Thrax nobles meander around the tourney area. There are representatives from the great houses: Acca, Rixa, Kamal, Striga and Horus. The parade of different colored dresses and tunics move around, reminding me of spring blossoms on Earth.
I shake my head. Spring petals? Me? Most of my days are focused on maps and killing demons. Just the prospect of seeing Myla transforms me.
It’s not a bad thing, actually.
Feels excellent, as a matter of fact.
I step around the grounds, checking on the battle schedule. And yes, looking for Myla. She’s supposed to attend with her friend, Cissy. Mother even chose a particular dress for Myla to wear. Red. Unmistakable in the palette of house colors. Yet there’s no sign of a red dress or Myla. Yet.
Nat soon finds me. There’s a wild look in his eyes. “My Prince.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Aldred changed his battle schedule.”
The muscles in my neck lock. This could be trouble. Of all the earls, Aldred was the most upset by Myla’s so-called battle with the young lords. Since then, Aldred has insisted on introducing the event as well as leading the first battle. Mother planned the event, but I made the demon fighting assignments. Aldred is slated to battle an insectile. It looks like a massive locust, always goes on the attack, and dies at the slightest scratch. Ideal for an untalented windbag.
“I’ll check into it,” I say. The final schedule is held in the Rixa preparation tent. “Thank you for letting me know.”
Soon, I stand outside our house’s tent. “I am a warrior for the House of Rixa,” I call. “May I enter?”
The entrance flap opens a crack. Bera, my mother’s handmaiden, peeps through he break in the fabric. “Just one moment, your Highness. A few maidens need to leave first.”
I nod, grip my hands behind my back, and wait. A moment later, my world turns upside down. A particular voice echoes out from the tent.
Myla’s.
I kick at the ground with my boot, my thoughts racing. What could Myla possibly be doing with Bera in my house tent? Mother sent her a gown. Myla is here as a spectator, so she shouldn’t be looking for any weaponry.
It’s a puzzle.
Minutes later, the tent flap whip open. Mystery solved. Myla wears what we call a gown of welcome, which is a horrid affair with tons of flounce. Evidently, Myla didn’t wear the gown that was sent to her. Of course. My girl isn’t the type to do as told. And that dress? It’s not Myla’s style at all.
Still, my girl steps out of the tent with the flair of a runway model. She smiles, an expression that lights up her features. I admire her bravado. Not many can pull off a dress like that one. Myla looks transcendent. I can’t help it, I look her over from head to toe. Instead of a puff ball, my girl resembles a warrior ballerina. Perfect.
All the while, I work hard to keep my features unreadable. After all my efforts to hold this tournament—and then get Myla to attend—I can’t ruin things by overtly drooling over her presence.
I stay steely as I bow slightly. “Miss Lewis.”
“Your Highness.”
We’re only a few inches apart now. Fresh lines of connection and interest crackle through the air between us. This is insane. I have to get out of here, fast.
“Excuse me.” I speed into the tent, closing the flap behind me. The interior of the tent is lined with weapons of various kinds, as well as trunks which overflow with various supplies. Best of all, Bera is here.
My mother’s handmaiden waddles toward me. She’s all round cheeks and loving smiles. Seeing me, she throws open her arms. “Ah, my Little Lincoln!”
“My Big Bera.” That was my nickname for her as a child. I thought Bera to be all things lovely, soft and feminine. Even as a toddler, I’d always reach for her and want to cuddle in her lap. She became my Big Bera. K like that I’m still her Little Lincoln. We share a short hug.
“So,” I say slowly. “A gown of welcome? I didn’t realize we even carried those anymore in Antrum, let alone in Purgatory.”
“Octavia warned me to pack some in a chest, just in case. Shoes, too.”
“Mother is scheming.”
“Verily. She wants Myla at the tourney.”
“Evidently.” I tilt my head. “How did the manners training with Adair go? Did Mother go through with that?”
“Did she?” Bera’s apple cheeks redden as she giggles. “Peek outside and see for yourself.”
