“It’s fine. I’d like to hear what he has to say. Maybe I will observe something that will help this evening,” I said.
“Or maybe he will,” Bahlym said.
“Send him up,” I said. Adara looked between Bahlym and me, unsure of the correct course of action. Bahlym relented, and Drahwan was ushered to the formal parlor.
“I have come to allow you to release Hailey Troubade from this duel,” Drahwan said to Bahlym, as if neither Adara nor I existed in the room.
“Then you’ve wasted your time coming here,” I said to him.
He jumped, surprised that I had spoken, but knelt on the ground before me. “Please. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Or maybe you don’t want me to hurt you,” I suggested, to which he laughed, a mirthless sound, and stood back up.
“If you are worried about embarrassing yourself, I will resign, if you desire,” he said, waiting several minutes for me to respond, but I did not. Adara and Bahlym watched us, quietly, following my lead, waiting for Drahwan to continue, which with a sigh, he did. “I do think you may be the Promise. How else could you have come through?” He wrung his hands. “There is no solution for me. If you win, which is unlikely, I will be dead.”
“I won’t kill you,” I promised. “I have taken lives and don’t feel like adding another to that list.”
“If you win, please kill me,” Drahwan replied. “My life, should I lose to you, will be worse than a death. I will be filled with shame; my titles will be yours. But, I have fought hundreds of duels and never lost so that is an unlikely scenario. If I win, I have been ordered to kill you. Your titles will fall to me. I don’t want to be the Promise.”
“I don’t think that the Promise is a title to pass around.”
“Regardless, I will win, and I will kill you, although I don’t want to. Please, release both of us from this.”
“I cannot. I am sorry that I’ve pulled you into this, but you are the best. Beating the best says a lot more than beating a random politician.”
He took his leave, begging me one more time to reconsider. I spent the rest of the morning watching dozens of Drahwan’s previously recorded duels, trying to find a weakness. He had spoken truthfully; defeating him was unlikely. He didn’t even use similar tactics each time. While his most-used weapon, and the most cliché power from either Slice was Mist Lightning, he did not use it exclusively. Other times, he preferred to shape the elements, calling down a micro hurricane on his opponent. A few times, he simply lifted his opponent up by the neck, cutting off their air and strangling them. And once, he pulled the stones of the arena itself on top of a man, crushing his body.
Most of his opponents died quickly, but some he played with like Nazarie’s cat after a mouse, enjoying the game, allowing the mouse to think it could escape, but in reality, the mouse never had a chance. There were only two things consistent between all the duels. First, Drahwan always had some element of theater. He didn’t fight. He danced. If he created a blizzard in the heat of the summer, he allowed a dusting of snow to fall upon the crowd. His Mist Lightning, instead of going straight, made beautiful shapes as he tore limbs from his opponent. And, second, he always ended the duel with death, which was always a hit with the bloodthirsty crowd.
Maybe Adara was right. If I lost, it would definitely prove, with my death, that I was not the Promise.
This evening was going to be very interesting.
Chapter 25
I didn’t know how many people were going to be watching me remotely, but an astronomical number of people crammed into the arena. Row upon row of humanity piled on top of each other—at least two-hundred-high, encircling us. Maybe more impressive than the number of people was how quickly they had managed to congregate. The duel had only been announced yesterday.
We were to bring no weapons, just Mist against Mist. The last time I had faced off without my daggers had been against Kael when, with his blue Mist Lightning crackling between his fingertips, he had defeated me and locked me in his dungeon. But that time, I’d not been expecting a fight, and this time, I was. I breathed deeply as I wove the Mist into shields.
A large pop from a small stick—this place had so many sticks—marked the start of the duel. Not expecting it to be so loud, I jumped and my shields collapsed. Drahwan’s Mist Lightning shot into me, igniting every nerve in my body. I rewove the shields, but that small second that they had been down cost me. My whole body ached. Wave after wave of Mist cascaded down upon me. True to his form, he swirled the Mist in beautiful, but deadly tendrils. He smiled as he shaped the Mist to his will. I could feel my own grip on the Mist lessening, his power chipping away at my Mist shields thread by thread. The power he yielded, pulsating against my dwindling defenses, didn’t feel like it was letting up at all.
