Blizzard clapped him on the back, and Ice and Avalanche joined them.
All four fighters stared after the queen and Arla.
“Should I be scared?” Shard asked them.
Ice’s reply was instant. “Yep.”
Chapter Nine
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Shard asked the others.
“No one cares,” Ice complained. “Shut up about it.”
Maybe he was fixated on the conversation between Lina and Arla at the throne table. Was this the queen’s revenge for how he’d treated her? Because it was working.
He straightened. “Lina smiled. That’s a good thing.”
“I saw her smile when she chopped someone’s head off once,” Blizzard replied.
Shard cursed. True.
The rest of the table snickered.
The food hall was a bawdy ruckus of singing, shouting, dancing, and smashing pottery. The Solati court and the assembly seemed to be getting on reasonably well—probably helped along by the ample pouring of brew. The thought threw Shard for a second. If he wasn’t engaged in a battle of his own, he’d be solely focused on what the tri-world games were really about as he protected Glacium’s royal females.
The three peoples had intermingled to some degree, and the rulers laughing together at the throne table proved that.
While the Solati and Bruma still kept to themselves the most, Shard could immediately see that those from the Ire had spread themselves amongst the other two worlds almost completely, only pockets of two or three scattered about. Perhaps it made sense that the race who was a mixture of Solati and Bruma would be the ones to bridge the cultural divide.
The sight made him happy. Not just because he’d been there on the day the war against Tatum Avanna was won. And not only because he wanted to exist in a world that was safe and accepting. But because the rulers and advisories had worked tooth and nail for the last year to make sure everything was arranged. Thus far, it appeared the games were a success.
No matter the nefarious reasons Sin thought up the Interworld Games in the beginning, it had come to good in the end. One of the many and deeply entrenched barriers between the worlds was crumbling away. Hopefully, in time and generations to come, other barriers would disappear too.
Shard peered up at the throne table again. Their heads were bent together. What did that mean in female talk?
He groaned aloud and tipped his head back. “I’m going to bed,” he announced.
“Running away again?” Blizzard nodded.
Sometimes it was hard to feel sad that Blizzard lived in the Middle Rings.
Shard made for the archway, squeezing between the intoxicated masses. Some of the fighters were drinking, too. If luck was with him, that would make tomorrow’s contests easier. Maybe he’d even be able to sleep tonight for knowing it. Doubtful with what he’d learned from Arla only hours before.
Drummond had no idea Shard was a contender for his daughter’s hand. And tomorrow he’d find out.
Shard wasn’t comfortable with the game Arla was playing, but hopefully the conversation between them would be forced to the surface when Drummond saw him competing as a serious contender.
What a mess.
“You know what I’m going to do to you?” a man slurred.
Talking of messes.
Sanjay. Held up by his wife, Fiona.
“Probably nothing, my love,” she answered pleasantly.
An unusual couple, perhaps, but their love was apparent to all. So was Sanjay’s drunkenness.
“Need a hand?” Shard asked her.
“Do I—” Sanjay weaved on the spot. “Do I need a hand doing what?”
Fiona grinned. “Not that, Sanjay. He meant to carry you back to our house.”
Sanjay glared at him through bloodshot eyes, stumbling back a step. “Then yes, good sir. You may help me walk.”
“Thanks,” Shard replied sarcastically, ducking under Sanjay’s other arm.
They ambled in their awkward trio to the entranceway and then through the courtyard to the path beyond. The couple lived in the Inner Ring, immediately around the castle, as did most of the assembly.
Shard studied the low stone houses as they walked by, the familiar yearning filling him once more. To share one with Arla was a dream he’d had so many times, it felt like an unattainable obsession.
And to make that dream a reality, he had to win. Unless Arla was willing to drop the game and actually speak to her father straight, an idea which, apparently, hadn’t occurred to her once in all of this.
Shard exhaled.
“Are you sad about Arla?” Fiona asked softly from the other side. Sanjay appeared to be sleepwalking.
He didn’t even bother to ask how she’d heard. “Not sad. Frustrated. At a loss.”
“Because?”
“Because I usually have a plan and I don’t have a plan. And the current plan is not a plan I like, but it’s already in motion.”
Fiona hummed. “Right. I’m not sure I really understand that. But the rest of us are rooting for you.”
Surprise stirred deep within. “You are? None of you like Arla.”
“That may be true of those who she’s treated badly,” the woman agreed. “But the rest of us can see she’s changing. Steadily, just like the man who has inspired it.”
The better part of Shard knew not to put too much stock in Fiona’s words, simply because he wanted to so desperately. “What change?” he asked quietly.
There was a smile in her voice. “She hasn’t slept with anyone in a year.”
“What?” he breathed. “Yes she has. I’ve seen her leave with them.”
“She takes them out of the food hall and ditches them. Jacky told me.”
That sneaky little— She’d let him believe otherwise all this time? And yet that wasn’t dampening the wide smile on his face.
Fiona continued. “She seems happier, too. Less bitch— uh, mean. She needed to meet the right person. As I did with Sanjay.”
Shard glanced at the man between them, who was drooling.