Curious, I peer out a side flap. Sure enough, Myla sits next to Adair and the great ladies, meaning the leading single women from each of the great houses.
“That seating arrangement,” I scan the precise order. “Was that part of Octavia’s manners training?”
“Oh, yes.”
I can’t help but grin. “What else did Mother do?”
Bera rocks on her heels. “First, Adair had to invite Myla to sit beside her. Second, she can only call her Miss Lewis. And third, the great lady of Acca must comport herself politely at all times.”
“I hate to ask this. How many times did Adair, you know…”
“Cry? Constantly. All crocodile tears. A fake display to get out of manners training.”
I shake my head. “What did mother do?”
“Kept her longer. And assigned a new Mistress of the Tissues to dab her eyes.”
I shake my head. “That’s a classic. How did I miss all this?”
“You’ve been rather busy.” Bera stares at me a moment too long. Does she suspect my true area of interest, which is protecting Myla? Best to change the subject.
“Do you have the demon fight schedule handy?” I ask.
“Sure do.” Bera waddles over to a table, picks up a parchment, and hands it over.
I scan the sheet. “Aldred is fighting a limus?” Those are similar to a dissolus in that if you don’t know how to kill them, they’re nearly indestructible. I exhale a frustrated breath. “I better get out there.”
A voice sounds outside the tent. “I am a warlock for the House of Striga. May I enter?”
My blood speeds with interest. Lucas has already signed my anti-Acca treaty, so if he’s here with news, it’s regarding the Tithe book.
Cupping my hand by my mouth, I call toward the entrance. “One moment, Lucas.” I then turn to Bera. “Would you mind giving us some time?”
“Not at all, Little Lincoln.” She goes on tiptoe and pinches my cheek before leaving.
Lucas steps inside. He’s a tall and lean fellow wearing the long purple robes of his house. His long grey dreadlocks are decorated with beads of spell achievement. “Greetings, Lincoln.”
We clasp hands. “Good to see you. I appreciate your support on the treaty.”
“Not a problem. You know we have an old rivalry with Acca.” Even so, the words come out as more of a question.
“But?”
“You know Aldred. He’s always making deals. Lord Gilberto promised some kind of help from his daughter, Gianna.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s the nature of that deal?”
“I don’t yet know, but I wanted to be honest.”
“Which is most appreciated.” While other earls try to hide problems from me, Lucas is fearless in letting me know when things aren’t going well. It’s one reason why I trust him so thoroughly.
“If anything does change—and by that I mean affect the treaty—I will certainly let you know.”
“Thank you. Any update on that book I sent you?”
Lucas pulls the volume out from the folds of his robes. “I’ve checked this out magically. The pages are blank.” He taps the leather cover with his pointer finger. “There’s an impasse spell on it. Only certain viewers can see what’s inside.”
I pick up the small volume and turn it over in my hands. “Who can see it?”
Lucas shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s very old. The magic is deep. I’ll keep at it.”
“Do you need the actual book to continue? There are some other experts I’d like to take a look at this.”
<
br /> “No, I’ve already built up a magical research matrix. I can keep casting without the actual book.”
“Thank you.” I set the volume into a nearby chest for safe keeping.
All of a sudden, a roar sounds from the tournament crowd. Angry voices ricochet through the air.
“An insult to the House of Acca!”
“Evil she-demon!”
“Such a humiliation!”
I suck in a shocked breath. Aldred! With the news about the treaty and Tithe book, I’d forgotten about the fight with the limus demon. I race out of the Rixa tent and speed to the tourney ground. Immediately, it’s obvious what’s happened.
Aldred sits in the center of the tourney ground, his body covered in green slime. An extinguished lantern lies broken beside him. The earl still grips a crossbow in his hands.
I shake my head. Aldred used a crossbow against a limus demon? That’s useless. Fire is the only solution. Someone chucked the lantern at Aldred and saved his life.
