Aldred scans the room. “Who set this armor?”
That’s when I see the real problem.
Aldred holds a rope in his pudgy fist. The other end of that cord encircles the neck of a scrawny nine-year old boy. The child’s too-large yellow tunic is decorated with the image of a threadbare lion. The clothing—shabby as it is—means the boy is a servant of Acca who cares for Rufus and his extended family. A long scar runs from the child’s right eye to his chin. My gaze snaps to Nat, who still glares at Aldred. No question about it. My Master at Arms is enraged by Aldred’s treatment of this child.
Nat’s not alone, either. Watching that cord dangle about the child’s neck? White-hot fury burns through my soul.
“I said, who set this armor?” yells Aldred. To accent his point, he yanks on the line around the boy’s throat.
Fresh waves of outrage careen through me. I round on Aldred. “What’s on that child’s neck?”
Aldred sniffs. “It’s a traditional minder system for battle lion caretakers which—as you know—falls under the exclusive rule of the House of Acca.”
My skin chills over in disbelief. Sure, Aldred’s treatment falls under battle rules. Yet there are larger laws at work here. Tying up children is an abomination.
Aldred yanks on the cord once more. “Answer me!”
This time, the boy falls onto his knees, his skinny limbs quaking with fear. “I was the one who set the armor, Lord Aldred.” His voice breaks with a sob. “Everything seemed fine.”
Aldred focuses on the crowd once more. “According to ancient law, battle lions are solely subject to my rule. I do not tolerate sloppy work when it comes to matters of formal combat.” Aldred stares at Myla as he says the words sloppy work and formal combat. Not a surprise. Aldred is forever painting my fiancée as thrax tradition breaker extraordinaire.
In fact, this entire interruption could simply be Aldred wanting to show how he follows formalities while Myla does not.
Somehow, I doubt it will be that simple, though. Aldred is notorious for layering plans within plans.
Even so, Aldred’s schemes are not my main concern right now. This child is. I take a pointed step closer to Aldred. “That’s enough. Release the rope.”
Aldred’s thick mouth pulls into a sickly smile. “Of course.” The earl drops the rope to the gym floor before winding up his arm, ready to slam his fist into the child’s ear. “Botched traditions and combat errors must be punished!”
Shock rattles through my nervous system. A single thought appears in my mind, the realization written large. Aldred plans to strike this defenseless child.
Moving swiftly, I grip the earl’s wrist before it connects with the boy’s head. When I next speak, my voice is a low growl. “I said, enough. Try that again, and you’ll land in the infirmary. Am I clear?”
“Always,” whispers Aldred. His smug grin stays firmly in place, however. After years of sad experience, I know Aldred is still scheming. Whatever the earl is up to, it’s about more than hurting small boys.
Releasing Aldred’s wrist, I kneel before the child. Up close, it’s clear how another scar runs over his scalp, dividing up his hair crossways. He’s been injured before. Often. The realization makes my heart sink.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Baptiste, your Highness.”
“And your house?”
“I have no mother and father. Officially.” Baptiste twists the folds of his dirty fellow tunic. “I am fortunate to be a servant in the House of Acca.”
“Would you rather officially join a house?”
The child looks up, his mismatched eyes wide with shock. “Yes, your Highness.”
Rising, I address the gym. “Let it be known that Baptiste is now part of Rixa.”
Nat steps forward, his face split into a wide grin. As Master of Arms, Nat trains young thrax for Rixa guard duty. He’s taken in a number of orphans so far. Long story short, there’s no way Nat will leave this gym without Baptiste in his care.
Aldred moves to stand between Nat and Baptiste. “This whelp has no house. He’s lucky to serve Acca.” Reaching forward, Aldred goes to smack the base of Baptiste’s skull.
Fast as lightning, I grip Aldred’s wrist and twist. Hard. Snaps sound as bones break. “I warned you.”
“And I defy you.” With his free hand, Aldred sets his hand on the hilt of his golden long sword.
A voice echoes from the balcony. “Nuh-uh, buddy.”
