The Stolen Prince (Blood for Blood Book 1)

by K. L. Gee

  She heard Azure calling behind her, fear in his voice, but she started to run, zipping ahead down the hallway, careful to avoid the crowded curtains around the dining hall. She opened one of the servants’ doors and slipped into the parallel corridor that allowed the servants to walk throughout the citadel without being seen by any air people. She zipped through these passages—knowing them all by heart, since they were the ones she’d used as a child. She passed through the main hallway with its numerous entryways. She wanted to run, to escape, to simply be free as she used to be. She didn’t want to be quiet or see Prince Sesto or listen to the hard truth from Truthsinger or anyone.

  She took a breath and let her skin touch the air around her—she could feel it making contact with her hands. She could be even more powerful if she could wear an air zipping shirt for women—they were cut across the top and midriff, exposing as much skin to the air as was decent. But not many women zipped. Only men, by tradition, were supposed to use, let alone possess, the power. Still, her father had taught her to fight—hoping to give her the ability to defend herself should the need arise. He had also taught her to trust no one but be loyal to everyone.

  She was outside the armory. There were hash marks above each door, signifying to the illiterate Su servants where they were. She stepped through the door and zipped to the roof when no guards were passing. She saw King Arden, King Darr, Prince Sesto, and the other generals and advisors all watching a duel between trained porting soldiers. Kara felt a thrill to be spying again. The sun was only beginning to set, making the winter air turn bitterly cold. Once again Kara wished she had worn her thick wool cloak and not just her dinner cape.

  She ignored the cold and turned her attention to the duel. Two soldiers battled without short swords, using only one dagger each, which was the watered–down, traditional dueling style. They each had a second who, in an unofficial duel, usually resorted just to catcalling at the opponent. They ported quickly, in flashes, moving so fast that any normal eye wouldn’t be able to catch them. But Kara saw. It was a zipper against a vanisher. Since a zipper could only port to where he could see and a vanisher could only port to a place he couldn’t see, it made for an interesting fight. A vanisher usually resorted to porting behind himself in a duel, while the zipper had the advantage of getting right behind his opponent again and again. They moved past each other, fast and skilled. These were some of the best of the Atmen fighters. The key was not to be touched, otherwise, the air zipper could take them wherever they wanted, and that could mean high in the air to drop his opponent—high enough to do some damage.

  He did just that. The zipper grabbed the vanisher’s leg, zipped to a spot in the sky, and dropped him. He then zipped back to the ground, waiting for the vanisher to fall, but the vanisher anticipated his move and ported underneath the zipping dueler, landing on his back. He grabbed the zipper’s legs from underneath. Kara was impressed with the vanisher’s ability. How did he vanish with such accuracy and not harm himself? She couldn’t know because vanishers were careful to keep their training and tricks a tight secret.

  The zipper fell and elbowed the vanisher quickly to destabilize him. The vanisher turned, kicking his feet from underneath him and throwing sand into the zipper’s eyes. This was the fastest way to destabilize a zipper. It was impossible to zip without clear vision. The vanisher knocked his disoriented opponent to the ground and stomped his leg into his opponent’s chest, hard.

  “I yield!” the zipper cried, in pain. The vanisher bowed.

  Kara smiled. Everyone thought that air zippers had the incredible advantage, but in a fair duel, vanishers were an equal match.

  “You have talented porters among your soldiers,” King Darr observed.

  King Arden nodded, stepping away from the fighting men. “Yes, but their numbers are dwindling. Are yours?”

  “Yes. Fewer and fewer men are born with the power each generation. Now, perhaps one in three or four families has a child with the capabilities. We have stopped training truthsingers or other artisans. If they have the power, they are all signed up for war now.”

  King Arden looked at King Darr in shock. “You don’t give them the choice?”

  “Of course not. Their power is needed to defend the people. If the Terra attack our nations, that is our best advantage. You will be grateful for it when our armies arrive. You will wish that every apprenticed artisan or entertainer were a warrior.”

  “Some of them aren’t natural fighters. You saw my truthsinger. He is an artist.”

  “With a power like that? He could have been a warrior.”

