She snarls, “I did this to myself.”
Well, she’s a ball of contradictions.
“You owe me his death,” she says, drawing her right hand slowly up to her left shoulder and toward the first spike on her wing armor. It looks like she’s about to scrape her palm across it.
“Stop.” Erit lowers his bow, surprising me by separating bow from arrow and raising both in a placating gesture. “Lady Indira, you don’t have to do this. Lady Storm was mistreated by your brother the same as you. She had every right to kill him.”
“I don’t care! He hurt me first. That gave me first right.”
“Lady Indira—”
“Nobody calls me ‘Lady!’ Especially not you!”
He tilts his head, taking his time to respond. I’m dying to leap into the conversation with all sorts of retorts. If she claims she had first right to kill Howl, then why the hell didn’t she try? Or maybe she did and failed? And why is she so angry at Erit? What did he do?
Erit contemplates her. “So you do recognize me. I wasn’t sure how much I’d changed over the last fifteen years.”
Indira scowls back at him, one foot planted slightly in front of the other, right palm resting across her upper chest very close to the spike. I’m still not entirely sure what she was about to do with it, but Erit’s efforts to stop her make me worried.
She studies the cut of his stubbly jaw, his gently pointed ears, and slate-gray eyes, taking her time to assess him. Her flinty gaze softens, but only briefly. “They told me you were dead.”
“Dead?” It’s his turn to appear surprised, but he slowly nods his head. “Of course, that’s what my parents would tell everyone to save face, isn’t it?”
She whispers, “You got out.”
“I did.”
She says, “Then you know I have to do this.”
He shakes his head. “You really don’t.”
In a flash she drags her hand across the wing spike, spilling droplets of blood on the street.
“No!” Erit’s shout dies in this throat.
Indira’s focus returns to me. “Supreme Incorruptible Marbella Mercy, you owe me Grievous Howl’s death. I will have yours instead.”
Erit sags beside me. The fact that he’s concerned makes me concerned. I keep my voice low, trying not to react to this fierce female. “Erit?”
“She has challenged you to a fight to the death.”
The heartstones glow around me. “That seems unwise.” But as I speak, the glow dims and all of a sudden, the lights in the heartstones go out.
“Unfortunately, it is a blood challenge. The deep magic is bound by it, which means you will not be able to use the heartstones’ power in this fight.”
This is news I didn’t want to hear. No wonder Erit was trying to stop her. Leaving my armor behind is suddenly the worst decision I made today.
Indira watches my reaction closely, so I keep my response casual, calm.Just talking about the weather. Nothing to worry about.“So it’s just me and her?”
“I’m afraid so. You need to know that Lady Indira is a fierce warrior. She will not be easy to defeat but… Lady Storm, I’ve seen you fight without any power to aid you. Like many others before her—including myself—Lady Indira is underestimating you.”
I search his eyes. Indira can hear every word he says. He’s deliberately allowing his genuine concern to show through. I consider carefully what he said. First of all, he’s trying to psych her out, which tells me I actually need to be worried about her skill as a fighter. But on top of that, he’s reminding me of my fight with Arlo, of how I forced Arlo to yield. Whatever history Erit has with Indira, whatever injustice Indira has faced, to kill her would be a tragedy and it will get me no closer to improving relationships with the Grievous Clan.
I place my hand on his arm. “Erit, I can see that you care deeply about the outcome of this fight. I promise you, I will show mercy.”
Indira spits from the side. “How very magnanimous of you, Supreme Incorruptible. I assure you, I will not.”
It’s her turn to try to psych me out. As she speaks, gargoyles emerge from the shadows around us. The street is wide enough for a single gargoyle to spread its wings and land with room to spare, but the alleyways between the buildings are narrow and cramped. Gargoyles cling to the sides of the buildings, hanging off the edges of the roofs, their faces shadowed, hunched beneath their wings, their wing daggers pointed aggressively forward.