I poked a spiky thread of Mist through my shields and forced it into a sharp point. I wove Drahwan’s own tapestry into it. He pulled on a thread, not seeing the trap. My weaving and his own exploded toward him. He somersaulted to the side, even his velvet cape evading any contact with my assault, but I was rewarded by a momentary respite while he bowed to the cheering crowd and then rewove his ruined tapestry.
I wiped a trickle of blood from my mouth. Drahwan turned from the crowd, an evil look in his eye. This was the look he’d given every opponent once he was done playing and it was time for the final kill.
I took a deep breath and brought my shields up again. A defensive fight would not win this for me. I had to be like Altis that day in the courtyard. I needed to get creative. I noticed that off to the right there was a huge stone carving of a lion. I pushed my shields toward Drahwan again to distract him into another obnoxiously effortless and overly dramatic spin to the side. At the same time, I pulled the lion off the roof. I felt the same glee as when I killed Kynna’s father as I heard the sickening sound the stone made upon impact with his skull. The crowd’s cheer at his beautifully executed dodge turned into hushed murmurings. Drahwan had been hit. This had not happened in any of his duels I had watched.
Unfortunately, the blow wasn’t lethal.
It irritated him.
The Mist Lightning in his hands grew into angry white-hot orbs. Even fifteen feet away, I could feel their heat. He hurled them through the air. Igniting against my shields, they started several fires. I hopped over the angry flames as they rushed toward my feet. I could hear jeers from the crowd, or at least those sitting close to the ring.
The air spiraled around me, snuffing out the fire and raising the sand from the floor. It pelted my skin and stung my eyes. My long hair whipped and tangled in the torrent as my whole body lifted off the ground. I whirled head over heels and side to side. Gasping, I inhaled more sand than air, then nothing at all. My vision sparkled with darkness.
I saw the Red Eyes. Understanding dawned. Bahlym and Adara had called The Edges’ prisoner Azabin. I wielded Azabin when I killed Kynna’s father. I wielded Azabin when I fought alongside Altis. Azabin beckoned to me, promising victory. I reached out toward him and wrapped Drahwan’s body in the power. I transcended the Mist. The Mist was a vehicle to this power and in this moment, I was the unsullied conduit.
The air settled. An eerie calm overcame me. I smiled as Drahwan struggled against the invisible bonds, his eyes widening in a combination of surprise and terror. They widened further, bulging ever so slightly as I squeezed him. The crowd shouted, jeered, cheered, booed, and hissed in a jumbled chaos. I could sense each of the three hundred thousand people; I could feel their breaths; I could hear the drumming of their feeble hearts. I could sense the tempting mortality of each person.
Pops of energy filled the stadium. The crowd hushed. They’d come here to witness a spectacle, and that’s exactly what I would give them. Hate broiled red-hot. I shot blasts of power through Drahwan’s arms. His melodic shrieks swam through the air. I hurled Drahwan, his body jettisoned higher than the stadium itself as it flipped and twirled like a dancer.
Arwan appeared in the center of
the stadium, roaring a warning. I wanted only to win, not to kill Drahwan. I dropped Azabin’s power and with my own weaving, I caught him in barely enough time to avoid cracking his neck. He crumbled to the ground like a slaughtered lamb. Multiple broken bones pierced clean through his skin. So much blood seeped from every orifice–from his mouth, down his chin, out his nose, pooling beneath him.
I bent down to check for his pulse, relieved that it was still there. It was my right to twist his neck and end his life. The Guardians only know how hard it was to deny Azabin’s hunger. He demanded that I kill this man. But how and why? I stood up and raised both arms over my head, mimicking the victory pose I’d seen Drahwan make after each of his duels.