  Kara watched her father purse his lips—the way he did when he knew that if he continued to argue it would either be futile or amount to something worse than an argument.

  “Also,” King Darr added, “most of the boys born with the ability are sons of nobles. They want to go to war and fight.”

  “And the girls?” the king asked. Kara perked up. Why was he asking?

  King Darr started. “Women don’t zip or vanish!” King Darr sounded disgusted by the idea. King Arden nodded as if in agreement and glanced up toward Kara. He caught her eye.

  Kara gasped as King Arden glared at her—there would be a severe scolding. No, beyond that. That was the death stare. He glanced down in enough time so it didn’t look suspicious. She crawled away from the edge of the roof, avoiding the searing eyes of that gaze. A hand gripped her ankle.

  Instinctively, she zipped to the other side of the roof and then zipped again. She was now hanging on to the ledge of the roof with only her hands, her legs dangling down the edge. It was a classic defensive move, used so that whoever grabbed her might fall into the armory below. Instead, the weight released from her ankle, and suddenly Azure was in front of her, holding down her hands.

  “Azure!”

  He pulled her off the roof with easy strength and immediately grabbed her wrist, dragging her toward the door that went to the roof. He was looking left and right to see if there were any guards. A sunset guard was making his way toward them just then. Azure ducked into a storage closet, pulling her inside.

  “Azure, how did you do that?”

  “Shh.”

  He pushed his hand over her lips, not trusting her ability to remain silent. She yanked his hand away from her mouth, and he let it remain at his side. They waited as the guard walked by. Azure peaked out the doorway and commenced dragging her to the door again. He opened it softly. They were back inside the servants’ passageways.

  “I can make my way back to my room, Azure,” Kara said, pulling her hand free. He kept walking down the hallways, expecting her to follow. Walking took a lot longer than zipping. It would take them twenty minutes to get back to her room. How had he gotten here so fast? The duel didn’t last more than three minutes.

  Azure hissed. “Do you know that you put my life at risk when you pull a stunt like that? As your guard, I am responsible for you. Hopefully no one important saw you.”

  “My father saw me,” Kara said.

  Azure cursed.

  “He knows I did it at my own volition.”

  “Have you heard of a whipping boy, Princess?” Azure asked, speeding his walk to a trot.

  “No.” she said, hurrying along to catch up.

  “Not long ago, it was tradition for royalty never to be punished. You couldn’t harm the heir to the throne. So they always brought in a boy—a Su—who was punished for whatever the young heir did.”

  “That can’t be true. How would the prince learn responsibility?”

  “By the sympathy brought on when he saw the Su boy whipped.”

  “Surely…”

  “You grew up a secret, but you are no longer one. Your father cannot punish you, even in private. You will have a whipping boy.”

  “A person to blame…” Kara said, realizing. “He will not blame you. I will go to my own room.”

  “I will not shirk my responsibility as your escort,” Azure said. Kara took the stab—meaning he would n
ot abandon his duty, while she would.

  “This, coming from a Su,” Kara said and immediately regretted it. Why did her pride make her bite so viciously? Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to apologize. She just watched Azure pause, anger pulsing the edges of his lips. It was wrong for her to say that… and it wasn’t true of Azure.

  “Azure…” she started, but he turned away and continued to walk. She wished she could zip away and get to her room as quickly as possible, but she allowed herself the punishment of walking beside her old friend, every agonizing, awkward moment of it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Everyone was watching Hakon. A thick layer of dirt shaped into a circle marked the dueling ring. Hakon waited on its outskirts to be called. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his thigh and the drum beats still aching in his head. It was time to focus. A man designated as the dueling master stepped forward.

  “Hakon. Bavol.”

  Hakon stepped forward into the ring and watched Bavol step forward opposite him.

  “Who is Hakon’s second?”

  “I am,” Skeet said behind him. He stepped up, carrying Hakon’s weapons.

  “Who is Bavol’s second?”

  “I am.” The young boy, Tadi, stepped forward. A few guardians stood in protest. He could be no older than twelve, and one who had not completed their survival was rarely allowed to fight in a duel of decision. Windfather looked confident, and no one could protest his choice.