Across the stands, members of Acca point at Myla. They keep yelling horrid things about her being a she-demon, throwing fire at their earl, and humiliating their house. Even so, Myla remains the only person in the viewer pavilions who stands tall.
Oh, damn. Myla did the right thing, but for the worst person possible.
Cissy rushes to the pavilion, grasps Myla’s hand, and guides my girl away. As she leaves, a fresh round of cries rise up from the stands.
“Foul demon!”
“Scum fighter!”
“Quasi whore!”
Protective energy spins through my nervous system. Myla hears these foul words. Outrageous! I take off through the crowd, one thought on my mind.
Find Myla.
I soon discover my girl sitting in the mud behind the Striga tent. Her large and soulful eyes are lined with tears. I pause before her. Every instinct I have screams for me to kiss away her sorrow.
She lifts up her hands. Mud drips from her fingers. “Look, buddy. If you’re here to complain, I’ve already heard it. The House of Acca yells much better than they fight.”
Her words strike me through. My people are mandated to protect the innocent. Here, I find the worst kind of cruelty, and against someone who—despite being in a strange situation—did the right thing. My chest tightens with grief. What can I say here? I clear my throat and do my best. “On behalf of myself and my people, thank you for saving the earl’s life.”
Myla’s eyes widen with disbelief. “You’re welcome.”
In my heart, I want to kneel down and console her. Yet I know what’s best for her. So I turn and march away.
My destination? The royal stables. I find Nightshade. “Find Myla. Take her away from here.”
Night rears on her hind legs. When she returns to all fours, she’s fully saddled up and ready to go. My horse takes off for Myla. I watch from a safe distance. Night approaches Myla. My girl smiles. Warmth fills my soul as Myla mounts Night and takes off into the woods.
My girl is demonic. And yet acted closer to thrax warrior code than Aldred.
She’s also the strongest warrior, and yet held her cool.
Things are going too far, too fast, and at the crux of it all is that damned marriage treaty.
With a flash of realization, I know exactly what I must do. There is one way I can ensure Myla always stays safe. I steel my shoulders. Anything for my girl.
Footsteps slosh up behind me.
“My Prince,” huffs Bera. “So glad I found you.”
“Let me guess,” I state. “I’m needed at the mead hall.”
“Sorry for the last minute request. They’re all rather rowdy. Someone needs to talk to them. You wouldn’t have any ideas?”
“As a matter of fact, I know exactly what to say.”
And so I head off.
19
Minutes later, I step into the mead hall. Dying light streams through the small window holes atop the peaked roof. A thin layer of hearth smoke lurks by the ceiling. The floor is packed with nobles. After the battle of the young lords, my people were more humiliated than angry. This time, all the faces contort with rage. Angry energy ricochets through the air.
The situation hangs by a thread. If I do the wrong thing here; it could be a disaster for Myla.
Pushing through the crowd, I find Mother and pull her aside. “Is Father coming?”
Mother winces. “He’s gotten an emergency communiqué and—”
“That’s fine. I’d rather he not be here.” I scan the crowd once more. My gaze lands on Cissy, Myla’s friend. I nod toward her. “I need that girl to leave.”
“Cissy Frederickson?” Mother frowns. “Why would we do that? It’s good she’s here. The girl’s taking an interest in inter-realm relations.”
There’s a lot that’s worrisome about what Mother just said, not the least of which is the fact that she knows Cissy’s last name. I didn’t even know that fact, and I pride myself as a master of Myla trivia.
“I must say things to protect Myla, and Cissy can’t hear them.”
Mother arches her right brow. “Consider it done.”
All of a sudden, Aldred marches up to the fireplace. The hearth is lit now, so the earl’s outline becomes framed by flickering red light. “My fellow thrax!” Aldred cries. “You all know what happened today. That she-demon humiliated me!” He slams his fist against his open palm. “We must track her down. Make her pay!”
Raising my arm, I bellow across the room. “If you bring up the topic of hun—”
Aldred cuts me off. “We must file an official diplomatic complaint.”
Acca nobles yell. “Hear hear!”