I grin. That’s Myla speaking. In a single swift movement, my girl leaps over the balcony’s edge to land right beside me. The moment her feet hit the floor, Myla’s robes transform from a fitted sheath into white body armor. It’s one of her supernatural talents as Great Scala. At the same time, Myla’s tail juts forward to grip Aldred’s free hand.
“Who are you to touch me?” cries Aldred.
Myla’s tail twists. More snaps sound as Aldred’s other wrist breaks. “Who am I?” asks Myla. “A true thrax warrior.”
The implication is clear. Our people live by a code. Thrax don’t hurt those who aren’t attacking, especially if the other party is less powerful, let alone a child.
The lines of Aldred’s face pull tight with pain and rage. “This boy still has no house.”
“False,” counters Myla. “Lincoln just said it. Baptiste is now in Rixa.”
“But there is no approved ritual for transferring someone without official parents,” snaps Aldred.
Here we go. For most thrax, you can ruin almost anything by simply dropping the words no approved ritual.
Myla rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” She twiddles her fingers at Baptiste. “Bippity boppity boo. You’re Rixa.”
I raise my free hand. “I second the motion.”
“Done,” states Myla.
“And dusted,” I add.
We share a grin. One thing about my Myla. She can make any occasion fun.
I look to Aldred. “May we release your wrists now, or must things get uglier?”
“Do it,” grumbles the earl.
Moving in unison, both Myla and I set loose Aldred’s injured hands. “There’s a magical infirmary around here somewhere,” says Myla. “They’ll fix you, easy peasy.”
Aldred scurries out the door to the lockers. Which makes sense. Magical first aid is located there, and they heal broken bones in seconds. For his part, Rufus follows Aldred out with slow and regal steps. No question about it. Today got a little dicey because I added Rufus into the mix.
Yet fighting with a battle lion? Totally worth it.
With the earl gone, I pull out my baculum. These are short silver rods that I can ignite into any kind of weapon created from angelfire. This time, I form them into a dagger made of white flame. Stepping over to Baptiste, I cut the rope from around his neck. Angry red marks encircle his throat. Deplorable.
I pat his shoulder. “You’re free now, little man.”
Genuine relief shines in the boy’s dirty face. “Thank you, your Highness.”
“Nat?” My Master at Arms marches up to my side. “Do you have room in combat prep for a new recruit?”
This is all for Baptiste’s benefit, by the way. I already know the answer to this question.
Still, Nat silently counts on his fingers as if he is truly unsure. “As a matter of fact, I do have a place available. That is, if the young lad wishes to be trained.”
At these words, Baptiste’s face brightens. I kneel before the child once more. “Would you like to learn how to become a Rixa solider with Nat?”
The boy nods quickly.
“Excellent,” I declare. “It is now so.”
“Your Highness.” Nat beams, takes the boy’s hand, and turns for the exit.
“One last thing.” I lower my voice so only my Master at Arms can hear me. “Do the regular.”
Nat nods. “Absolutely.”
This isn’t the first time we’ve run across a rogue house that mistreats children. Nat has become a self-taught expert on righti
ng certain wrongs.
As Nat and Baptiste step out the main door, I raise my hands to the audience. Silence follows as all the nobles focus on me. “Everyone, thank you for attending today’s class. In the end, it covered more topics than battle lions, which is a good development. As you all know, children have rights here in Antrum. Every house must respect that fact or pay the consequences.”
Myla taps my shoulder. “We have a guest.”
Sure enough, Aldred now stomps out onto the gym floor. He looks fully healed and ready for trouble. The earl scans the balconies before raising his arms. “Do not leave yet! I have something to say!”
I fight the urge to groan. Of course, he does.
4
Myla
Aldred parks his big old butt on the center of the gym floor, ready to open his massive yap and cause trouble. Everyone hates the guy, but they say zero. Why? Aldred has a talent for gathering blackmail. The earl has something on every major house, and a bunch of minor ones too. I don’t even want to know what he’s keeping on Lincoln’s father, but Connor does whatever Aldred commands. All that’s missing are the marionette strings.
