BY THE TIME DRAEWULF’S DAUGHTER IS DOWN THE aisle and standing in the bloodied makeshift arena next to the victor in front of us, she’s stripped down to nothing more than a tight, glistening pantsuit made to hug every curve of her seductive, tall frame. A quarter of the Assembly is standing, and another third is grumbling. I’m silently cursing. She tosses a smile in my direction and that old jealousy flares along with the recollection of our last meeting when she tried to wrap her body around Eogan’s neck.
Myles slicks the sides of his hair and lets out a low whistle of enjoyment.
I slide one of my knives out beneath the table and prick his leg.
He jerks and says something uncouth, but I’m already looking past him to Draewulf, whose mocking, proud, fatherlike expression contorts the slightest bit. I freeze. The black in his eyes retracts into what appears to be pain and I swear his body jerks.
The next second, he’s smiling and nodding to Isobel.
I turn on Myles. “Did you see that?”
“If you’re referring to anything besides Lady Isobel’s superior curvesss flexing in front of me, then no, I didn’t.”
It’s an impressive feat of self-control that I refrain from jabbing Myles in his family heirlooms just as Draewulf tips his hand in Isobel’s direction. She grins and strides the last two feet to the victor of the blood sport and, in one swift movement, presses her hand over the man’s chest and mutters a chant. His face sags. His black skin yellows. He stiffens and falls in a heap on the floor.
Every member at our table gasps, and Gwen, Lord Percival, and I are all immediately standing. What the hulls?
“Is he dead?” Gwen asks.
“Fascinating,” Myles murmurs.
The footsteps of soldiers sound behind us. I flip around to find them lined up, their cautioning stares bearing down—Bron’s men indicating we should sit back down and Faelen’s guards hinting they’d rather not get in a fight here. Beside me, Myles gives a soft cluck of his tongue, although something in it hints that he’s wary too.
Ignoring them all, I lean forward to study the fallen soldier, scrutinizing his chest for signs of breathing just as Eogan claps heartily. The rest of the Assembly joins in. Gwen and Percival reclaim their seats as Isobel bows, and the doors are flung open again by a soldier who ushers in a boy of maybe seven. He’s dressed to match the victor in that shiny silver suit, but his face . . .
His face is that of the boy, Kel.
Isobel moves back, and as she does, the victor I’d thought dead moans, sits, then quickly pulls himself into a fighting stance once again. A stream of blood drips from his nose, and from the way he staggers, I’m sure whatever Isobel did will kill him sooner than later.
Myles yanks my elbow. “For hulls’ sakesss, sit down.”
Kel steps forward and raises a blade curved in the shape of a crescent. He doesn’t look at me, even though I’ve no doubt he knows I’m here. The bleeding victor lifts his sword.
The air in the room pauses as they wait. The Assembly waits. I wait. For . . . what? I don’t know. But I want to lunge for the boy—to help him—to stop him—because this is so wrong.
I feel Draewulf’s eyes on me. “Are you an imp, boy, or a man?” His shout makes me jump. “Show us how they’ve trained you here.”
Kel moves forward even as I catch the twitch in his pale face. Something shifts there and for a second I see a flash and recognize the fear. Not of what might be done to him, but of what he’ll do to the bigger man.
It almost kicks in my chest.
I rise as he uses his foot to toss the beaten fighter’s ax over to the bloodied victor. Offering him another weapon. He’s trying to making it a fair fight.
Even though everyone in here knows it won’t be.
“Faster, boy!” Draewulf yells, and abruptly the entire room is goading the child on.
“Do it!” another calls.
“Take him down!”
Is this a jest? What’s wrong with these people?
I peer around and notice the horror blossoming on Gwen’s face before I continue on to look at the old man, Sir Gowon. He appears only slightly less uncomfortable, but the focus of his gaze tells me it’s nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with Lady Isobel, who’s moved to Eogan’s side. She’s staring at Draewulf with a mixture of pride and disgust.
