Crush the King

by Jennifer Estep

  The Mortan crown prince held his arms out wide, soaking up the crowd’s raucous cheers. Mercer turned around in a slow circle, then stepped into the center ring. The wooden ring had been painted a bright, glossy red, indicating that the bouts were only to first blood.

  Cho announced Mercer’s opponent, a man from Flores, and then started the bout.

  The Floresian fighter lunged forward, but Mercer coolly spun away. Mercer could have whirled back around, sliced his sword across the man’s exposed back, and ended the bout right then and there, but he danced around, avoiding the other man’s attacks, and drawing out the fight like a cat playing with a mouse.

  A few minutes later, Mercer sliced his sword across the man’s chest, ending the bout.

  Since the tournament was only to first blood, most of the competitors didn’t wind up too badly injured, but the Floresian fighter screamed and crumpled to the ground at the deep, gruesome wound. Mercer loomed over the fallen man, sneering down at his victim, then raised his arms out to his sides, once again soaking up the crowd’s cheers.

  “That’s my son,” Maximus said in a proud tone, his voice booming across the terrace.

  Most people politely clapped, acknowledging Mercer’s victory, but I gave Maximus a disgusted look. He smiled back at me.

  Cho rushed over to the fallen fighter, as did the bone masters who were waiting in the archways around the arena floor. They managed to heal the Floresian, then carried him out of the arena.

  A few other bouts took place, and then it was Paloma’s turn.

  I surged to my feet, yelling, cheering, clapping, and whistling. Sullivan, Serilda, and Auster were cheering just as loudly as I was, and Heinrich and Dominic were clapping too.

  Paloma looked up at the royal terrace and stabbed her mace into the air. Then she nodded to her competitor, who returned the gesture. Cho started the fight, and Paloma and the other gladiator charged at each other, much to the delight of the roaring crowd.

  The other gladiator was a mutt from Vacuna with strength and speed magic, but he was no match for Paloma, who drew first blood less than two minutes later. She helped the man to his feet, then stood in the ring and stabbed her mace up into the air over and over again. I knew that my friend had missed being part of the Black Swan troupe, especially the arena fights, and I was glad she was getting this chance to enjoy the crowd’s cheers again.

  “Your guard is quite formidable,” Zariza murmured. The Ungerian queen was still sitting beside me, sipping some apple brandy. “She reminds me of Amira.”

  “Is she one of your fighters?”

  “No. Amira was Xenia’s daughter.”

  Shock knifed through me, and I stopped clapping. “What do you mean was?”

  Zariza shrugged. “Amira got involved with a boy that Xenia didn’t approve of and foolishly ran off with him. Of course Xenia tried to track her down, but she couldn’t find Amira, and no one has seen or heard from her in more than twenty years. We all assume she’s dead, including Xenia.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Amira would have contacted her by now. She might have made a mistake running off with that boy, but she loved Xenia too much to stay angry with her mother this long.”

  I glanced over at Xenia, who was standing with the rest of the Ungers. Paloma must have also reminded Xenia of her lost daughter, because the older woman was leaning heavily on her silver ogre cane, and the scent of ashy heartbreak rolled off her in wave after wave.

  The longer I looked at Xenia, the more I was reminded of Paloma’s own heartbreak over her missing mother, who had also vanished without a trace. Strange, that two ogre morphs would just disappear like that and leave their families behind.

  “What did Amira look like?” I asked.

  Zariza tapped her finger on her glass. “I was just a child when she vanished, so my memories are a bit fuzzy. The main thing I remember was that Amira had long, wavy golden hair that bounced and shimmered with every step she took. It was even prettier than mine.” She pouted a bit, as did the ogre on her neck, as if neither one of them could imagine such a thing.

  I thought back, trying to recall every single thing Paloma had ever told me about her mother. My friend was still stabbing her mace up into the air, and my gaze locked onto the weapon—Peony.

  “Did Amira wear peony perfume?”