“I can see what you do for Sanjay. What does he do for you?” Shard asked, grimacing.
“He makes me laugh,” she said with a frosty bite.
He lifted both brows at the fierceness in her tone. “I see.”
“Sorry,” she said after a pause. “I get angry when people bag on him.”
“Don’t apologize,” Shard said, not offended in the slightest. “I know the feeling.”
They reached the door of the couple’s stone abode and Shard helped Sanjay onto the nearest couch. Fiona bent down to remove her husband’s boots, but stopped and peeked up at Shard.
“Do you love her, Shard?” she asked.
He closed his eyes, sucking in a pain-filled breath. “Yes,” he said raggedly.
“Then you’ll get her,” Fiona declared, returning to her task. “No woman could resist that much pain in a single word. It’s the equivalent of a foot massage to a pregnant woman. Go get her.”
Shard woke, stretching out on his oversized bed.
“Ow.” He groaned. Yep, he was sore. To be expected when he’d been through a day of challenges, most of which his body wasn’t used to performing. He wouldn’t be surprised if each world re-created the obstacles and tests back on their own worlds while training for next year’s games. Each year the contestants would become more skilled and honed.
Shard stared up at the ceiling. Day two. He had fifty-nine other people to beat in six different events. But the fire of his purpose had disappeared to some degree now that he knew all of Arla’s plan.
That he wanted her wasn’t in question. Just everything else.
Swinging his legs over the side, Shard sat and stretched again, yawning. And, as he did sometimes, he stared around the room at the wealth.
These chambers were nothing on the king and queen’s suite, but aside from those, the advisors’ quarters were largest. Sometimes, in odd moments, the ludicrousness of h
is life hit him. How had he arrived here? From a whorehound’s son to pit fighter to advisor of royals. How could people like Lina and Jovan rely on someone like him for guidance when Shard couldn’t even sort out his own problems? He sat staring at the pieces of furniture that probably cost more than an entire house in the Outer Rings—and the various vases and ornaments and tapestries that would fetch a price he would never have dreamed of before entering the pits. And as he had when first arriving, Shard wondered when he’d be caught out as a fraud.
He’d never once felt like a fraud for loving Arla. Never once felt like he was playing a part or wearing a disguise.
Arla snapped and clawed and Shard only loved her more. To be so sure of a thing was settling in a way Shard had never experienced before. His life had consisted of one calculated move after the other. Even the move to the castle was just that. He’d never put down permanent ties. But tying himself to Arla felt like the start of his actual life—the life always intended for him.
Shard splashed water over his face and changed into fresh fighting clothes.
Then he exited his room, hand on his dagger.
The coast was clear.
He started for the stairs, winding down toward the food hall. How long had he slept? Sounded like the place was already full.
Avalanche exited as he reached the archway. His giant friend immediately held out half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese.
“You’re heading down already?” Shard asked. Accepting the food, he flashed Avalanche a quick smile.
“Everyone is. I was waiting for you.”
Shard shook his head. “I didn’t think I’d sleep a blink. Must’ve been more tired than I thought.”
He wolfed down the giant-sized portion Avalanche had brought, handing the rest back for Avalanche to finish off.
They wandered into the Glacium warm-up area and settled into what would be a long warm-up. Shard knew his muscles and joints would ease up eventually and play along again. Tomorrow would be worse.
If there was a tomorrow.
The king and queen entered. Kendra was in Jovan’s arms. He stopped to talk to the fighters closest to the entrance while Lina continued walking directly for Shard.
“Good morning,” she greeted him, sinking into her warm-up.
He wanted to know what dinner last night was about, but there was something he had to do first.
“I apologize for my behavior three nights ago,” Shard said stiffly. “I have no excuse for speaking to you in such a way.”
She glanced up at him. “Not as a subordinate to a queen, but certainly as a friend to a friend.”
He hung his head. “It was inexcusable.”
“It was,” Lina said. “In that location and considering who was present. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you make that mistake again, so I won’t. And I’m also certain—because I know you—that only severe frustration and uncertainty made you say such things.”
Shard straightened and watched her.
“As a friend, I have been at fault. You’re right, I kept silent, but I did not encourage your feelings for Arla. In fact, I hoped they would go away. Which is my fault. They are your feelings to have or not.”
“I have always and will always value your opinion,” he said.
“I know,” she said, shooting him a grin that faded. “As I do yours. Which is why I asked Arla to dine with me last night.”
He held his breath.
She didn’t speak.
“And?” he ventured.
A smile curved her lips before it was gone. The queen knew exactly how on edge he’d been during dinner. Should have known.
“She would not show me the person you have told me she is,” Lina said, standing in front of him, hands on hips.
He opened his mouth, but she held a finger aloft.
“But since you pointed it out, I can see that’s the case; she won’t show me what’s there, but something else is certainly beneath. The only thing I could glean last night was that she was noticeably making an effort to please me—whether that’s because I’m her queen or not is debatable. What exactly she’s hiding, whether good or bad, I only have your word for. And just one other thing.”