And Draewulf’s staring at me. Leering. Waiting.
Next thing I know Isobel’s turned her gaze my way as well. Her face clears of everything but arrogance before she looks back toward the young boy, who’s suddenly dropped the blade to the ground and stepped away from the injured man.
The gasp that rocked the room when she walked in is equaled in strength by the level of silence now.
Kel’s eyes focus on me. I stand there staring right back at him. What’s he doing?
But I know exactly what he’s doing. His words from the airship surface. “Maybe power comes in different forms. And maybe we get a choice how we use it.”
He blinks, then turns expertly toward Eogan as the guests seem to hold their breath in unison. Even Myles is devoid of smart remarks.
Kel tips his head forward. “Your Majesty, please forgive my decision not to complete this task. I don’t think this man guilty of an offense and therefore can’t find justice in killing him. I’m willing to perform another task instead to prove I’m your humble servant.”
An angered intake of breath erupts among multiple council members and guards, and even audibly from Sir Gowon. Their stares of disapproval all move from Kel’s face to mine.
I somehow find the chair beneath me and sit, and wait as Eogan’s expression turns darker than I can ever recall seeing it. His hand shakes and even his shoulders appear to quiver. “Someone bring another who has more respect for Bron’s tradition and its king’s wishes. And see that this one is—”
Sir Gowon steps in. “I’ll see to it, Your Majesty.” He beckons for two guards and Kel, who doesn’t look back as he strides, neck stiff, eyes straight forward, out of the room after Gowon.
Another boy enters as he leaves. He’s a head taller than Kel and his features are harder, fiercer.
He’s one of the group who’ve been glowering at me.
Without waiting for the guests to recover from their shock or for the injured man to prepare, he pulls out a straight, twelve-inch-long blade and lunges at the man’s leg.
The soldier utters a cry as the strike lands, and he drops to one knee. The boy’s gaze goes hard.
I push my chair back.
Myles’s hand is on my arm again faster than I can blink, pulling my wrist down to hide the blade. “Don’t be a fool. Make a scene now and you’ll embarrass the Assembly and endanger all of us.”
“I refuse to sit here and watch a child be used for blood sport. Even the other boy saw the idiocy in this.”
“At their ages, they’re considered soldiers. They’re showing off technique. It’s a rite of passage.”
“And the injured man?”
“Welcome to politics, sweetheart. This is where we pull our panties up and pretend to approve of another world’s customsss. Now put the blasted blade away and let the poor man die with dignity before you get usss all killed.”
I wrinkle my brow and look toward the door Kel was led through. “What are they going to do to him, you think?”
“Shh.”
I glare at him. I can’t watch this. I turn toward Eogan’s table. “Your Highness,” I say in a voice that carries farther than intended.
The room stops. The cheering stops. All movement stalls.
The edge in Draewulf’s eyes is sharper than anything that’s drawn blood tonight.
I nod to the warrior and the boy standing with his blade held up for the death blow. “I applaud your plan for demonstrating the same compassion you’re known for in Faelen. By showing the use of killing as a last resort rather than sport. Just as the previous boy was displaying.”
His calculated smile falters. “Ah, you speak kindly of my reputation, m’lady. But here in our home culture, would you have me rob this boy’s honor? Where would the compassion be in that?”
“Is it not King Eogan’s sense of honor that showed mercy on Bron and Faelen that saved both our lands? And thus would it not be more honoring to these warriors who have shown such skill in fighting, to show control through mercy?”
His face goes blank and flickers confused before it softens. A flare of green widens around his black wolf pupils, and abruptly there emerges something majestic in his face. Noble. I inhale. Because I swear it’s the Eogan I know. He begins shivering, and it’s so hard that he clenches the table with his hands as he looks from me to the boy and frowns. He starts to rise just as Isobel slides her hand over his chest and leans down to whisper in his ear. The green fades and his grin returns, more twisted this time, changing into the same smirk his daughter is wearing.
He releases the table.
