Zariza pouted a moment, but then a sly smile slowly curved her lips. “What gave me away?”
“Part of it was how eager you were to confront Maximus. Your eyes practically lit up with glee when you saw him,” I said. “And then there was your speech about family. Few people can speak so eloquently and viciously on the fly, so you had to have been thinking about exactly what you were going to say for quite some time.”
Zariza shrugged, conceding my points.
“But I still don’t understand why you told Xenia to teach me the Tanzen Falter, or why you challenged me to perform it here.”
She shrugged again. “I did that for me. Xenia, Halvar, and Bjarni told me about you dancing the Tanzen Freund at Castle Asmund. I wanted to see for myself how good you really were. I also wanted to see whether you would rise to the challenge, or do the polite thing and throw away the dance so that I could win, regardless of the stakes.”
“Would you have preferred that?”
She let out a low, amused laugh. “Fuck politeness. You won fair and square. You outdanced me, which is something very few people can do.”
I grinned. I was starting to like the Ungerian queen. “You’re right. Fuck politeness. And fuck the Morricones.”
Zariza grinned back at me. “I’ll definitely drink to that.”
She clinked her glass against mine again, and we both sipped our brandy, celebrating our new alliance.
Chapter Fifteen
A series of bells chimed, signaling the start of the kronekling tournament. Everyone in the center of the ballroom stepped back, while the servants brought out two tables, along with several chairs.
The royals huddled with their respective entourages, and my friends and I ended up in the corner, next to one of those annoying fountains that kept spitting out gold coins.
“Now, remember,” Cho said. “Watch the other players for nervous tics and tells. That’s half the battle of winning kronekling. Along with counting cards.” He winked at me.
Xenia might have schooled me in the Tanzen Falter, but Cho was the one who’d spent hours reviewing kronekling rules and strategies with me. The dragon morph loved the card game as much as he did sweets, and we’d played hand after hand with Sullivan and Serilda, most of which he won. Of course I had played kronekling before, but only casually, and the pressure to win had never been so high.
“Oh, leave her alone,” Serilda said. “Evie is going to do fine.”
“Did you see that with your magic?” I asked, not quite joking. “Please tell me you saw that with your magic.”
“I don’t have to see it with my magic. You’re smart and a quick thinker and ruthless when it comes to winning. You’ll do fine. Now go out there and make Bellona proud.”
Xenia, Paloma, and Auster nodded their encouragement, while Sullivan kissed my cheek.
“I would wish you luck, highness,” he murmured. “But Serilda’s right. You don’t need it.”
I flashed him a grateful smile, then strode forward and took my place at one of the tables.
Eon, Heinrich, and Zariza filled the remaining three seats at my table. Maximus was at the other table, along with Ruri, Cisco, and Driscol. Even though he wasn’t a royal, it made sense for Driscol to join the game, since you needed four people to play. Perched at each table was a dealer wearing DiLucri colors.
The two dealers grabbed their decks and started sliding cards across the wooden surfaces, which featured squares embossed with gold crowns and silver swords. A hush fell over the ballroom as we all picked up our cards to see our first hand of the night.
Kronekling was played with a regular deck with four suits—crowns, coins, hearts, and swords—and cards ranging in value from two to ten, along with kings, queens, and jacks. But what made kronekling different from a more common game like rummy were the four extra cards in the deck. Two of them were jokers and utterly useless, but the other two cards—a gold crown and a silver sword—were the most important ones in the game. The gold crown, or geldkrone, could trump any other card, while the silver sword, or silberkling, was the second-most powerful and capable of trumping every card except the geldkrone.
Each one of the four players was dealt twelve cards, while the dealer put the last four cards from the deck in a stack called the armory. After each player looked at their cards, they could decide whether they wanted to bid for the right to look at the cards in the armory. Your bid was the number of points you thought you could make off your hand. The higher the number, the more difficult it was to achieve the point total.