He’d never met anyone who could analyse a person at a glance the way Landon and Lina could. Even to Solati, they were experts in dissecting body posture, slight nuances in movement, and tone of voice. “What was it?”
Kendra squawked loudly from Jovan’s arms.
“Shit, I’m lactating,” Lina blurted, staring down. “Crazy how that happens.”
He cleared his throat and Lina jerked.
“Something else convinced you she’s more than what people say?” he prompted.
Whatever the rest of the assembly was experiencing—according to Fiona—the royals didn’t have as much interaction with Arla and held a separate view.
The queen grinned. “The way she was looking at you when I interrupted you two down here yesterday.”
“What did you see?” he asked, hearing the begging undercurrent of his words. He didn’t care. The situation was mounting, and he was painfully unsure about everything.
“There’s a scared woman in there,” she told him, blue eyes deadly serious. “And she wants you to save her.”
Chapter Ten
On the second day of the games, all seventy competitors went through the same events together. Strength was the last event for the day, which Shard was grateful for. He’d need to give that category everything he had, and he wanted to have enough left for the events he could actually place well in.
He could bank on placing in the top half of the agility test, which would have greatly lowered his score. But from the looks of things, everyone, even the top fighters, had failed to qualify in all seven. Jovan and Landon hadn’t qualified in agility. Lina, not in strength. Rhone, not in dagger.
“Shard,” Alzona called.
Accuracy. He inhaled and released the breath slowly, picking up his spear.
“Heart,” the Ire judge beside her instructed.
Shard studied the straw dummy twenty meters away. He had to get this right. He liked the spear and had often used it hunting after leaving home and needing to fend for himself. But still, the weapon wasn’t his best. Holding the lengthy spear wasn’t as natural as his daggers that felt like extensions of himself.
The crowd’s roaring faded as he took up position, feet apart.
As was his habit, Shard stared at the dummy, summoning his father’s face. The bastard. Pretending to kill him over and over again didn’t make up for not having done it in the flesh. So many women would be alive if he had. Though killing his cruel father in his mid-twenties was much different from killing him at seventeen. Shard knew better than to think the deed wouldn’t have changed his life drastically—and likely for the worse. Perhaps he should just be glad Lina had done the job for him.
He stared down the line at his father and pointed his spear, lining up the shot. Then he leaned onto his back leg, twisting his upper body away, and with a yell that vocalized a lifetime of fury, Shard unwound in a blurry flash, eye on the prize as he hurtled the spear.
When his shaft left his grip, Shard already knew the spear would go where directed. With weapons other than daggers that wasn’t always the case, but it was this time.
Shard straightened and relished the crowd’s gasp and applause as the spear didn’t just penetrate the heart, but forced its way all the way through the dummy and out the back.
He selected his favorite dagger and weighed it in his hands as he moved to a dummy only five meters away.
“Right knee,” the Solati judge said.
Shard looked at the target and his body did the rest. When it came to daggers, he trusted his body more than his mind.
The dagger sank into the right knee.
Two for two.
Shard accepted his bow from Avalanche and moved before the third dummy, sixty meters away. This was the farthest target and would b
e where he was most likely to fail.
He thought of Arla watching him. Of what he could lose. That didn’t work for a lot of people, but perhaps because that was how his father trained him, negativity—the chance of loss—had always given him the greatest mental clarity.
She would marry Prince Ashawn and Shard would never marry. Or the Solati would win the contest and she’d disappear to Osolis—and Shard would never marry.
“Mouth,” Alzona said.
No breeze stirred the Dome floor. He nocked an arrow and raised his bent shooting arm parallel to the ground as Lina had taught all of them before Glacium marched on Osolis. Archery had become a routine part of their training. That didn’t make up for a lifetime of using a bow. But like this, making one stationary shot? This he could do.
Shard drew the bowstring taut and lifted the arrow tip upward, assessing the gap.
He stared down the nocked arrow and briefly closed his eyes, feeling the tension in his drawing arm. “Please,” he whispered against the strings.
Opening his eyes, Shard loosed his arrow. The string twanged in his ear and he watched as the arrow began to curve downward.
It was going to miss.
Shard clenched the bow tight as the arrow struck the dummy.
“Did it hit?” he asked no one in particular.
The judges moved to inspect the dummy and he waited until they returned before sending Alzona a pointed look.
“Corner of the mouth,” she told him, turning her attention to the next contestant.
Avalanche patted him on the back. “All three.”
Shard sighed. “Yes, but I’ll lose points for the last one. Be better if I’d shot dead in the center.” He shook his right arm out. “What’s next?”
“Dagger. Got a while yet.”
Spotting Rhone at the water table, Shard milled over to join him.
“Congratulations, Rhone. The Ire is faring well,” Shard told him.
The man, the only person Shard had ever met who rivalled Avalanche’s height, turned, controlled and slowly, like a predator. When Avalanche was mostly brute strength, Rhone had the lethal combination of power and speed. Shard had seen him on the battlefield and knew he’d never want to be on the opposing side against Rhone.
Shard: A Tainted Accords Novella, 4.8 Page 7