The King's Games

6. Halvblod

"So how'd it go today?" my mom called to me from the living room as soon as I came in the house.

I leaned back against the front door and breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of seawater. Somehow, my mom always managed to fill our house with the smell of her home even though we lived a half-hour from the Hudson Bay.

"Bryn?" Mom asked, sounding more concerned since I hadn't answered her yet.

"Yeah, Mom," I replied finally, savoring my last moment of peace before the onslaught of questions began. "It went good."

I lived in a cottage with my parents near the center of town, and as far as houses went for non-royals, ours was rather spacious and nice. My dad's job as the Chancellor to the King paid fairly well, and my mom worked as a teacher in the elementary school.

My dad was also a bit of a historian who stockpiled Kanin antiques. My mom had come from a lesser tribe and was 100% Skojare. Since the Skojare were aquatic, Mom thrived on water and tried to decorate the home with anything that reminded her of it.

That explained the clash of the sitting room. The walls were painted pale blue, and the two love seats were covered in a material that meant to look like waves. Mom also kept a large aquarium that housed several beautiful silver angelfish.

In between all that were shelves of my dad's favorite artifacts and antique coffee table made out of stone. On the wall opposite the bay window was a giant painting of our Kanin ancestors, trudging through the snow with nothing but Gotland rabbits to sustain them.

Mom was lounging on the couch with a glass of wine in one hand and a hardcover of Atonement in the other, apparently making the most of her break from teaching.

"Did you win?" she asked, with her eyes still on her book. Her golden blond hair was held up with a clip, and she wore a long summer dress covered with purple flowers.

"I won," I said as I limped into the living room, and that's when she finally looked up at me.

"Bryn!" Her aquamarine eyes widened, and she nearly spilled her wine in her hurried attempt to get her glass on the table. "What happened to you?"

With her book discarded on the couch, she rushed over to me to better inspect my wounds. My left knee was bloody, and my elbows were scraped up. I had dirt covering my body and clothes, and a weed had gotten tangled up in my hair.

"How can they let this happen?" Mom asked, and her hands were like small birds, flitting about me to check for more serious injuries. "You're only a child. This cannot be sanctioned by the school. This is barbaric!"

"No, this wasn't from the competition." I pulled away from her, not wanting her to poke and prod me any longer. "I didn't even get hurt at all in the Brokartök."

My mom straightened up, her lips pressed into a familiar grimace, and folded her arms over her chest. I could see the anger in her eyes, darkening her porcelain cheeks, but I knew she wasn't mad at me.

"What happened?" Mom asked softly.

I lowered my eyes. "I don't know."

After I'd won my fight, one of Östen Sundt's lackeys hadn't taken it so well. They'd all been sitting in the bleachers, laughing at me, while Aleksander Salin just seethed. Aleksander was older than me, stronger than me, and he was a boy. He'd lost his match earlier in the day, so he wasn't moving onto the next round.

But I was, and that really pissed him off.

Once the last match had finished, and Dekan Lindström and the other judges had cleared out for the day, Aleksander had attempted to corner me in the school yard, with Östen and their friends cheering him on.

"You shouldn't have won that match," Aleksander had growled as he stepped up toward me, his face contorted with rage. "You should step down so the real competitors can fight."

"I won fair and square," I insisted, standing my ground. Tilda and Simon moved behind me, backing me up.

"You only won cause Simon is a little slida," he continued, using old world slurs. "You're never gonna be able to win anything else. They never shouldn't even allow you in the competition! You're disgracing it just by being here, halvblod."

That was it. Calling me a half-breed in the language of our ancestors, that was the final straw. I lunged at him. I got one or two good hits in, but he got in quite a few himself. Then it was all a blur of pain and dirt, and eventually, Tilda and Simon pulled Aleksander off me.

"Don't worry," Östen had said, as their friends led Aleksander away. "If she makes it any farther, I'll finish her off." He spat on the ground in front of me, then turned and left.

Now, I could feel my mom's eyes as she studied me. I didn't look at her - I didn't need to. After getting in enough fights at school, I could already see the mixture of fear and concern etched in her face. The corners of her mouth would tremble slightly, like she wanted to cry or yell, and could barely hold it back. The sadness in her eyes that seemed to deepen the lines in her brow.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Mom said finally. "You don't have to go to that school or fight with them. We don't even have to stay here. We could - "

My gaze shot up and I stopped her. "No, I do have to do this. I can do everything they can do, and I can do it better than most of them. I can't let them beat me down. I didn't fight this long and this hard to quit now." I set my jaw, fighting back the tears. "I have to do this."

Mom inhaled deeply, and a look of resignation settled in on her face.

"Come on then." She held out her hand toward me. "Let's get you cleaned up."