A Court of Champions

Chapter 5: Luck and Destiny

Lucien could hardly believe their luck. When Bryaxis had named a particular life - that of the Blood Champion, a Fae named Andra Fevaren - Lucien hadn't dared to dream it possible that he'd actually find this Andra, let alone be in a position to kill her. He hadn't been able to steal enough privacy with Tamlin to explain this critical detail in the plan. Instead, Lucien had spent the last few hours in his cold, dark cell sifting through different plans - each more outlandish than the next - of how to either force Bryaxis into accepting another victim or find a way to locate this Andra Fevaren in the vastness of Amarantha's court.

When he'd heard the queen bellow Andra's name, announcing her as Tamlin's opponent in the Solstice fight, Lucien had barely been able to contain himself. He had never been superstitious, preferring to place his trust in tangible things he could see and touch; but in that moment, Lucien swore to whatever forces outside of himself were at work that he would never forget that incomprehensible stroke of good fortune.

With a moniker like the Blood Champion, Lucien had been expecting this Andra Fevaren to be a much more fearsome sight than the sickly creature before him. He watched her intently as Amarantha paraded her through the throngs of nobility gathered in the throne room. Andra's leather armor was ill-fitting, the dull blade in her hand barely a passing excuse for a weapon. Her skin was jaundiced and her eyes sunken and squinted against the light of the throne room. Despite her pitiful state, Lucien recognized that her composure was that of a warrior. Her spine was straight and her chin held high, eyes raking over the crowd and her mouth set in a thin line. Lucien felt sorry to admit it, moments before her death, but he suspected that Andra Fevaren would have been a fearsome warrior to fight beside in her heyday.

Lucien's ankles and wrists were still in bonds, but he was able to angle himself enough to watch Amarantha approach from the edge of the deep, smooth-walled pit that he and Feyre had been forced to kneel next to. Andra walked in lock step with the queen as they crossed the throne room, Amarantha's voice ringing out over the quiet murmur of the crowd.

"You have proven yourself time and time again against some of the most fearsome opponents this court could offer you. But the test you have not been given has been against one of Prythian's High Lords. Tonight, I will rob you of this honor no longer."

Lucien marveled at the way Amarantha fed into the crowd's obvious adoration for Andra Fevaren. The unmistakable glimmer of rebellion in the eyes of everyone in that throne room said enough of their collective love for the battered warrior being forced to peacock next to Amarantha. This was the first time since stepping foot into that cursed court of horrors Under the Mountain that Lucien had seen the queen's grasp on power as flimsy and prone to collapse. The frantic, verging-on-panicked energy in Amarantha's gaze showed that she felt it too: the throne room was alive with devotion, and absolutely none of it was for her. It was all for that proud but maimed fighter next to her. Lucien felt a pang of grief in his chest at the realization that Andra Fevaren was moments away from fulfilling the role that everyone in this throne room expected of her. She was going to save them all.

"I give you all: Andra Fevaren, our champion!"

The crowd of High Fae erupted in jubilant cheering. Amarantha plastered a rictus grin on her face, but Lucien knew that the queen was desperately trying to play along. Trying to fit the role of benefactor to the beloved Andra, hoping to either absorb some of the crowd's devotion or ensure that she was present at the moment when Andra's fortunes faltered and she died, leaving the crowd crestfallen and even more pliable for abuse than they already were.

Lucien watched carefully as Amarantha raised Andra's hand in the air. Based on the wince in Andra's expression, Lucien doubted that she had made that motion voluntarily. The crowd had moved, now congregating around the edges of the arena where the fight was about to take place, and they blocked his clear line of sight to Andra. He heard the cheering rise a notch higher, a near-defeaning roar echoing off the marble floors and stone walls of the subterranean throne room. Lucien's chest swelled with it, the note of pure defiance against Amarantha's rule resonating deep in his heart. He hoped that Tamlin would deliver her a clean death befitting a true warrior.