  A second’s responsibility was to guard the duelist, to care for their weapons, and if they were to lose or die, it was their responsibility to avenge the dueler. The code was clear. That meant that if Hakon won against Bavol, he would have to fight Tadi as well. He had determined he wouldn’t give Skeet the chance to fight.

  Hakon turned and gathered his weapons from Skeet. Skeet handed both to Hakon, placing the dagger in his right hand and the stone in his left. They didn’t fight with their hatchets in duels.

  Guardian taught that the Master favors the warrior who fights for the great cause. The Terra believed that fate would decide the outcome of this duel. He believed in the purpose the tribe of Kaldin had given him, but in this moment, Hakon wondered if he fought for his people or if he fought for himself. He wanted to know who he was outside of the Terra. He wanted to know what the Alem were like, what he was supposed to be like. Regardless of his true motives, Hakon hoped the Master would favor his desires over Bavol’s.

  Bavol faced the crowd. “I fight for the Terra, people of the earth, who are rulers of this land, who stand with honor, who were betrayed by the Su, who were driven to the mountains by the Alem, where we became a mighty people, a people who fight. We are not afraid to draw blood when vengeance is due!” He spun around, looking at the people gathered. All were silent. He held up his knife in his right hand and a rock in his left. He ceremoniously threw the rock to his left, indicating that this fight would be fair.

  Tadi stepped into the ring, voice booming. “I swear as second to uphold all that my brother, Bavol, and my tribe fight for.” Hakon was surprised that his voice was strong for one so young.

  Hakon looked at his dagger and then up at the people—his people. “I fight for the people of the Desolate Forest, of The Drums, who have been carved from its cruelty. I fight so that we might live. I am not afraid to step into the enemy’s camp, to reveal who I am—what I have been bought in blood for.” He looked at the other Terra’s eyes. For the most part, they were quiet, respectful, and stoic. But he could see a few faces betray looks of disgust. There were still many who were not on his side. He raised his dagger and dropped his stone.

  Behind him, Skeet spoke. “I swear as second to uphold all that Hakon, Prince of Atmen, fights for.”

  Hakon looked back at Skeet. Why would he remind everyone he was the prince when he needed the Terra on his side? Skeet met his eyes and gave a bow of his head. The word “prince” made Hakon realize suddenly that, technically, he was heir to be king, should his father accept him. Was that the plan then if his mission failed? To make him king? An Alem king on the side of the Terra?

  Hakon pushed these thoughts out of his mind. He wouldn’t even have a mission to complete if he lost.

  Bavol was pacing around the ring. Hakon took a deep breath, keeping his eyes open as Gage had instructed. He ignored the throbbing in his leg from the healing wound and tried his best to ignore the drumbeats inside his head. He watched Bavol’s footsteps. Bavol was stepping in time with the rhythm of the mountain. Hakon followed his patterns. The knife felt good in his hand. Fortunately, this was not a duel to the death. His only goal was to draw blood.

  There were two stages to every duel. The first stage was meant to draw blood, giving an advantage to the dueler who struck first. When the dagger drew first blood, the duelers would drop their knives and move to the second stage, fighting only with their bare hands until one of them yielded.

  He focused on his breath, trying to pattern it after the drumming he felt from the earth. It pulsated through him, like a second heartbeat inconsistent with his own.

  He could see Bavol bending to leap, so Hakon leapt first.

  He was not a cautious fighter. Some waited for their opponent to move first, but Hakon preferred to pounce first. Bavol met him midair, and their arms locked. Hakon used his left hand to cut Bavol to the left, but Bavol anticipated it and scratched him with his long nails. Hakon often regretted his dull hands in a fight like this. He did not have the claws that allowed for an advantage.

  Bavol gripped his left arm now with his sharp claws. Hakon swallowed the scream at his throat. He drove his heel into Bavol’s knee, hoping to make him stumble. It worked. Bavol dropped one knee, but their knives remained in a deadlock.

  Bavol slipped out of Hakon’s grip and drove his elbow into his thigh, right on Hakon’s wound. Hakon howled, and then swallowed the shock of pain that ripped through his leg. Someone had told Bavol about his wound.

