren’s team.
Clearly, a sacrifice. They’re unarmed, and Medin easily cuts him in the leg, sending him crashing to the ground. But the distraction gives Kaidren a window to take another shot.
He hits the twenty-point target.
My stomach drops. Kaidren has thirty points. Luc still has none.
Luc fires at the ten-point target. It grazes the side, but misses again.
He looks at me sheepishly. I hold in a slew of expletives and pretend I’m calm. “We need someone to guard with Medin,” I say.
At Luc’s command, a second decurio races to join Medin in protecting our targets. We can’t afford a single mistake. All Kaidren needs is another twenty points to win the Tournament and the throne in one fell swoop.
Kaidren’s armed guard races toward us. Caspian steps into her path, keeping her from reaching Luc.
They clash. Their feet move, weapons clang, in a dance. They’re both quick, but she’s outpacing him. She’s light-footed and better at anticipating.
I catch Luc’s arm. “Remember what I said. Take as many shots as you can.”
He pauses in reloading his weapon to frown at me. “Where are you—”
Too late, he realizes my intention. Before he can do something foolish—like cry out to me or try to stop me—I release my brother and charge toward Kaidren.
He’s reaching for another bolt from his quiver and doesn’t notice me until I’m right in front of him.
I grab hold of his weapon, trying to rip it from his hands.
For a few moments, we grapple with it, but he’s stronger than me. With a smirk, Kaidren yanks it from me.