  Zariza blinked in surprise. “Yes, she did. It was her favorite scent. How did you know that?”

  More shock knifed through me, and theories and implications spun through my mind, although I kept my expression neutral. “Just a lucky guess. Xenia wears the same perfume.”

  As does Paloma. Although I didn’t voice that thought.

  Zariza’s amber eyes narrowed. She didn’t believe me, but she didn’t have a reason to question me either.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Serilda discreetly waving at me. “Please excuse me.”

  Zariza turned her attention back to the arena floor. I got to my feet and went over to Serilda and Sullivan, who were standing by one of the buffet tables. Auster was sitting nearby, keeping an eye on Leonidas, who was slowly, resolutely shifting food from one side of his plate to the other and back again.

  “It’s time,” Serilda said in a low voice. “If you want to do this, then we need to leave now.”

  I nodded at her and looked at Sullivan. Worry filled his blue eyes, and I could smell his concern. He hadn’t liked my plan, but he especially didn’t like this part of it.

  “Are you sure that you don’t want me to come with you?” he whispered. “I could help.”

  “I know, but it will look suspicious if we all leave,” I murmured back. “Besides, I need you to stay here. If things go wrong, you and Auster need to get Leonidas to safety, along with the rest of the Bellonans.”

  He reluctantly nodded, ceding to my wishes, but more worry sparked in his eyes. We all knew how dangerous this was, but it was the only way I could think of to weaken Maximus. I had to disrupt and sabotage his plans, just like Xenia had taught me. I had to protect my kingdom above all else, even my burning desire to kill the king.

  “I want to congratulate Paloma on her win,” I said in a loud voice for the benefit of anyone listening. “Serilda, follow me.”

  Serilda bowed her head and fell in step beside me. Together, the two of us crossed the terrace.

  Our route took us past Maximus, who eyed me. But another Mortan was getting ready to fight, so he turned his attention back to the arena floor. Of course he did. Watching his gladiator advance in the tournament was far more important than whatever I might be up to. But his dismissiveness worked in my favor, and Serilda and I left the terrace without any interference.

  We quickly made our way down the steps, then walked through one of the archways and back out onto the plaza. More people were moving through the area than before, but a large crowd was gathered in front of a nearby archway, and shouts rang through the air.

  “Paloma! Paloma, sign my banner!”

  “No! Sign my banner!”

  “Paloma! You’re the greatest gladiator ever!”

  I caught a glimpse of my friend standing in the center of the crush of people, smiling and signing autographs. She was playing her part perfectly, and now it was time for Serilda and me to do the same.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  We both stepped forward, but someone glided in front of me, blocking my path.

  Maeven.

  She had been on the royal terrace when Serilda and I had left, and she must have had to hustle to catch us. I wondered if Maximus had sent her or if she had sought me out on her own.

  “Everleigh,” Maeven said in a cold, if somewhat civil voice. “A word, please.”

  “At last,” I drawled. “She speaks. Did you know that’s the first thing I’ve heard you say during the entire Regalia? I was beginning to think that Maximus had cut out your tongue.”

  Anger sparked in her amethyst eyes, but she didn’t respond to my insult. Instead, she whirled around and
stepped into the shadows of a nearby archway, apparently wanting some privacy. She must have come here on her own, rather than on her brother’s orders.

  Serilda’s hand curled around her sword hilt, but I shook my head. Maeven wasn’t foolish enough to try to kill me here, with so many other people around to see her do it and Serilda just itching to cut her down.

  So I stepped into the archway and faced the other woman. Maeven glanced over at Serilda, who gave her a flat look and kept her hand on her sword. She wasn’t going anywhere, so Maeven looked at me again.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

  “Well, I was going to congratulate my friend on her victory. Until you so rudely interrupted me.”

  “My son,” she hissed again. “What do you think you’re doing with my son?”

  “Nothing much,” I replied in a dry tone. “Just saving him from being assassinated.”