Note to self: see if there’s a way to slow down magical healing for creeps like Aldred.
The earl sets his fists on his hips. “I had a lesson to share today as well. Everyone here should have seen how a true thrax disciplines those under him.”
Viva la irritation! Aldred couldn’t have set me up better if he tried.
“Seriously?” I gesture across the balconies. “Did y’all really want to watch Aldred punch some poor orphan in the head? No?” A long pause follows, which I take as a big yes. “Good.”
Aldred’s beady eyes focus in on me. “You’re not queen yet. There’s no tradition that allows you to voice your uninformed opinions. Stand aside.”
That comment won’t land well. My fiancée gives new meaning to the word protective.
Sure enough, Lincoln steps forward. Every line in his body is tight with rage. “What did you say?”
I rest my palm on the center of Lincoln’s chest. It’s a movement I’ve used before and it says, I got this. Where before his eyes were bright with fury, Lincoln’s gaze now gleams with held-in amusement. My guy is the best.
“I should step aside… where?” I ask Aldred sweetly.
“Wait by the water bucket.”
That would be in the far corner.
“Humph.” I don’t move a muscle.
“Well?” Aldred lifts his chins.
“This is me, standing wherever I freaking want to.”
The chamber falls so silent, my breathing seems to become super-loud. For their part, all the nobles stay totally glued to the Myla V Aldred Show.
“Freaking?” repeats Aldred. “Freaking?! What did you say to me?”
“Sorry, did I say freaking? I meant to say this.” I clear my throat. “This is me, standing wherever I fuuuuuuckinnnnnng want to.”
There, that showed him.
A long pause follows where Aldred’s beady little eyes scan between me and the nobles. He’s judging their reaction. The silence is pretty much a big fat stamp of You Go Myla from the court. Even Connor and Octavia stay quiet. Considering how Connor fears Aldred—and Octavia’s all anxious about her lady nobles—I consider this another item for the Myla win column.
“Fine,” huffs Aldred. “Stand wherever you wish. I only wished to spare you the embarrassment of being beside me while I shared my news. My next announcement shall upset you.” Aldred shoots me a smarmy look that says, here’s the part where you beg for mercy.
I shrug. “M’Kay.”
“You wish to become Queen of the Thrax,” declares Aldred. “That means you’ll have a say in battle matters.” He points right at my nose. “Do you deny it?”
“Nope. Guilty as charged. I absolutely plan to boss you around.” Some chuckles sound from the balconies. I tally another win for moi.
“Good,” Aldred states. He so thinks he’s got me by my lady balls. “Therefore, per the First Rixa Treaty of Acca, my house may test your battle worthiness. I can even invite others to add their own ideas, including your home realm of Purgatory. The testing shall be called… the Trials of Acca!” Aldred slaps on a simpering grin. “Sorry if that saddens you.”
Wow. If this is Aldred’s big plan, it sucks ass.
“Let me get this straight,” I state. “These Trials of Acca are supposed to test my battle skills as future queen?”
“Yes,” answers the earl.
“And maybe these trials have a little something extra thrown in? Like non-combat stuff?”
Aldred bobs his overly bushy eyebrows. “Possibly.”
“So that’s another yes.”
“Come now,” says Aldred slowly. “This news must concern you slightly.”
“Let me put it to you this way. When I was growing up, Purgatory was run by ghouls. I wasn’t much older than Baptiste when they chucked me into the Arena to fight a Class B demon to the death. No warning. No training. I skewered the beast through its rib cage and went on to win three more matches.”
My tail perks up to tap my shoulder. “Excuse me, my tail skewered the first demon.” I slap the arrowhead shaped end in a modified high five. Go us.
“Bring on your trials,” I continue. “I won’t cower. What’s tougher than a class A demon? Not much. And I’ve killed so many of those on demon patrol, I’ve lost count.”
“Thirty-six,” deadpans Lincoln.
I do a double-take. “Really?”
“I’ve been keeping tally for you.”
My heart melts. “Aw, thanks.”
