Chapter 11
I stare at the beast in breathless astonishment.
“Are wyverns typically so large?” I force myself to say.
Yarl echoes his words from a moment ago, though this time, he doesn’t laugh. “No, Your Highness.”
Seltzen, the man, is large; this is inarguable.
Seltzen the wyvern is a mountain of a creature with blood-red wings and black, craggy skin the color of charred wood.
He rises on two legs as thick as trees, spreads his winged arms wide, and looses a roar violent enough to make my ears ring and send a cloud of sand whipping over us.
“We should move back, Your Highness,” Boyd shouts.
My eyes immediately seek Soren. He hasn’t shifted an inch from his position ahead. How can he not be terrified? Seltzen must be twice his size if not more.
“Your Highness,” Fuller urges at my elbow.
At this second entreaty, the king glances back, and for an instant, our eyes meet. I hope to see easy confidence, that bored self-assurance of his.
I can’t read what I see there.
He turns away from me, and when he slips his robe from his shoulders, I have no choice but to do the same. It’s that or allow the entire kingdom to see me in a state of abject embarrassment.
Fear thrums through me as the guards guide me away.
Still, I refuse to hurry. I refuse to think of the monster who could overtake me in two bounds and swallow me in one.
I walk with quiet ease, and only when we’re at the lake’s rim and I’m directed toward a roped-off area beneath an elaborate pavilion, do I sit, catch my breath, and direct my eye back toward The Pit.
A transformed Soren awaits me, and the sight of him lost in Seltzen’s shadow nearly catapults me to my feet.
The king looks so small.
I fold my sweating palms together and sit tall. I can’t look nervous, not with the crowd so near and an entire herd of children just beyond the ropes staring at me with wide eyes. I smile at them before returning my attention to the arena.
Dragon and wyvern begin circling one another, and when Seltzen lifts his tail like a snake poised to strike, a new fear takes hold.
“As I understand it,” I say, straining for a light tone, “wyverns’ tails hold venom. Is that correct?”
“It is, Your Highness,” Yarl says at my side.
I don’t take my eyes off the barbed end of the wyvern’s tail. “How strong is this venom?”
“A solid strike can paralyze a dragon in seconds.”
“I see.” My fingers tighten on one another.
Soren…
My lungs tighten as the fighters’ circle shrinks further and then expands, only to contract again. The whole ordeal sets my already frayed nerves on edge. When will one of them make the first move? I lean toward Yarl.
“When do you think they might—”
Seltzen strikes.
Like a whip, the wyvern’s tail flashes out, sand exploding from the impact. I catch a blur of movement within the haze before Soren darts back and the crowd roars their pleasure.
Are they cheering against their king?
Seltzen screeches and lowers his body, the tail lashing from side to side. Again he strikes and obscures them within a plume of sand. Again, a streak of movement, and Soren waltzes away. The crowd bursts into laughter at the king’s retreat.
“How long do you think he’ll last?” someone chortles behind me.
“Ah, until he’s bored,” is the amused reply.
My hands move to grip the armrests of my chair. To jest over their king’s fate, to laugh at my own…the cruelness shocks me. I watch with growing despair as Seltzen continues to charge forward.
No, I’ll not sit here and accept this. If I have to go down there and fight him myself, I will.
I startle myself with the thought. What am I thinking?
I don’t even know if I can manipulate something so large, especially without any additional water from my canteens.
And yet the alternative is what? To let myself be carted off to the wyvern leader like some kind of war prize? I train my eyes on the fight.
Intervening would only invite more challengers. The other dragons would think the king weak. My teeth sink into my lip.
But am I really going to stay here and watch him be hurt?
“Are you all right, Your Highness?” This comes from Yarl, and he at least sounds concerned.
“Yes, of course.” I manage a watery smile. “It’s just that I find myself a tad anxious on the king’s behalf.”
He trades a puzzled look with Fuller.
“Perhaps you would like some refreshment?” Fuller says.
I stare at him like he’s mad. Refreshment? At a time like this?
“I doubt there’ll be time for that,” Boyd says from behind. He sounds like he’s yawning. “He’ll be crying for mercy before anyone can get up here.”
This is more than I can bear.
“How dare you,” I hiss, rising at last and rounding on him. The guard, his face paling, drops to his knees in shocked subservience.
“He didn’t mean to offend, Your Highness,” Yarl says, springing to Boyd’s side. “Please forgive him.”
I level a condemning finger at the kneeling guard. “He maligned the king as if I’m not sitting directly in front of him.”
Boyd wags his head from side to side. “No, never. I would never malign the king.”
“Did you not just say he will whine for mercy, Boyd?”
“I did, but about Seltzen, Your Highness.”
Seltzen? Boyd’s eyes dart behind me, only for an instant, but it’s long enough for me to mark his alarm and realize the crowd has fallen silent. Slowly, I turn to face The Pit.
Soren, his jaws locked around the neck of a writhing Seltzen, stares at me from across the arena.
“What is he doing?” I whisper, my eyes locked on the dragon.
Yarl bows low. “I believe he is pausing the fight until you return to your seat, Your Highness.”
Pausing the fight? The king and I gaze at one another as Seltzen continues to struggle beneath him. “He’s not in danger?”
“No, Your Highness. Not at all.”
His words settle over me like cool water as I gaze at the two combatants. While Seltzen thrashes like a caught fish, Soren doesn’t seem to be putting in the least bit of effort.
I was so wrapped up in my worry that I alone couldn’t see what everyone else was watching.
I face Boyd, my shame immense. “My deepest apologies, Boyd.”
He sets his gaze on the ground. “You owe me nothing, Your Highness.”