  “What are you talking about? He was supposed to kill—” She bit back the you dangling on the end of her tongue.

  “So you knew that Maximus sent Leonidas off to die last night.” I shook my head. “And here I thought you actually loved your son. My mistake.”

  Maeven’s lips pinched together into a hard, thin line. “My son is a fine warrior. Maximus didn’t send him off to die.”

  “Oh, yes, he did,” I snapped. “Leonidas might know how to fight, but I’ve spent just about every single day of the past year battling for my life. Who did you think was going to win?”

  She didn’t respond, which was answer enough.

  “Besides, Leonidas told me that you weren’t even there when Maximus and Mercer gave him the order, and I’m betting that you didn’t even realize he had been escorted out of the Mortan camp until it was too late.”

  Agreement flickered across her face before she could hide it. So far, I hadn’t had a chance to implement the third part of my Regalia plan and manipulate Maeven, but this was the perfect opportunity to continue my long game with her, the one she still didn’t seem to realize we were playing.

  “I’ve been watching you during the Regalia. All this time, all these months we’ve been battling one another, I thought you were this great leader, this important Morricone royal, but that’s not the case, is it?” I said in a mocking voice. “You just follow your brother around and do whatever he says, along with Mercer and Nox.”

  “Maximus is the king,” she replied in a cold, flat voice.

  I snorted. “King? More like a bloody dictator. A king listens to his advisors, but not Maximus. He never listens to you. Why, he’s barely even looked at you during the Regalia. I bet that he just orders you around, along with the other members of your Bastard Brigade. Funny, how I haven’t seen any of them at the Regalia, just you and Leonidas.”

  I paused, hoping Maeven might say something reckless and give me a clue as to the location of the other members of the Bastard Brigade. She remained silent, so I continued with my taunts.

  “You probably had to leave your bastard cousins back home in Morta. Or perhaps they’re out on other missions, spying, thieving, and killing. Either way, Maximus didn’t think they were worth bringing here. Why, I’m surprised that he brought you.”

  Maeven stepped a little closer, her hands clenching into fists. Magic crackled in her eyes, making them burn a dark, dangerous purple, but she held back her electric rage—for now. “You might be a legitimate royal, but deep down you’re just a scared little girl playing dress-up. The only reason you’re queen is because all the other Blairs are dead. Face it, Everleigh. I made you queen. You didn’t earn that tearstone throne. You didn’t earn anything.”

  Icy rage spiked through me, and I stepped closer to her. “You’re right. I’m only queen because everyone else is dead. But so far, I’ve managed to hang on to my kingdom, my crown, and my life, despite all your plots and schemes and bloody assassins. Face it, Maeven. You could send a hundred members of your Bastard Brigade to kill me, and I would slaughter them just like I have all the others.”

  “You haven’t managed to kill me yet,” she said in a proud voice.

  I shrugged. “Maybe you’re just a little stronger or smarter or luckier than your brethren. I don’t know, and I don’t care, because you don’t fucking matter. Only Maximus does. You said it yourself—he’s the king. You’re just the serving girl who cleans up his messes and takes out his trash. I’m surprised he doesn’t make you empty his chamber pots too.”

  More magic sparked in her eyes, and the scent of her hot jalapeño rage blasted through the air. A muscle ticked in her jaw, and I got the sense that she was seconds away from snapping up her hands and blasting me with her magic, Maximus’s plans and orders and everything else be damned.

  I could have insulted her again and pushed her over the edge. I could have suckered her into attacking me, then used my immunity to throttle her magic long enough for Serilda to bury her blade in the bitch’s back. Oh, yes, at long last, I could have finally killed Maeven.

  But I decided not to.

  Because I wasn’t finished playing my long game with her, and it was a game I desperately needed to win for the sake of my kingdom. So, as much as it pained me, I pushed down my own thirst for revenge and thought of how I could best manipulate her into doing what I wanted.