“Interesting words spoken from the woman who chose not to withhold her Elemental mercy from many loved ones missing from this room. Alas, I promise you’re soon to discover mercy and death are often the same.” He waves at the injured man, now spitting up blood, and commands the boy, “Finish it.” He twitches his fingers at the guards behind me.
The straight blade comes down with a repulsive thud.
I look away only to realize the soldiers’ blades are poking into my back. “You’ll join us in the corridor,” one snarls. “Alone,” he adds when Myles begins to rise.
I clamp my gaze on the lord protectorate oaf and slide my knife back into its makeshift sheath. Myles’s glare is asking what the hulls I’ve just done because not only did I fail to save anyone, I may have doomed the rest of them. I don’t blame him. Of all people, I should know that compassion without the power to change anything is futile. Is dangerous.
Stumbling to the door amid the angry guards and daggers, I glance back to see Draewulf’s expression. Instead of gloating, he’s wincing. And when I trail my gaze to the hand resting on his chest, I see it belongs to Isobel.
She grins and blows me a kiss right as the door opens and I’m pushed through.
“No!” I cry out, but the metal shuts in place behind me.
“You’ve been invited to Bron by special request of Lord Myles,” one of my Faelen bodyguards says in my face. “Do you realize what those people think of you? What they could do to you?”
“Her being here is already an offense,” growls a Bron soldier. “She’s lucky we didn’t just cut her down then and there.”
Their irritable words—they keep tumbling out, swirling around reproachful faces that are all glaring and yelling at me.
I snap. “Look, King Eogan obviously allowed me to come, so I will take it up with him. Now let me back in there.”
“Believe me, we took it up with him,” Sir Gowon’s elderly voice says, slipping out from a door nearby us.
He steps forward and the soldiers fall silent. I’m surprised there’s not smoke wisping from his nose for how obviously he’s fuming. He looks at the Faelen guard closest me. “Your girl here needs to understand that most of the Assembly in there see her as a threat and an affront. Yes, our king has allowed her to be here, but if she wants to stay alive, she’ll need to behave like the rest of your delegates. What she did in there is not acceptable, and if she repeats it again I will personally see her punished.”
My guard frowns. “We understand perfectly, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“But the delegates are in danger. I have to—”
“The delegates are safe, and I suggest you do your part to see they stay that way,” Sir Gowon snarls at me. “Which, right now, means refraining from flouting our tradition or aggravating our Assembly further while you’re here.”
I try to jerk free. “And perhaps your guards should refrain from aggravating me.”
The large Bron soldier who searched me earlier leans down until he’s level with my face. He looks angrier than seems warranted, as if I’ve provoked him personally.
Sir Gowon slides his hand between us. “That’s enough. The king wants her left unharmed.” He looks at me fully now with those cold eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll be spared watching the harm you’ve caused.”
He snaps his fingers and two other soldiers grab my arms as he turns to my Faelen guards. “She’ll watch the boy’s punishment. You’re welcome to attend with her, which I’m certain you’ll insist on anyway.”
Without waiting for their reply, he steps toward the room he emerged from and through which the sound of lashing is suddenly emitting. My stomach plunges.
Sir Gowon pushes it open, enters, and is followed by my Faelen soldiers. The large guard shoves my back and I stumble into a small, brightly lit barren room where Kel is kneeling in the center of the stark floor with his shirt off.
The edge of a thick metal whip is sliding off his shoulders, wielded by a tall, callous-looking Bron. And even with Kel’s head down and eyes shut, I can see tears dripping off his cheeks. There’s no blood or broken skin but the bruises and welts appearing suggest the damage underneath might be worse than if there were.
“Stop!” I spring forward but the large guard stalls me with a hand to my chest.
“You want to make it worse?” he growls, but his furious expression is shaded with shame. All of their expressions are, in fact—aside from Sir Gowon’s.
The whip comes down again, bringing unbidden tears from my eyes. No! The lashing pulls no sound from him, and he sags forward even farther.
And I suddenly realize why he’s not screaming.