Knowing Lincoln, he’s probably recorded all the battle details, too. Perfect. I haven’t updated my demon notebooks in weeks. My father, the archangel Xavier, and I do that together. It’s like father-daughter scrapbooking only with demons and death. Good times.
Aldred’s cheeks turn pink. I love it when he gets all pissy. “If you fail the Trials of Acca, you may not be queen. That must worry you.”
I allow a long pause to follow because drama plus earl equals fun. “Oooo? I’m so scared of the big bad Aldred?”
Come on, douchebag. Spill whatever it is you’re really up to.
“You speak of yourself as a great warrior,” says Aldred. “Yet the Trials of Acca shall display my combat prowess.”
I make my eek face. “Your battle skills? Are you sure that’s a good idea? Didn’t you get a ton of warriors killed when you mistakenly went after…” I snap my fingers, trying to remember.
“A soul slasher,” finishes Lincoln.
“Right. So not good.”
Aldred rolls his eyes. “That was one time.”
“Then you shot a limus with a crossbow,” I add. “Those demons are like evil gummy bears. The bolts zipped right through.”
Aldred glances away. “I recall no such a thing.”
“Oh, I find that incident hard to forget,” injects Lincoln. “The limus consumed you whole. Myla saved your life.”
Aldred’s pink cheeks now flare into a bright shade of red. When the earl next speaks, little bits of spittle fly from his mouth. What a lovely sight.
“You two think yourselves so clever,” snarls the earl. “But when it comes to the Trials of Acca, I shall be the smart one. Me.” He pounds his chest, as if anyone was unclear about the me in this scenario.
At this point, I could shut my yap and give Aldred a chance to cool off. That might even be the mature and queenly thing to do. In fact, there’s probably a traditional speech for leaving this whole scene behind. The infamous Rixa Way.
Nah.
Besides, there’s still a bigger Aldred-centric scheme here. I can smell it, the same way that I scent the mothballs and stinky feet from Aldred’s direction. It’s on the tip of the earl’s sausage-like tongue to blab his true plan. One more sarcastic nudge in the right direction and he’ll snap.
“Go on,” Lincoln whispers. “Break him. You know you want to.”
And with th
at, it’s clear I have the best fiancée in the universe.
I step super-close to the earl. Take that, personal space.
“Lay it on me, Aldred.” I gesture to the still-packed galleries. “In fact, show us all how smart you really are.”
There, that should do it.
“Open the gateway,” calls Aldred.
I frown. The way the earl said the word gateway, it’s clear that’s his true plan. Yay me. Trouble is, I have zero idea what Aldred’s yakking about.
A gateway. What?
Here’s the deal. Ghouls can create portals, which are door-like holes that connect one part of the after-realms to another. When it comes to undeadlies, that’s really their only serious skill. Even then, ghoul portals are pretty limited. For instance, you can’t open one directly into Antrum. But gateways? Beyond the sort that connect to white picket fences, I’ve got nothing.
An electrical charge fills the air. Orange-colored mist pools around Aldred’s feet.
Magic.
I take a half-step backward. Whatever this gateway is, it’s definitely not of the white picket variety. We’re talking some serious spellwork here. Yet since when does Aldred wield magic? The man can barely shoot a crossbow. Plus, no one in Antrum uses orange power. There’s purple for thrax wizards. Red for demons. Even white and blue for angelic stuff.
But orange? What the WHAT? Who’s casting this spell anyway?
The colored haze swirls into a round and flat disc that stands ten feet tall. My breath catches. This is definitely veering closer into ghoul portal territory, meaning this gateway looks remarkably portalesque, only it’s bigger, rounder and way orange. A woozy feeling settles into my stomach.
“Any moment now,” says Aldred. “This spell shall reveal the Primeval!”
My mouth falls open in shock. I’m talking the kind of wide open that only happens when a dentist scrapes random gunk off my molars. I thought we were maybe dealing with a mega ghoul portal. Perhaps something that allows outsiders to sneak into Antrum, which is a big no no.
Trickster (Angelbound Lincoln Book 3) Page 2
