She smiles, and then hisses, “You will never own your true love’s heart, human.”
“Aer, as always, you bring us unparalleled delights.” The queen gives three loud claps as she rises, the diamonds in her crown glittering like stars, the night’s black curtain behind offsetting her snow-white hair. “I simply adore the old games, the myriad of tricks, and the soothsaying. But you are correct, the results do not bode well for our human.” She waves her hand toward the Merits quivering in anticipation beside her.
“Dear King El Fannon, perhaps you can improve the girl’s fortunes if you take her to your lands. It is time, at least, for you to try. The princes’ contest must begin. Do tell us the regulations you have decided upon.”
El Fannon stands and bows, then addresses the court. “Our rules are simple and there are only three,” he booms across the ruins. “If an opponent uses magic, they will lose the contest. No body contact other than by way of sword. And Prince Everend must wear a Merit pendant. This will be an exhibition of style and technique, hence the victor will be decided by popular vote.”
My gut clenches. That is extremely disappointing news. I want a battle to the bone-crunching end, mortal combat, so I can kill the son of a sniveling winter hag.
“We will install Merit tablets throughout the audience for your court to use,” announces the king as Prince Temnen rises beside him and is fitted into armor adorned with hundreds of flashing Merit pendants, the one at his sternum the largest and ornately framed. An attendant from his court passes him a Merit pendant and a long, curved sword not unlike the one I wear at my hip. He steps down from the dais and strides forward.
“A question,” I say into the silence.
El Fannon’s dark brow rises. “Yes?”
“What is the point of voting when there are equal numbers of our courts present? Surely the outcome will be a draw.”
The sound of his slimy chortle sets my teeth on edge. “Not necessarily, venerable Prince of Five. The Merit points are entered anonymously. People behave in unexpected ways when they believe they cannot be held accountable. The results may surprise you.”
Temnen stands before me, a pompous grin on his face. “Everend,” he says, placing the gold chain around my neck and resetting the screen with quick stabs of his bony fingers.
The pendant falls against my fast-pumping chest as I picture those misshapen hands on Lara’s skin, ripping and tearing, forever ruining the perfect constellation of freckles and corrupting her artless character.
“You will not have her,” I say, soft as a sigh.
“We shall see.” He takes three steps back and raises his sword, so it bisects his face.
Holding the glower of his blood-orange eyes, I lift my blade and return the salute.
The grassy tournament space between the sacred hazel trees forms an oval shape—the queen’s table, which I face, is at one end, loomed over by the castle ruins. To my right, rough boulders rise until they become part of the hill the castle sits on, and to my left, steep cliff edges drop down to a wildly gnashing sea. At my back, near the other end of the oval, is a rocky outcrop useful for leaping on and around to entertain the spectators.
In the crowd, pedestals appear at intervals. Elemental courtiers crowd around them swiping fingers and claws over the screens, the sound of their frenzied chatter buzzing through the air like bees swarming.
“Quiet,” commands my mother, a hush falling over the crowd. “When a contestant cries mercy, the match is complete. The prince who has the most votes will immediately take possession of the ceann a thugann athrú—the change bringer called Lara from the human realm—and may do with her as they will.”
I find my brother’s warm gaze as he lounges between our mother’s lords, caressing his goblet. He nods, and I narrow my eyes, whipping tawny hair around his face, my last deployment of magic until the contest is over.
Raff grins and opens his free hand. Taibsear lands on his shoulder but keeps his tawny eyes on Lara. Message received—they will watch over the human.
Kian sits in the front row straight as a fir tree, his electric-blue eyes aglow. Unlike Raff, he does not offer me a smile or any gesture of good luck. And I don’t look to see what Lara offers me.
Blade tip swiping the sky, the earth, then east and west, I bow. “To the endless Elements I dedicate my sword and skill. As the Five imbues all that exists, so may my destiny unfold. To truth and honor. I give my life to the Five.”
Temnen bows. “Praise be to the Favors of the Merits. By the votes of all who revere me, may my statistics be always on the rise.” With a gruesome howl, he sweeps his clawed fingers in the direction of the Merit court seated on the ocean side of the high table. “Votes are power. Cast them without mercy.”
The queen claps once, and then takes her seat. “As it is spoken, so may it be. Begin the contest.”
Lightning-fast, Temnen rushes forward, his sword raised to strike. I step right, blocking his blade with my own, then slash. Our grunts and the grinding clash of metal rip through the otherwise focused silence. Night-blooming jasmine scents the air, and dew-drenched grass slides beneath my boots as I range forward. Back. Then forward again.
My feet move fast, steps sure and steady, each lunge of thigh powerful. The Merit prince is a little slower than me. This is good. I will win the fight and retain the human.
We move in a whirl of quick, brutal movements, our macabre dance crisscrossing between the black shadows of the hazel branches. Light from the pendants around our necks flashes sporadically, blinding and disorientating. Our fight has barely begun, yet votes are already being cast.
Temnen may be slower, but he does not tire easily. In strength, we are equal. Our heights are matched, our determination to win, too. I wield my sword with greater skill, but he fights without honor. His willingness to employ devious moves becomes clear when we round the rocky outcrop now hidden from the audience’s view, and he feints, grips my bracer, jolting me off balance, then steps back and slashes his blade across my chest before I can recover. Steel grates rib bones, blood dripping thick and black onto my boots. “Rule breaker,” I hiss, and attack with renewed fury.
He laughs and leaps on top of the rock. I follow, and we slash back and forth over the small area. Blood gushes from my chest and with it, my dark soul's longing for violence and death—the messier and meatier and more gruesome the better.
Whose death? Whose death? Do I even care?
I feint a strike and he over-balances and then rolls off the rocks to land on his feet, feline eyes glowing orange as the crowd roars approval for his acrobatics. The Merit screen on his chest lights up, and my blood flows even more freely as I pant above him.
I spring down, stumbling before righting myself. Wounded and without magic, my energy and finesse begin to wane. With a roar, we rush together, our blades like silver fangs slicing through the night’s black mantle, then biting and crunching armor.
Taking advantage of my weakened movements, Temnen drives us toward the cliffs and the roaring sea below. The stars shift overhead, spinning into unfamiliar constellations and, suddenly, all desire to best him rushes from my body like a breeze blowing through my soul, cleansing and changing my every wish and desire.
Why should I care what becomes of the human? What bearing does her fate have upon mine? Nothing. She means nothing. She is nothing.