Chapter 40
After holding half of the kitchen staff hostage, I discovered it was one of the dishwashers. She wouldn’t name the person supplying the poison. So, I ended her slowly.
Dinner was fun. Lekk didn’t stay. Father promised punishment because of it, and Tarella enjoyed every second of his dissatisfaction with me. For those reasons, I’m glad to be standing in a duel ring.
The Zem’s have always been the pinnacle of excess, but they’ve surpassed my expectations this year, and it’s obvious by the gem murals of Gondazar—god of victory—plastered on the sky-high walls that they’ve been planning on hosting the preliminaries for weeks.
But, calling the Zem’s presumptuous is like calling this winter black.
King Rajim rises on an electrical platform amongst the sixteen duel rings, because unnecessary electricity is apparently the sub-theme here.
The main attraction is the gems. Like the giant, white glo stones elegantly recessed into the red-dome ceiling and carved into the shapes of three swords. All aimed at the center, pointing to a single black sapphire gem.
Gems on the walls.
Gems on the hanging chandeliers.
Gems on the duel rings.
Even the small device in Rajim’s hand is powered by bright-red gems. A rare gem, I’ve learned from my recent book on the subject, that possesses the power to amplify whatever it’s melded to.
The duel rings are in rows of four, and two refs are stationed at each one including mine.
So many spirits jut around, and the ceiling is so tall I can’t be sure if the dark one high in the rafters is Dae.
I pretend it’s not and move on because Liha can sniff out desires of attraction easier than others.
Is that what this is?
Am I attracted to a spirit?
I clear my throat and raise my chin, reminding myself that it’s the same thing as reading Bruntar’s Ballad. I became infatuated with him through his words, even though he’s dead.
It’s the same with Dae.
“Welcome,” Rajim’s voice echoes and bounces off every vast corner of the Zem arena, “To the hundredth King’s Duel in our history!”
Spectators, mostly from the wealthier districts, rage and cheer in the thousands of seats around us. This is nothing compared to the King’s First Duel that will take place in the Megadome one week from now. And only a drop of emotion compared to the King’s Last Duel, where the winner will be crowned champion eight weeks from now.
“This year’s contestants will compete in the four-duel method to rank the duelers,” he announces.
I flip my dagger in my hand to keep me from lingering on my opponent. One of Sorren’s infantry soldiers. If he wins against me—a chosen heir—he will be legendary. If I win against one of my own infantry soldiers, I will be seen as a rightfully chosen heir, solidifying my rule, especially if I kill him.
“Duelers who win all four rounds will receive the highest rank of four. Duelers who win no rounds will be given a rank of zero. This rank will determine the fight schedule for the tournament.”
The infantry soldier eyes the dagger in my hand and smiles. I am still useless with a sword.
“Tonight’s preliminaries will commence with level-five rules. No killing.” King Rajim says and the audience boos.
“Don’t worry.” He smiles at the crowd. “Killing blows will be permitted next week, in the King’s First Duel. Now,” he says, “Let’s meet this year’s duelers!”
Columns of light from giant, overhead Glo stones sweep across all sixteen duel rings and the audience cheers. Duelers who rank high in the preliminaries get a schedule advantage, not to mention preferable treatment like better healers and more attentive weapon servants.
Two rings over is Kazem, whose eyes are murdering me from across the arena.
A few more announcements are made before the refs close in and the electric guitar and drums flood the cavernous room. The infantry soldier across the ring from me is as chill as the winter outside, and when the siren sounds, he lazily draws his sword.
My leathers have red spikes on my shoulders and calves. No outfit swap tonight. With fifteen other duels going on around me, it won’t even be noticed. This is the only event with multiple duels going at once.
I portal a dagger toward his left shoulder with a puff of pink smoke, but he catches it and hurls it out of bounds.
“That’s why he’s infantry,” Liha says.
“At least I used my vessel, so I won’t get disqualified,”
I palm my next dagger and run to attack, but his sword slices into my left flank before I can get close enough to stab. His cut is deep, and blood spills down my side. He retracts—no spins, no frills—and thrusts again, nicking my shoulder as I spin away.
I throw a dagger at his leg. He flicks it away with silver smoke. I grit my teeth and throw another, but he sidesteps away, moving fast. Not as fast as Sorren, but it’s obvious who trained him.
“You’re going to have to use your vessel to wi—”
I sprint, drop, and slide between his wide stance, dragging my last two daggers along with me.
Blood spurts on my face as I gash his calves. A deep growl erupts above.
I’m skidding and jumping up behind him when his giant fist snatches the leather over my chest. My world tilts as he body slams me down onto the mat.
Stars break out in my vision, and his massive knee crushes into my abdomen.
I kick, claw, punch, and bite trying to get out from his pin, but he’s too big and—
His tree-sized arm grabs my wrist mid-punch and pins it to the mat. Gold light swims around me, and Liha pools her power into me.
I spit on his face.
Rage flickers in his eyes before his free fist connects with my jaw. Black spots bleed into my vision.
“Move your daggers!” Liha yells, but her voice sounds muddled, underwater, distant.
My insides are boiling. The gold light is buzzing. Liha’s power is spreading and building throughout every crevasse and vein I have, tempting my slipping control.
He squeezes the pressure point in my wrist, releasing my fingers’ death grip on my dagger.
If only his head was a little closer . . .
“I bet this is the closest you’ve ever been,” I whisper, meeting his brown gaze.
Something flickers there and a snide smirk pulls his lips. “Closest to what? Beating a cocky, shit-brawling princess?”
I shift underneath, forcing myself to relax, go pliable. Force myself to ignore this unignorable power drowning me inside and out.
I tilt my chin up. “To a woman. Celibate.”
His lip curls back at the insult and he bends closer. “I will wipe the floor with—”
I headbutt him so hard his growling mug is the last thing I see.