Whoever bid the highest won the armory and got to add the cards they wanted from it to their hand while discarding the ones they didn’t want. Whoever won the last round of the hand won the armory and whatever points those four cards were worth.
The goal of kronekling was to accumulate as many or even more points than you had bid. If you succeeded, you got to keep all the points you had earned, as did all the other players. If you failed, the amount you originally bid was subtracted from your total.
The overall goal was to accumulate the most points in seven hands. Tonight, after the first seven hands, the people with the two highest point totals at my table would face off against the top two point-getters at the other table. Then those four people would play seven more hands to determine the final winner.
I had a decent hand to begin—two tens, a queen of swords, a queen of hearts, and a king of coins, along with a mix of lower, numbered cards.
Eon won the armory, announced that the trump, or leading suit, was crowns, and played the geldkrone. Then we went around the table, with everyone laying down their lowest crown card, not wanting to give him any more points than necessary. Eon swept those cards up, set them off to the side, and then played the silberkling. Once again, everyone gave him a crown card.
Next, Eon played a two of crowns, which Zariza trumped by playing her king on it. Then she changed suit, throwing down a king of hearts. Around and around the table we went, laying cards down one after another and trying to accumulate as many points as possible.
Eon won the first hand, since he accumulated more points than he had bid, and we started a new one. This time, I had the geldkrone, along with a couple of kings and queens, and I bid on the armory and easily won.
And on and on it went. Finally, after seven hands, the cards were set aside, and the points were totaled. Zariza had amassed the most points, while I had come in second, so the two of us moved on to play the winners at the other table—Maximus and Driscol.
The crowd applauded politely for both the winners and the losers, and all the players got to their feet. There would be a brief break for refreshments and to let the finalists gather their thoughts, as well as decide exactly what they wanted to risk losing during these last seven hands.
During the first part of the tournament, we had just played for points and the right to move on to the second round. But at the final table, each royal was expected to offer up a prize, creating a cache of treasures that would go to the overall tournament winner. According to Auster and Xenia, anything from gold and jewelry to fine wines to rare books could be used as prizes. The item—or items—didn’t necessarily have to be large or extravagant, although the objects had to have some special meaning to their royal.
Paloma handed me a small blue velvet bag. “Are you sure you want to bet these?”
I hefted the bag, listening to the faint clink-clink-clink of the items rattling around inside. “Yes. I might as well get some use out of them.”
“What do you think Maximus is going to bet?” Sullivan asked.
“I have no idea. It could be almost anything.”
The steady squeak-squeak-squeak of wheels caught my attention, and Mercer and Nox appeared, along with a young servant pushing a large silver cart in front of him. Maeven was trailing along behind them.
Two large coldiron cages were perched on the cart. At first I wasn’t sure what they were for, but then the cart rattled closer, and I spotted the gleam of
purple feathers behind the metal bars. My breath caught in my throat.
Those cages contained strixes.
Was Maximus going to bet one or both of them during the final round of the tournament? Well, that would certainly be unique. Although I wondered why he would gamble with something so precious. Losing the strixes, the national symbols of Morta, would not set a good tone for Maximus and might dishearten his people for the rest of the Games.
Another series of bells chimed, indicating that it was time for the final round. I sat down at the single half-moon-shaped table in the center of the ballroom. Zariza sat down next to me, with Driscol on the other side of her, while Maximus took the seat across from mine. A dealer sat down at the table as well, facing the four of us.
People tiptoed forward and leaned over the second-floor balcony, eager to see the final seven hands, and an expectant hush fell over the ballroom.
Servants stepped forward, offering drinks. Zariza took another apple brandy, while Driscol grabbed a whiskey, but I didn’t get anything to drink. A servant approached Maximus, and I eyed the glasses on her tray. The wormroot poison was still nestled in my dress pocket. Perhaps I could somehow slip it into whatever drink he chose before the next round of the tournament began.
