Chapter 16 Sam #3
Sometimes, in a duel, it’s not about the sheer power of the spell itself—or the magician. It’s all about timing and placement. And right now, my almost-always-harmless little thread of power is tightening around the throat of the mighty Lysander Rook.
My champion’s hands climb to his neck as those pretty blue eyes bulge. He opens his mouth, and closes it again, gasping for oxygen as my spell slowly squeezes his carotid arteries shut.
“Yield,” I tell him calmly.
Those bulging eyes snap toward me. Even with his face turning purple, fury is clear as day in his expression. He shakes his head at me.
“Come on, Rook. This is stupid.”
Another stubborn shake of the head. His hands scrabble frantically at his throat as he sinks to his knees.
“You’re going to pass out, then, which will count as an automatic yield. If you can’t speak”—I know he can’t speak, if he can’t even breathe—“then signal me, the way you would signal a ref during a duel. Raise your hand.”
He shakes his head for a third time. He gurgles as he does it. But he doesn’t raise his hand.
A strange, slow moment unfolds between us right then. I don’t release the spell. Rook doesn’t yield. And in that moment, a dark little thought crosses my mind: You could kill him right now if you wanted to.
I try to stop thinking about it. That’s the thing, though; the harder you try not to think about something, the more insistently it makes itself known.
You could kill him, just as easily as Blackwood killed Jamie all those years ago. You have that power over him.
No. No, no, no.
No. I won’t do it, obviously. I don’t want to. I can’t.
But the thought is there. I could. It would be so easy in this moment.
My hands shake. Maybe Tamsin’s right. Maybe I am just like her father. Maybe I am just like the man who killed Jamie.
Master Silverstein chooses this particular moment to burst into the room. “What the hell, Chan!”
Silverstein steps between us and shoves me aside, breaking my concentration. After that, all it takes is a snap of his fingers and a tiny flare of arcane power to eviscerate the spell around Rook’s neck. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“He started it,” I say before I can stop myself.
Rook’s heaving in great gulps of air as normal color returns to his face, but he starts laughing.
It makes him cough, but he doesn’t stop, sinking back down to his knees as hysterical chortles rattle his lanky frame.
“She’s right,” he gasps at Silverstein. “I challenged her. Wouldn’t let her say no. ”
Lysander Rook looks objectively pathetic right now, on his hands and knees before me, giggling and clutching at the hotel room carpet. Yet that blue-eyed gaze, as it meets mine, is filled with nothing short of triumph. “You see, Sammy?” he rasps. “Now you know what you’re capable of.”
Silverstein glances between the two of us, wary calculation running through his eyes, but he says nothing. Unlike most adults in our lives, he’s smart enough to know when he’s fully lost control of a situation.
“You know what you’re capable of,” Rook repeats in a more thoughtful tone.
“I guess that means you’ve grown out of the second’s seat.
I don’t think I’ll need you when I duel Tamsin.
” He smiles, wolfish. “Because, you see, I am going to duel Tamsin. And I’m going to wreck her, just like we talked about.
And I’m going to do it without you. So don’t bother showing up to the arena. I don’t want you there.”
“Oh, she sure as hell will bother showing up to the arena, whether you want her there or not,” growls Silverstein. “Won’t you, Sam? After all, you’re the one who orchestrated all of this.”
My fists close, nails digging into my palms, but my hands feel numb. I can’t stop thinking about what I’ve almost done. What I nearly did do.
I could have killed my champion. His life sat there, precious and breakable between my hands—and I didn’t let go. My magic triumphed over his for the first time I could recall. It felt exhilarating. It felt horrifying. It felt exactly how I imagine Mateus Blackwood must feel every day.
You and Dad are exactly alike.
The memory of Tamsin’s words churn like bile inside me. I force it back down. The last thing I have time for right now is an existential crisis.
“I’m glad you got what you wanted out of me,” I tell Rook.
“The same way I’ve gotten what I wanted out of you.
” I bow my head to him, but I keep my gaze on those blazing blue eyes the whole time.
“I hope the satisfaction helps you find someone else to sit in the second’s seat during your duel against Tamsin Blackwood.
” I offer Rook a humorless smile of my own.
“I guess I’m quitting a few days early, after all. To honor your wishes, of course.”
“Chan!” Silverstein’s voice is laced with alarm. “You can’t be serious. We’re less than week away from the duel. And you’re the one who wouldn’t let him back out of this damn dog and pony show in the first place.”
“Didn’t you just hear? He doesn’t want to back out of it. Refuses, in fact.” I shrug. “Besides, Rook is Rook. He chased away every other second until me. I don’t see why I should be any different, except that I’ve kidded myself for longer.”
I slam my way out the hotel room door before anyone can answer me. I don’t look back.