by May Sage
The crowd must have felt it, too, for a hush fell upon them and did not lift when the women each selected their weapon for the bout. Demelza took up her beloved helmet-breaker, with its sharp, dirk-like point while Saskia went for the more predictable longsword. Both women clearly meant business. They began in a blur of silver, so fast it was almost impossible to see who had the upper hand or whether either of them were injured.
For the first time that day, the bouts went long. Demelza and Saskia lunged and pricked, dodged and parried, swung and slashed and swiped at each other with heaving grunts and cries. The stands were awash with onlookers screaming for Demelza. Out of the corner of her eye, Xandrie saw a flower – a gorgeous orange lily – soar over their heads and into the ring below. It was meant as a tribute, but Demelza turned her head, no doubt checking to make sure no one else had entered the fight.
As Demelza turned, Saskia charged, her sword ripping through Demelza’s sleeve and slicing her arm.
The crowd was on its feet, screaming for justice.
Xandrie leaped, three steps and launched herself over the barrier and into the ring, then threw herself in front of her friend. The woman would acquiesce, if she’d lost, but no one, should be permitted to take her down with villainy.
Rhey
Seconds after Saskia skewered Demelza’s arm, Rhey was on his feet and half way out of the royal enclosure. Bad enough that there had been blood spilled in his name, but his friend being slashed, when her back was turned, was more than he could bear. His chief advisor, Nathos, held him in check, his fist tight around Rhey’s arm. No words were necessary: it wouldn’t do for him to show favouritism, even though Demelza was easily the darling of the hour. Royal lines had been toppled with less provocation.
The crowd gasped. Rhey looked back at the ring. Xandrie had vaulted from the stands and charged Saskia. The guard were in there, boots stomping through the blood-drenched sawdust, weapons drawn in an effort to keep the women apart, but he could see Xandrie chomping at the bit to take Saskia down. The guards had to physically restrain both women.
The Code of Combat Conduct dictated that no person be permitted to strike a blow if the bout were halted. Saskia was screaming foul. Her claim was that there’d been no signal, no sign from the marshal, that there was a break in play. “I struck in good faith,” she bellowed.
The Elders huddled around Rhey, urging him to resume play. He was torn. Demelza was injured, perhaps badly – her arm hung limp at her side and ran red – and he longed to end the whole, damned mess but she’d kill him if he interfered with her ability to determine her own fate. Then again, he couldn’t let her continue with a slashed arm. He whispered in Nathos’ ear. His counsellor beckoned a squire and relayed the order.
Xandrie bound Demelza’s arm with strips torn from her own blouse and took up her sword. She glared at Rhey from below.
It wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but the woman was clearly challenging him. Her defiant stance dared him to order her to step away. She was right if she was thinking she’d run afoul of the rules by entering the ring, but the fact that she didn’t break eye contact signalled she didn’t give a good goddamn about the rules. She was fierce. She loved Demelza and would take her place in combat in a heartbeat. Vincent spoke, daily, of her drive, her daring, her unflinching dedication to the craft. She had nothing to gain personally, but she’d thrown herself into training with Demelza with a verve reserved for the most fearless of warriors. And here she was, silently declaring her intention to fight on for her injured friend.
The squire returned to the Royal Box with a tome three-hands thick. Nathos and his cronies broke the book open and pored over its contents. Rhey continued to watch Xandrie, who continued to stare at him, but he had one ear on the debate raging behind him.
“Any creature – be they dragon born or nay – carrying dragon blood in their veins is eligible to enter The Claiming,” said Alfot, a courtier known for his love of the law.
Nathos sucked his teeth, the way he always did when something irritated him. “She’s no dragon.”
“The law is clear,” said Alfot. “She needs only have dragon blood.”
Nathos wiped his clammy forehead, probably worried about precedent or rioting or some other procedural nonsense. The man was too timid, by half. Unlike the woman who had him riveted to the spot; she was boldness itself. His dragon cried out, a roar so loud he was sure Nathos turned, his eyebrow raised, in an effort to admonish him for wearing his heart on his sleeve or, as in this case, his dick straining to get out of his pants.
The voices were familiar. Rhey listened to them daily, in his council chambers. He knew who spoke – and could predict who’d fall which side of the question – without the need to turn around. He allowed himself the luxury of looking at Xandrie Astria, the woman who’d stormed his heart.
“By the report of her weapons trainer, Vincent Vasili, she has the fire in her belly, but she does not shift. Her dragon self is barely formed.”
“There are dragons aplenty who do not shift, Vincent among them. It is not a barrier to her entering the fray.”
Nathos held up his hand. “We have never had a woman of dragon blood, who was not dragon born, enter The Claiming.” He laid a hand on Rhey’s arm. “What might the King have to add to a decision that lacks precedent?”
Rhey smiled for the first time in an age. “The law is the law and the law is clear. The woman has dragon blood and may fight.” He sat. “Let her fight for me.” He nodded at Xandrie and she broke eye contact. All she’d wanted from him was permission to fight. Her gaze meant nothing. She wasn’t fixated on him as he was on her. She wanted only to avenge her friend.
He couldn’t hear, but he could well imagine the conversation Demelza and Xandrie were having.
“No, please don’t.”
“Yes, I must.” And on and on.
Vincent helped his cousin from the ring and Xandrie turned to face Saskia.
The crowd were, once again, completely silent. The women paced around each other, panthers both. Saskia lunged first and that was all it took; the two of them were a whirlwind of wild weaponry and skill. Never before had The Claiming seen such brute force combined with such artistry. It was a breathtaking display of how anyone with dragon blood ought to comport themselves in the ring. Rhey didn’t care who saw it, he hung off his chair, willing Xandrie to victory.
The bout was brutal but had at its core a great beauty. Though he didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, Rhey had the first flicker of pride that his hand might be won by someone of such untamed skill. If this were the test of who was to be his queen, who rule by his side, who take to his bed and thrash in sweaty sheets until the dawn, it wasn’t too shoddy a way to find a winner.
The women were well matched, but after a full twenty minutes of unstinting sword play, Xandrie backed Saskie up against the wall of the pit and demanded she concede defeat. Saskia nodded and let her sword fall to her side.
Xandrie was the victor.
The stands exploded in celebration. An upstart had upset the apple cart. She was an unknown, an outsider, not of noble birth, and she’d fought her way to the finals.
Rhey stood and threw his cape over his shoulder, calling an end to the day’s play. He knew Xandrie, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, her mouth wet and wild, was going to haunt his dreams and was glad of it. He left The Claiming a happy man.
The Cover Reveal for To Claim a King will be the first week of April – as it’s genuinely my most beautiful cover, ever, don’t miss it!!
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