The end was there within what felt like a few seconds. So was the hard part. He launched toward the finishing mat—a surprising distance from the end—and made sure to bend both of his knees as he landed.
The floor seemed to tilt beneath him. Shard flung out an arm to correct himself.
He straightened and shot a look at the judges. Fuck.
None of them were smiling.
Joining his friend again, he accepted a drink from Avalanche.
“I’m not getting through on this one,” he stated. “I lost.”
“I lost,” Avalanche corrected.
True. What Shard meant was that he hadn’t won. Not after the display by the Ire folk and some of the Solati.
Which meant he had to pull some serious wins out of the bag in the following events. His stomach churned with buried anger, and no small amount of fear. What would Arla think if he didn’t even get through the first day of the games?
Shard tightened his resolve and glanced toward the next event just in time to see King Jovan throw a man half his size from a ring of stones.
Next up. Strength.
Chapter Eight
Shard smiled as his favorite dagger sank into the middle of the target with a solid thud.
Ice and Blizzard were in the dagger pool with him as well as Landon. The others, he didn’t recognize. This was his seventh event and the faces were a blur by now, but Shard had a good feeling about his placement in the dagger category.
“Nice work,” Landon told him.
The Tatum’s eyes were slightly narrowed, and Shard simply nodded in response.
Winning one would be nice. He’d written off the agility and strength events, but felt quietly confident about his placement in sword, spear, bow, and accuracy. Guess he’d find out soon enough.
Collecting his daggers, Shard strode to the water table. He chucked his weapons down and then pulled his tunic off over his head. The garment was drenched with sweat.
He smiled at a woman filling up goblets. “Lorna, well met.”
“Well met, Shard,” she said with a smile. “You are doing well.”
Quickly shifting his mind to Solati speech, he shrugged. “Hard to know. I entered last-minute.”
“To win Arla’s hand,” she murmured. Then at his frown, Lorna confided, “Someone told Sin.”
“So everyone knows,” he stated.
Lorna bit her lip. “I believe that has something to do with a trick you and the queen pulled on him before he came back to Osolis. Something about revenge.”
The queen had staged a conversation about forcing Lorna to marry a horrible man. She’d purposefully let Sin overhear so he’d return to Osolis and stop being an idiot. “We showed him what a fool he was for remaining on Glacium instead of returning to you.”
“Sin skipped telling me that part,” the Solati replied after a beat, smiling at another fighter taking a goblet. “I shall stop spreading the news.”
Shard shot her a glance. “Thanks?”
Whatever Sin was, he’d looked after his previously fragile wife with exquisite care. In fact, she was practically glowing with good health.
Were congratulations in order?
Shard hoped Sin had a girl. That’d learn the prick for being a womanizer most of his adult life to date.
Slowly sipping on his goblet of water, Shard drifted toward the stage on the Dome floor. Sin was there, poring over pieces of parchment with a group of judges.
The rest of the events were slowly winding down. The sky was darkening—had to be late afternoon by now. Shard couldn’t wait to get out of here to wash and eat.
“Fighters,” Sin boomed. “Gather around.”
He held a scroll. The crowd had settled over the day as their attention became focused on the various tests and challenges on the Dome floor, but their roar surged anew at his words.
The rulers joined him on the stage—Lina, Jovan, and Landon exiting from the fighting ranks, and Yarik arriving from the upstairs platform.
Shard had barely seen the queen. Only from afar as she loosed her bow with chilling certainty into the target, and later as she hurtled a spear all the way through a stuffed dummy’s forehead in the accuracy event—making the Solati male who’d gone before her look like a fumbling amateur.
“Seventy will continue to the semi-final pools tomorrow,” Sin declared, waggling his brows at the crowd. “The top ten competitors from each test will proceed. Your top ten fighters in the agility event were as follows. . . .”
Shard kept half an ear out for his name as he scanned the tier above for the woman who’d thrown him headfirst into this situation. Then again, Arla was the kind of person who would always make him feel unprepared. Her mind was not a mind he could ever entirely explore. Icy and calculated and filled with fire and purpose—just directed the wrong way. The mystery of her thoughts was the sweetest kind of music. He longed to listen.
He studied her high on the platform. Always above him, always out of reach. She faced his way, but whether she watched the rulers or returned his steady gaze was up for debate. She’d kill him, maybe. Torture him, definitely. But to have the love of such a woman?
Sin finished speaking and moved on to the strength announcements.
As Shard suspected, he hadn’t made it into the top ten of his agility pool. But his hopes lifted as Sin announced his name among the top ten in the strength event.
That was a surprise. And a lucky one. If he’d judged his performance in the other five right then, he should move forward in six of the seven events. Surely that boded well. He hoped that boded well.
Sin moved on to the announcements for the spear, bow, and sword. All of which Shard progressed in. Dagger he was certain of, but he held his breath through the remaining two events anyway, releasing it in a forceful exhale at the end.
“Six out of seven,” Ice said, slapping him on the back. “I got through in three. Agility, accuracy, and dagger.”