The whistle blew.
It was over. I had won.
Arwan had vanished. The noise of thousands of cheering people surrounded me. The memory of being able to sense them all burned within me. I felt empty after experiencing the sweet sensation of that awareness. Now my senses felt deadened, normal, and weak.
General Kadir Zirban came over to shake my hand. “Well met, Councilwoman. That was… unexpected to say the least.” Other high-ranking councilmen sauntered over for their own opportunity to be caught on the broadcastible shaking my hand. They murmured under their breaths various congratulatory comments, every word of which, besides the ones expressing surprise, I knew to be a lie. None of these men were the least bit honored to shake my hand or pleased that I still lived.
A stretcher came to remove Drahwan’s limp body. He would live, the paramedics assured me. Their congratulatory words were heartfelt. Perhaps different classes had different opinions on the way the Empire should be run. Drahwan might think that his life after losing to me would be worse than death, but that would be up to him to improve. I touched his arm. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to him. It wasn’t his fault that he was the most logical choice to duel.
Adara raced over to me. “That. Was. Amazing!”
“Did you see Arwan, the daemon?”
“There was no daemon.”
Bahlym walked over, unwilling to run through the stadium like his sister. “You were toying with him. You could have finished him in any second.”
“I wasn’t toying!” I glanced around the stadium. “You really did not see Arwan?”
The broadcastible on the east side of the arena showed Drahwan, motionless, being slid into a locomobile. The most complex of his severed limbs had already been set, and the bleeding had been stopped and cleaned up.
“His body will heal, but he will be forever broken. His hate will be deep and personal. You should have killed him. Very, very soon you will wish that you had,” Bahlym said.
“No. I’m not that person.” I shivered, knowing that a part of me was that person. A part of me craved his death. “Regardless of what Drahwan will do, winning by taking a life is not a true victory to me.”
“Nor will it be a lasting one,” Bahlym said. “We need more bodyguards.”
“As does father,” Adara pointed out.
Bahlym sighed. “I will contact him. You need to speak with the reporters.”
“Reporters?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s customary.” Adara smoothed my hair with her fingers. “Your hair looks awful. There’s sand everywhere.”
I pushed her hand away. “I almost died. I nearly killed a man. Why are you worried about my hair?” Indignant anger—anger that was mine—filled me. “Didn’t you see the mini-tornado that engulfed me? Of course my hair is a giant tangled ball. What is wrong with you?”
Adara was not upset by my outburst, but seemed humored and continued to attempt to smooth my hair.
“We need to undo some of the damage from that hacked not-live airing from yesterday.” Bahlym started to walk away, expecting that Adara and I would follow him. We walked over to a gaggle of people holding what looked like quills and paper. As soon as I was in ear short, they began to barrage me with questions.
“Are women allowed to duel where you are from?”
“Who taught you?”
“Are you a Guardian?”
I answered all to the best of my ability, trying to sound more collected than I felt and trying not to give away the evil that had flowed through me at the end of the duel.
I did not want to go back to Adara and Bahlym’s apartments. I wanted to find the nearest horse, saddle up, and gallop until time to set up camp, or at the very least bury myself behind a stack of books and learn more about The Edges. Of course, the only book that could tell me how to tear down The Edges and free me from this strange Empire was The Edging of the World, whose letters I could not understand. Yet. And this was why I needed to go to a library. I would find books that would teach me this language. I would learn to read the book. In learning how to fulfill the Promise, I would learn how to get home, which I needed to do before word reached Gryshelm City, because everyone would assume that falling into Gryshelm’s Edge would have killed me. I needed to save them from that pain. Especially Nazarie.
But the hour was late, and all the libraries were closed. That duel had cost me a whole extra day. Adara promised that her collection of books contained numerous texts in over a dozen ancient languages, so I returned with the siblings to their father’s apartments. True to her word, Adara retrieved fifteen books in various ancient texts. I did recognize a few of the languages. I wanted to gobble up those books and learn the secrets they contained, but they were not the secret I sought. I piled those books in a “read later” pile.
