Avalon had told me all about their meeting as she’d lain in my arms last night, and I hadn’t missed the scent of attraction when she talked about the older man. Honestly, I could understand it. He was handsome, with this air of pure capability that you could really only get with age.
He made me feel… inadequate. I knew that Avalonlovedme, but I felt like I was stumbling through the darkness, groping for the right answers and the solutions to our problems. Zier Tarrin knew the solutions to problems we hadn’t even encountered yet.
“Esteemed guests of the Eighth Line, I am honored to host this historic tournament, the first in many years. Over the next two days, we will see the Second Heirs of the Lines of Ebrus battle for supremacy in tournaments of strength, stealth, precision, and intelligence. However, to honor the original format and to keep things interesting”—he grinned at the crowd, and laughter bubbled back at him—“we’ve introduced a Wildcard option to replace where the Second Line would have formerly occupied. Any man or woman can test their fortune by putting their name into the Wildcard Draw for each round, from a simple soldier to the other Barons, if they so wish.” My father went to stand, as if he was going to put his name in the box, before waving a hand and sitting back down, drawing laughter from the crowd.
Shaking his head, his lips twitching with a smile, Zier continued. “If a Wildcard reaches the final bracket of their competition, they will get thirty gold pieces, kindly donated by the Baron of the Third Line. I guess that probably excludes you from the Wildcard Draw, Baron Taeme. If they win their bracket, they automatically advance to the next competition.” Clearing his throat, he raised his voice even louder. “The winner will have their name inked in the history books of Ebrus. Let the games begin!”
Two large balls were launched into the air, only to be shot with flaming arrows, making them sizzle like lightning as sparks fell to the ground. The crowd let out a gasp of amazement, and then the Master of Ceremonies appeared. I began stretching; the first competition was the Hunt, and I had no intention of losing this round.
“Once again, thank you to the Third Line for arranging the animals for the Hunt. Each team will be given an animal to track, and a ball dart to ‘capture’ their prey. The first person in the competing pair to dart their animal will advance to the next round of the Hunt, until one competitor triumphs over all.” The Master of Ceremonies cleared his throat. “Injuring the animal will result in forfeiture from the entire tournamentandyou’ll have to answer to the Baron of the Third Line.”
Lazlo, the performative furball, stood and roared, the sound deafening in the small area. Several people paled, and my father gave a stony glare. If anyone decided to break the rules, I wouldn’t want to be in their position.
“Here are the first-round matches. Chasing the boar: the First Line, Vox Vylan, and the Eighth Line, Kyler Tarrin. Chasing the deer: the Third Line, Hayle Taeme, and the Fourth Line, Eugene Rovan. Chasing the elk: the Fifth Line, Moran Ingmire, and the Seventh Line, Delphine Lunderov. Finally, chasing the wolf: the Ninth Line, Bach Halhed, and the Sixth Line, Gerod Marlee. Remember, no magic is allowed. Best of luck.”
I patted the head of Alucius and tipped my head at my father. “Good luck, son,” he rumbled back, pride etched across his face for all to see. Unlike so many Barons, especially in the Upper Lines, my parentslovedme, and let me know how proud they were every time I saw them. They didn’t withhold affection, like I was some temporary intruder in their home, out to steal their power and position.
Thinking of Vox made my chest hurt. That poor fuck had never known love until Avalon, but we’d make it up to him.
Giving Father a cocky grin, I saluted him and strode out into the ring. Looking over at the Ninth Line tent, I winked at Avalon and was rewarded with her flushed cheeks and an exasperated expression.
“Are you winking at my sister?” Bach Halhed growled, and honestly, I was impressed by his balls.
“I am.”
“Well, don’t,” he muttered. “She deserves better than a fuckboy who’s slept with half of Boellium.”
Narrowing my eyes, I let the insult pass. “You’re right. She deserves the fucking world. I intend to give it to her.” There was no mirth in my tone. “I love her more than anything. She isn’t something casual to me.” My tone was serious, a solemn oath laid out here for the world to hear.
This time, both his brows raised. “You and Avalon are together? Like, boyfriend and girlfriend?”
Sometimes, I forgot that Bach and Avalon had grown up secluded from the rest of the world. There was an innocence to the both of them.
“More than that. I am hers, body and soul. Which is why I’m not going to punch you in the nose for calling me a fuckboy. I might’ve been in the past, but now the only woman I can see is her.”
Blinking at me, Bach was prevented from speaking by the arrival of Gerod Marlee and an attendant, who gave them each a spit dart and a bag of colored balls. They disappeared into the woods, and the attendant turned to me.
I glared at Eugene, the venom in my expression probably confusing to the fuck. I’d always disliked Eugene, but knowing what had happened in a different life, I now despised him.
“Best of luck, Taeme,” he said, thrusting out a hand for me to shake. Swallowing down my disdain, I shook it.
“I don’t need luck, Rovan. Remember, no abilities.” Because this asshole was a cheater. “May the best man win.”
“Cocky fucker,” Eugene grumbled.
Then we were off.
We were down to the third round of the Hunt and the last four Lines. Vox had gotten unlucky, being paired with the Wildcard in the second round. Normally, it wouldn’t have been a problem, but Ivo Tarrin had been drawn to be the Wildcard entry. Ivo was the primary Heir to the Eighth Line, and the twin to Kyler Tarrin, who Vox had beaten by the skin of his teeth in the first round.
Now I was paired with Ivo, and honestly, I was a little worried. He was good—as good a hunter as anyone I’d ever seen outside of my own Line. There was a reason he would be the Baron of the Eighth Line when Zier retired or was taken out; he equaled his uncle in skill and temperament.
We were chasing a fox, who was a wily little bastard. The urge to use my abilities rode me all day, but I wouldn’t dishonor myself or my Line by using them. It was almost subconscious, like breathing, and it was harder work keeping them under control than it was to find and dart the fox.
I crept soundlessly through the forest, my eyes constantly moving but my breathing soft. Even without my abilities, I’d grown up in the woods. Hunted before I could even speak full sentences. This came as naturally to me as eating or fucking.
A flash of red streaked across my vision, and I lifted the spit dart to my lips. I’d have to be slow, measured. I saw the fox, his nose lifted to the breeze. I knew in a moment, he’d scent me. I blew the dartball quickly, and yellow splatted on his hind leg, quickly followed by a blue dartball behind his ear.
I looked across the clearing at Ivo Tarrin. Fuck, that had been close.