The king waved off the servant, dashing my hopes, then reached inside his jacket, drew out a small glass vial, and popped the cork out of the top.
The vial contained a light gray-blue powder that featured small purple flecks. My nose twitched. I could clearly smell the powder, which contained notes of chalky dust and sweet lavender. I recognized the scents—crushed tearstone mixed with amethyst-eye poison.
The Morricones were known for the strange brews they concocted to dispatch their enemies, and Maximus himself was rumored to be a tinkerer, with a workshop that featured all sorts of deadly and unnatural horrors. But I’d never heard of anyone combining tearstone with a known poison. What was he up to?
Still holding the vial, Maximus turned in his seat and poured the powder into a large gold goblet studded with amethysts that was sitting on the cart. If Maximus was knowingly ingesting amethyst-eye poison, then I doubted the vial of wormroot in my pocket would have much effect on him. I bit back a frustrated curse. Once again, the Mortan king had thwarted my plan to kill him with minimal effort.
Maximus set the empty vial aside and grabbed a gold dagger off the cart. I tensed. What was he going to do with the blade?
Beside me, Zariza tensed as well, while Driscol shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable, as if he knew exactly what was coming next and didn’t much care for it.
Maximus must have sensed my confusion, because he looked over at me. “Don’t worry, Everleigh. We’ll start playing in a few minutes. Just as soon as I have my nightcap.”
Nightcap? The servants had already offered us drinks, so what was he talking about?
Maximus studied the strix in the cage closest to him. The longer the king stared at the creature, the more the scent of the bird’s fear filled the air. The poor creature seemed to be practically paralyzed with it.
Maximus snapped his fingers. Mercer and Nox were standing beside the cart, and they both stiffened at the sound, as did Maeven, who was lurking a few feet behind them. Maximus snapped his fingers again, and the young servant slowly shuffled forward and opened the cage.
I expected the strix to try to fly away, or at least lash out with its sharp wings, beak, and talons, but Maximus flicked his hand, and purple lightning shot out from his fingertips and zoomed into the cage, stunning the strix.
Several people in the crowd gasped. It was a small, controlled, precise display of magic, and much weaker than the lightning bolts Maximus had shot off in the arena, but I could still sense the pure force in the cold blast. It was another reminder of just how much power he truly had, more power than I had ever sensed from any other magier, including Maeven.
The king waited a moment, making sure that the creature was dazed, then reached into the cage and pulled out the strix as easily as a child grabbing a piece of candy from a dish.
The strix was little more than a baby, and only about the size of a large chicken, so Maximus was able to hold it with one hand. He studied it a moment longer, then set it back down on the silver cart, arranging the creature so that its head dangled off the edge.
Then he lifted the gold dagger in his other hand. I sucked in a ragged breath. Even though I could guess what was coming next, it was still so fucking gruesome that I didn’t quite believe it was happening.
Maximus reached over and quickly, casually slit the strix’s throat.
The poor, dazed creature died without making a sound. Maximus set the dagger on the gaming table, even though it dripped blood all over the gold crowns and silver swords embossed on the wood.
For a moment, nothing happened, and stunned, horrified silence filled the ballroom. Then that young servant grabbed the gold goblet off the cart, stepped forward, and held it down and out so that the strix’s blood drained into it. I could have sworn I heard every single drop hit the side of the goblet.
Plop-plop-plop-plop . . .
The process didn’t take long, no more than a minute. Then, when the steady flow of blood had slowed to a trickle, Maximus waved his hand, and the servant stepped forward and placed the blood-filled goblet on the table in front of the king. That was when I noticed the boy’s black hair and light purple tunic.
Not just a servant—Leonidas.
The boy didn’t look at me or anyone else, but his face was pale, and the scents of ashy heartbreak and dusty resignation rolled off him in wave after wave. He hadn’t liked what his uncle had done any more than I had.