Finally, I found one whose words matched those in my book. “Can you read this language?” I asked Adara.
“Of course I can!” she said enthusiastically. “It’s the language of our priests. It’s very common.”
“About time I caught a little luck.” I smiled. “Let’s get started.”
“Started?”
“Yes, I need you to teach me this language.”
“Really?” She gushed.
We spent the next several hours going over the alphabet and basic grammar rules. We were both surprised when the butler brought us dinner. Since the room was interior to the building and the lighting was from the Mist-device, I had no good way to measure the passing of time and we had been so engrossed in studies that we didn’t realize that the day had evaporated. I had missed this. Studying. Learning. Guardians’, why couldn’t I have just been a simple scholar?
The butler eyed the books warily before placing the bowls before us. He labeled the bowls in Cuneiform as he set them down. The first contained a yogurt-based carrot and beef stew served bread that was unleavened and only as thick as about twenty sheets of paper. There was also a dip of pureed beans and another of some pureed vegetable. He bowed slightly before turning to leave us with the food.
Absentmindedly Adara tore a piece of bread and dipped in the stew, folding it to catch a hunk of meat. I waited for plates or utensils to arrive, but when none did, I followed Adara’s lead and dipped my bread in the stew. As one would expect in a culture separated from my own for millennia, the flavors were very different from what I was accustomed to. Sweet and tangy flavors commingled with hints of both pepper and lemon. Different but good. It was weird to eat without a plate and I kept worrying that I would slop all over the books, which I almost did several times.
Sometime later the butler removed the remnants of our dinner and we kept on studying until Bahlym came announce that our new guards had arrived.
“So quickly?” Adara pushed back from the table.
“It was expedited,” Bahlym explained, ushering three men into the room. Their uniforms matched those of a handful of other guards I’d seen around the Zayad household, employees of the same security provider already in use. All three gazed ahead, alert, their line of sight skimmed the top of my head. None of the men were particularly attractive, but they were strong-looking. More importantly, the Mist rippled around each of them.
“These three new guards will be for you, Promise,” Bahlym informed me.
�
�This is a bit excessive,” I said. “No offense.”
“You can never be too careful,” Bahlym responded. In retrospect, I would wish that he’d been a little more careful with his guard-selection-process.
Chapter 26
I felt large hands grab me over my mouth. For a moment, between awake and asleep, I thought that I was back in Kael’s dungeon. But I wasn’t; I was in my rooms. It was the middle of the night. I opened my mouth to scream, to call out, but no sound emerged.
“Your guards do hear you, Promise,” one of them chuckled. “There is no reason to yell.”
I recognized the voice. It was the guard who had bade me good night hours ago. It seemed that, besides Adara and Bahlym, no one in this Guardian’s forsaken place could be trusted. Not even paid guards. Well, my so-called guards didn’t know who they were dealing with. I bit his hand viciously and added a Mist punch through my teeth for added measure.
He yelled and smacked my face.
Adara and Bahlym were in the apartment, too. I had put them in danger by being here. I grabbed one of the daggers from under my pillow and slashed the man’s throat before he realized what I had done. Sticky, warm liquid ran all over me.
“So you have claws, little one.” Drahwan stepped into the light, his legs already healed without the slightest hint of a limp.
“Couldn’t stand being beaten by a woman in a fair fight, had to bring an unfair one?” I hissed.
“All is fair in politics. You took my seat and the easiest way to get it back is through your death.” Several other men stepped up beside him. I could feel the Mist of all of them push against me and hold me down.
“I don’t want the seat. You can keep it. I want to fulfill the Prophecy.”
“That’s not how the Protocol works. Under duress, your bargains would never hold up. And I’ll be happy to take the burden of the Prophecy from you.”
“I don’t think that’s how the Prophecy works,” I told him.
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