  “And here’s something else to think about,” I said in a much calmer voice. “Something your dear brother obviously didn’t tell you about Leonidas’s mission.”

  Maeven blinked at the unexpected change in topic, and some of the dangerous magic leaked out of her eyes. “And what would that be?”

  “Leonidas wasn’t the only assassin Maximus sent to my tent last night. There were three others. DiLucri geldjagers.”

  “So what?”

  I paused again, drawing out the moment to give my next words even more impact. “So those other three assassins weren’t there just to murder me. They had orders to kill Leonidas too, if I hadn’t already disposed of him.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise, although she quickly schooled her features into a more neutral expression. She shook her head. “No. You’re lying. Maximus would never—”

  “Would never what? Send your son to murder me, and then send assassins to kill the boy so he couldn’t tell anyone about his orders?” I laughed. “Please tell me you’re not that naïve—or stupid.”

  Maeven didn’t respond. We both knew she wasn’t that naïve or stupid, just like we both knew there was nothing she could do about her brother trying to have her son murdered.

  “I told you once before that you didn’t have to follow Maximus,” I said in a serious voice, without the mocking tone. “That you could leave Morta, go somewhere else, and start a new life. Maybe it’s finally time for you to do so—for your son’s sake.”

  “I don’t have to go anywhere,” Maeven hissed. “Once I finally kill you, all will be forgiven.”

  “How many times have you tried to kill me now? Four? Five? I’ve honestly lost count. But what makes you think you can succeed in the future? Face it, Maeven. You are never going to kill me. Not you, and not your Bastard Brigade. And if you can’t kill me, then that makes you useless to Maximus. Or maybe . . .” I let my voice trail off.

  “What?” she growled.

  “Or maybe Maximus was planning to sacrifice Leonidas all along. Maybe he thought the death of your son at my hands would finally motivate you enough to kill me.”

  She didn’t respond, but her scent took on a speculative, smoky aroma, and agreement flickered in her eyes. We both knew Maximus was cruel enough to do something like that.

  “What are you planning to do with Leonidas?” she asked. “If you hurt him—”

  I laughed, cutting off her threat. “Me? Hurt him? Please. Maximus has already threatened to kill his beloved strix and sent the boy on a suicide mission. There’s hardly any way left for me to torture your son.”

  I paused again. “Although I’m sure that I can come up with something. Or perhaps Serilda can. She’s had far more
experience at that sort of thing than I have.”

  “I’d be happy to help, my queen,” Serilda chimed in, her hand still on her sword.

  Maeven shot her an angry glare, but Serilda merely arched an eyebrow in response.

  “The more I think about it, the more I realize that Maximus practically handed me your son on a silver platter,” I drawled. “I could torture Leonidas for days, weeks, months, and your precious king wouldn’t lift a finger to save your son, his nephew, his own flesh and blood. That should tell you exactly how much regard Maximus has for you and Leonidas—none at all.”

  More agreement flashed in Maeven’s eyes, and her scent took on a note of dusty resignation.

  “Run or die, Maeven. Those are your only two choices. I hope you make the right one. For Leonidas’s sake, of course.”

  Truth be told, Maeven had a third choice, the one I’d subtly been trying to get her to make for months now. I wondered if that other option had occurred to her yet, but of course I couldn’t ask without tipping my hand about what I was really up to.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, Everleigh,” Maeven said, although her voice contained far less venom and bite than before. “And it’s one you’re going to lose, along with your crown, your life, and your beloved kingdom.”

  I smiled in the face of her dire prediction. “We’ll see about that.”

  I mockingly tipped my head to her, then stepped out of the archway, leaving my enemy behind to stew in her own thoughts.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Serilda fell in step beside me, and we walked about thirty feet from the archway before slipping behind one of the carts that lined the plaza. The merchant glanced at us, but when she realized we weren’t interested in buying her flavored ices, she started hawking her wares again.