“Five for me,” Blizzard put in. “Everything but agility and dagger.”
“Three as well,” Avalanche added. “Strength, sword, and spear.”
Shard had done well. Really well. Better than he could have hoped, and yet his efforts didn’t feel enough for the potential prize. That Arla proposed to her father she be a prize didn’t sit right with him. Not only because Shard might lose, but because Arla didn’t deserve to be treated like a thing. No one did. Clearly, she felt this was her only option. At this point, he refused to believe she was playing a cruel trick. Even she had limits.
Shard hated that she felt this display was her only option. If she hadn’t sprung the games on him last-minute, they could have figured something else out. Except he had next to no idea if she actually cared or not. She’d told him about her plan, and that had to mean something, but what? And how much? And who else? None of the other fighters had mentioned Arla at all, so Shard knew her deal with Drummond was private—for now. But would that change? And what happened if someone else won?
The real problem was that Arla had only divulged the bare bones of her plan to Shard. She still didn’t trust him, and that stung. Because he knew she had to have other plans. She was too practiced at getting what she wanted.
Again—if she actually did want him.
Truthfully, he didn’t grasp why Drummond would suddenly agree to Arla marrying him if Shard won the games. The concept that her father would accept him as the prestigious winner of the first Interworld Games but not as the man he’d worked alongside for eighteen months was difficult to comprehend. And yet Shard was viewing her father based on what he would do. Drummond’s existence was based on gaining power and prestige. Already occupying one of the highest positions on Glacium, the only way Drummond could add to his legacy was for Arla to marry well. Was the superficial title of ultimate warrior enough for Drummond to look past the mud stain of Shard having a whorehound for a father?
Arla believed so.
And if that was the case and Drummond truly was that ambitious
, no wonder she’d struggled to identify right and wrong her entire life. How could she not be confused, with such a role model?
Shard roused himself, seeing the fighters were now leaving. He trickled after the stream of Bruma competitors returning to their underground space.
Questions bounced around his head. He’d started today, set on the task, but before he went further, Shard had to see her. She’d given him the barest trickle of encouragement and explanation. He needed more.
Shard entered the warm-up space and stood to one side as most of the others left. He’d be surprised if any of the fighters who’d come to compete in the games hadn’t gotten into one or more of the semi-final pools, but only a handful of Bruma stayed behind to cool down and stretch.
The scatterings of Bruma who remained with him were mainly pit fighters. Figured. They knew what a difference a post-fight routine made to the following day. Most of them would have participated in an underground tournament or two.
He balled his tunic up and used it to wipe away the lingering sweat on his forehead and body.
“Shard.”
Freezing, he glanced up at Arla.
She was doing her best to ignore the other fighters around them. And the smell of stale sweat, judging by the wrinkle of her nose.
“Arla.” He greeted her, chucking his tunic aside, and approached her.
Her eyes flickered down his torso and back up.
Was she checking him out? That was a first.
And something he could definitely get used to.
Male ego wasn’t his show, but hell if he didn’t crave some acknowledgement of attraction from her.
He quirked a brow, and pride did spread rampant through his chest as pink tinged her cheeks.
A new tension sat between them and Shard couldn’t make hide nor hair of it, only that it filled him with more coiled energy than he’d felt all day.
“You’re very good with these daggers,” she murmured, swaying into his side. She stroked one of the blades holstered around his hips. “You hit everything right in the center.”
He inhaled the floral smell of her and almost groaned aloud. “There were consequences to missing when I was younger.”
She glanced into his eyes. “Which were?”
Shard blinked through the haze she inspired, and regret found him hard and fast. “Nothing a well-bred lady needs to hear.”
“What if this well-bred lady wants to hear?” she snapped.
“Then the well-bred lady will be disappointed.”
Arla gripped his arm. “What are you hiding from me?” She was holding her breath and scanning him furtively.
He took her hand, not removing her clenched fingers, just covering it with his own. “I’ve never hidden a thing from you. You know who my father was. There are things in my past I don’t like to speak of. The Outer Rings can be a dark and cruel place.”
“The castle is a dark and cruel place,” she said, easing her grip. “They just take their criminal activities outside.”
True. Blaine’s rebellion had proved that much.
“My father used to tie a whore to a chair and sit her against a wall. I had to throw daggers around her. If I missed—”
Arla’s eyes widened.
“You wanted to know,” he reminded her gently.
She squeezed his arm again. Did she even know that they’d never touched this intimately before? Or for so long.
“Did you ever hit any?” Arla whispered.
He met her gaze unflinchingly, having made peace with his past horrors long ago. “Yes. It gave me an incentive to become very good in a short time.”
She slipped her hand from his grip, not breaking their gaze. “You must think I’m so petty and small.”
It sounded more like she thought that of herself. “I don’t,” he said simply.
He glanced back at the remaining fighters. Most had already left, but Blizzard, Ice, and Avalanche were watching them. He glared at them and they smiled back, not budging.
Assholes.
She shook back her hair and narrowed her blue eyes. “Six out of seven.”
