Kingdom's Vice Series: Journey to Alleria ( #1 2014) #Wattys2015

Chapter Eight

I will be the first to admit that I have more skill with a sword than Alec. I’m not saying it out of pride, but out of fact. The great irony is that we in Bardhelm were trained in the art of the sword to ward off unwanted Kennah confrontations. I guess now I’ll have a reason to use a sword, since the eye of the King will be on us.

~.~.~.~

I give him credit for trying. He’s never held a sword in his life, and it shows. The moment he picks it up, his body attempts to fail him and expose his cowardice.

‘Defend yourself,’ I say firmly, poking him with the tip of the blunt blade. ‘I just punctured your liver! If this was a sharp sword you’d be close to death already!’

He swings at me, but he’s not aiming for me at all. It seems his only enemy is the air, which is thick with defeat already. I can smell it on him. He reeks of it. He throws up his hands in surrender, gasping for breath. I shake my head and kick him down so he lies flat on his back.

‘You’re pathetic,’ I spit, leaving the tip of the blade just centimetires from his throat. ‘You’re going to make a fool of yourself in front of the entire kingdom tomorrow. You’ll make the King laugh with amusement.’

He gets up, his hands leaning heavily on his knees. ‘He’s not my King, so what does it matter what he thinks?’ he retorts, slapping the blade away forcefully.

I snap the blade down over his knuckles and he jerks back, analysing the redness building over his white knuckles. ‘Ow,’ he whines.

‘Don’t such a baby,’ I sigh. ‘The entire kingdom knows you’re from Kennah just by your hair. You don’t need to exude anymore of your cowardice. They already know much about Kennah-borns.’

He lunges forward, catching me off guard. He spins around my back and slips his hand around the hilt of the sword, gripping it. Before I know it, I am unarmed. His stance changes and he stands before me, his breathing ragged and forced, but his feet firmly planted on the mat. He points the sword at me and cracks his neck.

‘They don’t know everything,’ he grins. ‘I may have a trick or two up my sleeve.’

Whether or not his tricks will spare him public humiliation tomorrow, I cannot be sure. But, I’m sure Faeore knows. She may be laughing now and we just don’t know it.

~.~.~.~

The armour the give us is the lighter kind, made of the thinnest metal the kingdom can forge. The heavy armour is reserved for the Immortals, those whose oaths have been sworn and can afford to have their blood spilled.

We assemble in the arena, and today, I see the king sit upon his throne under a tent with Faeore by his side. She sits silently, appearing less than impressed. I assume she had been reprimanded in the night in a heated discussion with her father. Perhaps that would explain the sour look on her face and why she does not look upon the King, even during the preparation.

I look to Alec, who seems to have an issue with his armour getting caught in stray strings of his undershirt. The sword he holds is lighter than mine, a request I put in with the King, for I did not want to see Alec face a kingdom full of laughing Allerians. He shrugs everything on and exhales, before he finally moves into position. I break inside when I see his hand shaking as he holds the blade. The Allerian announcer calls the game into commencement. Whatever plan I had for bailing Alec out of humiliating himself has gone out the window. This is it. On three.

One.

Two.

Three.

~.~.~.~

He scrambles, staggers around in the dirt like a blind man. He’s fallen over about five times now. I poke him the liver again, the same time as before, and I whip my head up for a split second to see Uncle smiling, seated on his throne. Faeore wears something a little more sinister. I ignore it for the brief moment I have before Alec’s elbow meets my chin. I stagger backwards and drop my sword. The blow leaves my jaw sore and stiff. My hands search for my sword in the dirt, but I hear the grains rattle against the metal. I know Alec’s kicked it out of reach. He then steps closer, but carefully, and kicks the dirt into my face, blinding me. I cough, my mouth filled with it as it clumps into mud. I gag as he grabs me by the back of my neck and puts me into a headlock. I’m choking and I’m blind—a terrible combination.

‘See, Princess?’ he breathes into my ear, ‘Told you I have a trick or two...tricks that don’t require a blade.’

He stamp hard on his foot and he groans, but his stone strong hold remains intact. I have to worm out of his arms somehow, or the only one the King will be laughing at is me.

‘You’re cheating,’ I croak out, elbowing him in the ribs as hard as I can. He still stands firmly on the ground, his body quickly absorbing the shock of each time I dig my elbows deep into his abdomen. ‘This match is with blades,’

He laughs as I squirm. ‘Excuses, Skaya? I thought you weren’t one for cowardice,’

I channel my frustration into my next movie. I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on with everything I have. Then I throw myself back, knowing that he will be the one to absorb the impact and break my fall. Once he’s down and stricken with pain, I dive for my sword again.

The crowd cheers loudly for us. The King applauds. Faeore’s smile fades more. I know that she doesn’t want either of us to win the fight, and the fact that her own father is applauding the performance seems to enrage her even more.

I stand up and suck in a few breaths. The air is hard to ingest and convert into oxygen. I can’t breathe, even though I’m free from Alec’s arms now. He’s still coughing and gagging on the ground, clutching at his chest and back. Then he looks to me in defeat as he does what every Kennah-born is known for—he throws his hands up in surrender. The announcer calls the match to an end and has two guards usher us to the marquee. The place is buzzing with the wounded and the pleased.

‘Dunedine?’ the tally counter asks me, eyeing me with a hint of suspicion.

I nod. ‘Yes,’

‘And the coward?’ he looks to Alec, who limps his way over to the table. He snatches a goblet of wine greedily and swallows it all in forced gulps. He slams the empty goblet down on the table again and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Present,’ he growls, Kennah curse words spewing from his mouth soon after.

The tally counter shakes his head. ‘Lakhar,’ he spits back.

Alec looks to me as if I can translate it.

I sigh. ‘He called you something I shall not repeat.’ I reply. ‘I don’t think you can afford to be forced into another match, Alec. Best to let it go.’

Alec shrugs it off and walks away from the table angrily. The announcer enters the marquee area and takes my hand. He smiles, but his breath is foul with the smell of cheap wine.

‘WINNER!’ he exclaims to the pumped up crowd. The King and I exchange a smile or two, friendly ones. He looks down at Faeore and her bitter expression is replaced with a hint of pride. I had better get used to her changing facial expressions that reflect her soul, because I’ll soon be joining her in the Winner’s Circle tonight. They call it the Feast of Champions on the final day of contest. I’ve become fond of the food here, and the company, some more than others. And it seems that strangers are sometimes warmer acquaintances than reluctant kin.