Leonidas stepped back and glanced over at the second cage on the cart. The scents of his heartbreak and resignation increased tenfold, and I realized that the second strix was a much larger creature, one that I had seen before.
Lyra, Leonidas’s strix.
Shock jolted through me, along with sick understanding. This must have been what the boy had wanted to save Lyra from by trying to send her through the Cardea mirror.
Maeven was standing a few feet behind her son, and she moved forward and clamped her hand on Leonidas’s shoulder, as if to remind him that he couldn’t save his beloved strix. I stared at her, wondering how she could let such a horrible thing happen to her own child. For once, she wouldn’t meet my accusing gaze, although I could smell her anger, along with her sharp minty regret.
The sight of an innocent creature being slaughtered filled me with disgust, along with cold, cold rage. I turned my harsh glare back to Maximus, who stared me in the eyes, picked up the gold goblet, and lifted it to his lips.
Was he actually going to . . . The idea was so horrible that I couldn’t bring myself to actually think it through, although it happened anyway.
Maximus tipped up the goblet and drank the strix’s blood.
He slurped it down like it was a hot, fruity toddy. He kept his eyes on me the whole time, and I couldn’t look away. It was just that fascinating and horrible and sick and disgusting.
Maximus kept drinking . . . and drinking . . . and drinking . . . until he had drained the last drop of the strix’s blood out of the goblet. Then he lowered the empty glass and grinned, showing off his bloodstained teeth, and the coppery stench of his blood-drenched breath drifted across the table to me. Hot, sour bile rose in my throat. I managed to choke it down, although I couldn’t stop from shuddering in revulsion.
“Ah,” he murmured, placing the goblet on the table. “That’s always so refreshing. I’ll have another round later on. Now, shall we start the game?”
Start the game? We had never stopped playing the fucking game.
I sucked in a breath to tell him exactly what a vile monster he was, and a familiar scent tickled my nose, even stronger than the coppery tang of the strix’s blood.
The stench of magic.
My nose twitched. I discreetly drew in another breath, tasting the air, and I noticed that the blood
and the magic had the same coppery notes. Strixes had magic, just like gargoyles and caladriuses did, so it made sense that their blood would contain the same power that the creatures themselves did.
Power that Maximus had just slurped down.
The stench of magic clung to him like a second skin, along with the blood on his breath, and a sudden influx of power sparked in his eyes, like fireworks exploding over and over again.
Shock blasted through me. Not only had Maximus proven what a heartless bastard he was by drinking the strix’s blood, but he had actually absorbed the creature’s magic.
I shouldn’t have been so surprised. After all, I could destroy magic, so it made sense that someone else might be able to channel it. In a way, Maximus and I were like two sides of the same coin, connected and yet completely opposite at the same time.
Perhaps absorbing the strixes’ magic was Maximus’s own personal mutt skill, the same way that throttling magic was mine. Perhaps he was even a magic master, like I was. Or perhaps his was a unique family trait passed down through the generations of Morricone kings and queens, the same way that Winter and Summer magics had been passed down through the Blair royal family.
Or maybe, just maybe, the Morricones’ power had always come from the strixes.
Legends said that the Blairs had dug so much tearstone out of Seven Spire that it had turned our eyes the same gray-blue color, and some of my cousins had thought our ancestors mining the stone was the ultimate source of our power, the thing that had triggered all the magic in our family. Just like Andvarian stories claimed that the Ripleys were the first family to ever befriend gargoyles. Maybe one of Maximus’s ancestors either bonding with or killing strixes was the reason why Morricones’ eyes were the same purple as the creatures’ eyes and feathers.
Most magiers, morphs, masters, and mutts augmented their power with jewels filled with magic and other glamours, but some people believed that wearing the bones or eating the flesh of certain creatures, like caladriuses, increased their own magic. I’d thought those were just silly legends, but apparently not in Maximus’s case.
Crush the King Page 21