All the color fades from Cissy’s face. That’s not a good sign. Ghouls rule the quasi people. A complaint could cause serious trouble..
I march to the fireplace and round on Aldred. “Let’s discuss the facts. The limus was not on your battle schedule. You added that fight without knowing how to properly defeat the demon.” I turn to the crowd. “The bottom line is simple. Miss Lewis saved the Earl’s life. We owe her thanks, not a complaint.”
Mother makes her way through the crowd, closing in on Cissy.
“She’s a demon,” howls Aldred. “A demon!”
Cissy’s still here, so I can’t yet launch into my true speech for today. “It’s not the thrax way to repay kindness with cruelty, even if this girl is a demon.”
Octavia reaches Cissy and escorts her to the exit. I exhale. Ever since Myla saved Aldred from the limus, a plan has been forming in my mind. Once Cissy is well and truly gone, I raise my arms. The room falls silent.
“My thrax,” I announce. “We need to discuss Myla Lewis. Some of you wanted to hunt her. Now, Aldred wishes to file a complaint against her.” I scan the room, ensuring I have everyone’s attention. “I’ll make one thing very clear, right in this moment. I respect Myla Lewis, both as a warrior and a person of integrity. The words I’m about to say are to protect all quasis, but they especially focus on her.”
Part of my role is being able to read a room. Right now? That sense is total shock. At least, that’s not rage. I consider it an improvement.
“We’ve been called to Purgatory,” I continue. “There’s one reason why. Our spies say Armageddon will invade soon. When that happens, it’s our responsibly to ensure the Great Scala and Scala Heir are safe in Antrum. When that happens, we will all leave this place. I will too.”
“But my daughter is the Scala Heir,” cries Aldred. “Will you sign the betrothal contract?”
I stifle the urge to smile. This is exactly what I’d hoped Aldred would say. “No, I will not sign.”
“We all know why!” Aldred’s jowls flush pink with frustration. “You’ve fallen for this demon girl.”
“Her name is Myla Lewis,” I correct. “I’m not signing because I have made a decision. Listen carefully, my people. I shall never marry. If I’m fortunate enough to become king, I’ll adopt my heir based on their suitability for the role, as is my right b
y thrax law.”
Silence and shock take over the room. A chill fills the air. Mother stands by the wall, her features stony and blank.
Aldred’s face turns read with fury. “And you’ll adopt from the House of Acca?”
I round on Aldred. “There are four major houses. Four. And hundreds of minor houses, such as Gurith.” I gesture toward Mother, who’s from that house. “I will not favor your house above all others.” I allow a long pause to follow. The shock in the room turns to something else. Some nobles nod. Others relax their postures.
This is what I’d hoped for. No one wants to see Acca get more power.
“Every house deserves consideration,” I declare. “My choice will be based on suitability. The king and queen are young. This decision won’t be made for hundreds of years.”
Aldred folds his arms over his chest. “We’ll see what the king has to say about this.”
“I suppose we will.” I return my focus to the crowd. “Are there any other questions about my decision?”
No one says a word. Some excitement ricochets through the crowd. Many houses don’t have eligible ladies for marriage, but they do have sons that could become an adopted son. This announcement appeals to them, as I’d hoped.
“Then I wish you a good evening.” I turn to the fireplace, set my hand on the mantle, and stare into the hearth. Somewhere, I know the thrax are leaving the chamber. Mother wishes them smooth goodbyes. I watch the logs burns down to embers. The realization strikes me.
Walker was right from the start. I never should have gotten anywhere near Myla. Every time we see each other, I only make things worse for her. A weight of sorrow presses onto my shoulders.
I can’t see Myla again. Ever.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but when I look up, the mead hall is empty. Mother stands beside me. She practically invented the unreadable look, and she’s wearing one now.
“Mother,” I begin. “I apologize you had to learn of my decision that way. I must protect Myla. That means removing the question of marriage from the equation.”
“You wish to protect her? Why?”
Lincoln Page 19