  “You have the blood of the enemy,” Bavol whispered in his ear. “You share their murders.”

  Hakon let his anger take over, and he threw Bavol back, letting the man’s claws rip a gash along his left arm.

  “Blood drawn!” the dueling master announced.

  “Not knife blood!” Skeet shouted.

  Hakon attacked again, aiming for the waist. Bavol swiped out his knife hand, hoping to catch Hakon midair, but Hakon ducked and rolled, reaching up to swipe Bavol across the side rib, drawing blood.

  “Metal blood! Yield Bavol!”

  Bavol backed away and threw his dagger into the dirt, and Hakon did likewise. They had moved to the second stage of the duel.

  “That’s a pretty trick for a duel, but it won’t work in a fight for your life,” Bavol hissed. “Have you ever killed a man, Alem?”

  Hakon roared and charged towards Bavol. He could hear Gage mutter “fool” behind him. Bavol anticipated his move and grabbed his arms and spun him to the ground. Hakon landed hard on his back, but he was able to get his feet under him before Bavol threw himself down on top of him.

  They rolled, gripping each other’s arms with legs knocking.

  Hakon could see that the cut along Bavol’s ribs was deep and bleeding a great deal. Hakon roared and pulled Bavol’s arms, slippery with blood, closer to him and jabbed his elbow into Bavol’s wound. Bavol grunted. Imitating Hakon’s move, Bavol dug his claws into Hakon’s bleeding arm.

  With a surge of strength, Hakon threw him down. His eyes blurred for a moment, the blood rushing and the pain excruciating. The Drums were louder, pushing against his head. He couldn’t waste any more strength. He needed to finish this.

  He closed his eyes—however Gage hated it, it allowed him to focus for even a brief moment. He pulled away from Bavol’s grip, letting the claws rip deeper into his arm. Before Bavol could react, Hakon punched the man’s wounded side again, hard. The impact was enough that Bavol flew back, wincing and winded. Angry, he charged toward Hakon.

  This time, Hakon waited and stepped to th
e side. He kicked Bavol’s exposed legs from behind. As he fell, Bavol dug his claws into Hakon’s back, ripping through his skin as he fell. Hakon ignored the searing pain, twisting sharply to throw Bavol to the ground, tearing out little chunks of his own flesh in the process.

  The full momentum of Bavol’s fall winded him enough that Hakon could push him to the ground. He pinned him down, restraining his chest and arms. Perhaps Bavol’s claws gave him an advantage, but Hakon was stronger.

  Bavol struggled underneath Hakon’s strength. Bavol tried to throw Hakon, allowing himself one roar of emotion, but Hakon held fast.

  Seconds passed, an eternity.

  “Bavol yields?” the dueling master asked.

  “No!” Bavol yelled.

  “I will hold you here as long as it takes,” Hakon said.

  Tadi called from outside the ring. “I’ll finish him!”

  “No!” Bavol yelled again. He glanced for a moment to the side. Hakon followed his gaze and saw Windfather frowning. Then the chief nodded ever so slightly.

  Bavol nodded and relaxed, yielding. Hakon stepped back, relieved and a little surprised that Bavol was so easy to overcome. The dueling master nodded and let Bavol retreat. Bavol walked outside the ring, avoiding his father’s eyes. Hakon stepped back, taking a moment to assess his injuries. For the first time, he noticed the quiet solemnity of the room. It was as if the entire company of Terra was holding their breath.

  Most duels weren’t this silent.

  Tadi stepped into the ring as soon as Bavol crossed the line. He grabbed the dagger from the dirt and charged.

  “Hakon!” Skeet called in warning as Tadi leapt after Hakon before he could recover his dagger. Hakon leapt to the side, but Tadi countered and slashed a deep cut in Hakon’s thigh, right along the tiger’s scar. Hakon bit his own cheek from the pain.

  “Blood drawn!” the judge cried. A cry was heard across the crowd, their first sound. Warm, salty blood filled Hakon’s mouth, bringing him to attention. He would not let this fall in Windfather’s favor.