I find my own gaze dropping low. “But I do. I owe you my apology, and I pray you will accept it. Please stand up.”
He does so, and I move to my seat, the crowd’s eyes heavy on me. The dragon watches as I sit, and at the faintest nod from me, he releases the wyvern. Snarling with rage, Seltzen shakes himself and snakes back, his tail at the ready.
This time, I look with clear eyes. Seltzen lumbers forward, and once again, the tail comes flying out.
Every move the wyvern makes seems to involve the appendage, as if he’s never trained the rest of his body.
He brings the spiked end down like an axe, and I finally recognize the flash of motion that follows after for what it is.
Soren is nipping the wyvern’s ankles with all the indifferent and maddening persistence of a gnat.
Despite the disquiet my outburst caused, chuckles ripple through the crowd, and I understand at last that Soren’s subjects aren’t laughing at their king.
They’re laughing because he’s mocking his opponent.
Alarming heat spreads through me as I continue watching Soren. I’ve never seen such an elegant fighter. While all Seltzen’s maneuvers are stiff and heavy, the king moves like a ribbon in the wind, quick and sinuous.
Since when do I find violence attractive? Or fully-fledged dragons?
As if I called his name, the king’s eyes suddenly find mine, and my gaze shies away.
You’re in the middle of a fight, I can’t help thinking. Pay attention.
The crowd’s clamor rises to a frenzy, compelling me to look again.
Soren’s posture has turned predatory, his focus lethal.
The venomous tail lashes out once more, and with savage accuracy, the dragon seizes the length just before the barbed end, and with a sickening crunch, crushes it between his teeth.
Seltzen releases a wail so piteous that I flinch.
Those watching must not feel the same, because they unleash a deafening cry of triumph as the wyvern tries pulling free and Soren gives him a violent twist, throwing his opponent on his side.
Before Seltzen can even attempt a recovery, the king, flames licking at his exposed teeth, is standing over him.
And just like that, the bout is over.
The Pit erupts in celebration.
“Do you think there will be another challenger today?” I hear through the din.
“I hope so,” comes the shouted reply.
For the first time, it occurs to me that no one came because they feared a dethroning; they came to watch their king win, as they knew he would.
I was the only one who was afraid.
Seltzen appears shocked, confused even, but when Soren’s flame intensifies, the wyvern turns his face aside, his eyes snapping shut.
“Is that an act of surrender?” I ask Yarl.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
There’s no triumphal blaze from the king this time. The second Seltzen indicates his surrender, Soren is off him and shrinking down. I occupy myself with straightening the folds of my gown, only peeking up once I think he might be clothed.
He’s coming this way.
“I would be grateful if you would wait for me here,” I tell my guards as I stand and start down the rim.
Soren, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his robe, charges my way. He’s still angry with me for speaking out; he must be. I hold my head high, determined not to let my rattled nerves show.
In front of me now, he stops and fixes me with pupils still slitted from the fight.
“Why are you angry at me?” he demands.
I gape at him in astonishment. “Pardon?”
“I have done as you asked,” he says, scowling. “I didn’t make a single protest to you coming here even though you would distract me beyond all reason.”
My mouth positively falls open now. Did he expect me to cause a disturbance? “I apologize. My guards and I had a misunderstanding.”
“Do they need disciplining?”
“What? No.”
“Then why are you telling me this?”
“You just said I distracted you!”
“Of course. Your very existence distracts me.”
A blush rushes over my face, both at his words and the sudden hunger in his eyes. I glance down and blush all the deeper. He’s closed his robe as carelessly as he did the first time he transformed.
“You make no sense, Your Majesty,” I mutter.
He seizes my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t call me that.”
I swallow. “Then you make no sense, Soren.”
“Perhaps.” He releases me with agonizing slowness, like someone relinquishing a fistful of gold. “Now, tell me why you’re angry at me. I thought you would be pleased since I drew out the fight.”
“You what?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to see me fight?”
“I…” I struggle for words. Do all dragons reason like this? Or have I been gifted an exceptionally obtuse one? “I did say that, I suppose.”
“Then why are you angry?”
“I’m not,” I say, striving not to fidget. “I thought you were angry with me.”
“Why?”
“For offering to draw water for the wyverns. I worried you thought me out of line.”
“You were not out of line. You were magnificent.”
Once again, I find my cheeks warming. Will this ever stop? “Then why did you seem as if you didn’t want to touch me last night?” This I’m only able to say by staring at the sand between his feet.
Painful seconds slip by in the silence that ensues.
“Serah.”
The sound of my name draws my eyes helplessly to him, and he gazes back with a gentleness that renders me speechless.
“I want…” He pauses to search my face as if the right words can be found there. “…things I cannot yet have. And I am not fond of waiting. Last night it seemed safer to keep my distance.”
I will myself not to look away. “You might have said so.”
“I am saying so.”
A laugh trembles out of me. “I mean beforehand.”
“I will do better next time.”
Motion over his shoulder catches my eye. Behind him, Rally approaches, and at the sound, Soren drops his head and lets out a groan. “He’s going to tell me another challenger is here.”
His guard actually doesn’t say anything when he arrives. He only bows to me and waits.
Soren rubs his brow between two fingers. “I will fight one more, and then I insist on having breakfast.”
“I’ll let the others know,” Rally says.
With a sigh, Soren takes my hand in his. “Tirenth needs water. Will you draw while I fight?”
Objections ricochet through my mind—I know you’re strong, but what if you lose? What if you’re hurt?—and yet I nod. The king brings my hand to his lips and smiles.
“I’ll see you tonight then, Princess.”