“You were paying attention.”
Arla stepped closer, studying the space with interest. “Of course. I’m in this to win.”
The comment struck him forcefully.
Her friendships were based on power plays. Her every comment was usually based on a power play. Her smiles or smirks were the same.
. . . This wasn’t a power play, though, right? The tournament was to prove to Drummond that Shard was a suitable partner. That was all.
He supposed part of him fighting was a last test of hers. That didn’t bother him. Arla tested him so hard because she was afraid. How did someone with an entire life based on power plays find the courage to confide their honest feelings in another?
Fear kept her silent. Fear of him not being the person he said he was. Of him using what she might say against her in the power plays she’d known her entire life. To everyone else, her behavior made her shallow. To him, it made her someone who’d been groomed and manipulated.
He watched her glance around the room intently.
“Never been down here?” he asked, tucking away his foreboding.
“No. Father would never. . . . Well.”
“He let you today?”
Arla shook her head. “He’s in bed today after the blow you dealt him.”
Shard stiffened. “But he agreed to your deal,” he pressed.
“He did.” She grinned, the success in her voice plain.
Arla licked her lips and darted a glance over to him. She stared back at the other fighters and stepped back.
“Father will be watching tomorrow,” she told him in a low voice.
So? “Isn’t that the point?”
“No,” she said, appearing confused. “The point is for you to win.”
“Because then he’ll be able to accept me as your suitor for whatever reason,” Shard said slowly.
Her expression went blank.
Shard held up his hands. “Okay. . . . I’ve misunderstood what this is all about.”
Arla glared at him. “The point is to win.”
“And why am I winning again?”
She darted a look at the other fighters. “I already said you have something to fight for.”
“I thought that was you admitting you cared.” The answer dawned on him. “Hold on. Does your father even know I’m fighting?” Shard’s stomach lurched. “He doesn’t, does he?”
“No.” The blonde folded her arms. “So what? He agreed my hand would be offered to the winner.”
“Because he knew I wasn’t fighting, Arla. Fuck. You’re tricking him into this? What reason is there for that? Revenge? Fear? Look, if it’s your father you’re worried about, I’ll handle him. You know I will, But there’s no need to trick him.”
She stared at him. “You’d do all of that for me when I’ve given you next to no encouragement?”
“I would. Don’t change the subject.”
“I dropped your tunic and pushed away the food you brought me,” she reminded him.
Shard could hardly forget. “And you’ve never taken me to bed.”
Arla shot him a look. “That bothers you?”
“It does, but only because others were in it instead of me. I’m sure you know how much that has hurt. And yet I always viewed the no-touching thing as another one of your tests.”
She turned away, hands clasped behind her back. She wore a midnight-blue fur-lined cloak that hugged her lithe frame.
“I have tested you, it’s true. But that—the other men—wasn’t a test,” she murmured, turning back. “More of a promise to myself.”
And that meant what exactly?
“My father isn’t just anyone,” Arla continued, lifting her chin. “He is an advisor to the king, born and raised in the castle. He is my only family and though he has faults, I love him dearly. He has always, always been honest with me—even if I haven’t liked what
he’s had to say in recent times. I was the one to change, not him, and I will not humiliate him by marrying someone he cannot accept. The three worlds will revere the first winner of the games, thus my father’s pride will be soothed. That is why I’m doing all of this.”
“You won’t humiliate him, but you’ll outmaneuver him? Won’t that humiliate him just the same?” Shard asked, searching her gaze while trying his best to understand.
Arla blinked. “Only if he finds out.”
. . . Didn’t she see what was wrong with that?
“Shard, here you are.”
He held back a groan. This was not the time. Arla was finally letting him in.
Shard ripped his eyes from Arla to find the queen bearing down on them. Lina glanced between them, and his last words to her burned in his ears. The queen was his friend and he’d stomped on that. Too much to drink wasn’t any excuse.
He bowed lower than usual to her, forcing away his frustration at her interruption.
“Queen Lina,” he murmured.
“Six of seven,” she said, smiling. “Same here. Didn’t get through the strength event, though. My pool was made up of giant males. And one giant female. She threw me bodily from the ring. Haven’t flown that far since the days with Avalanche in the barracks.”
“Tomorrow will be a good fight,” he replied, fixing his eyes on Arla.
“I wish you well in it, but I’ll also be doing my best to beat you,” she said.
His gut twisted. That’s what he was worried about.
“Arla,” the queen said, turning to the woman quietly dwelling by his side. “I’m glad I found you here. Would you care to join me for dinner at the throne table tonight? I understand you’re organizing the closing ball and I would love to hear more.”
Shard coughed and hastily schooled his features to mask his shock.
She bobbed a curtsey, saying smoothly, “Yes, Queen Lina. I’d be honored to.”
“Let us head there directly then.” Lina held out her arm and Arla took it.
Mouth bobbing ajar, Shard watched them walk gracefully away. What was Lina up to? And what would Arla say? What would they both say about him?
Shard: A Tainted Accords Novella, 4.8 Page 6