“And what of our lands?” Hyas said. “The warborn have worked for millennia to secure our bases. We’re not willing to give those up.”
“I’m pretty sure the definition of compromise is give a little to gain a lot,” you said glibly. Hyas was not impressed by your answer, and you blew out an exasperated sigh. “Can we just agree that the Imperium is a totalitarian regime? And without it, Azrael loses his foothold on the earthen realm, which would benefit all of us?”
“No offense, youngblood,” Aretha said, “but you don’t strike me as a warrior, or even someone willing to sacrifice himself for the cause.”
You scowled at her, not bothering to hide your irritation. “No offense, Aretha, but you’ve only known me for, like, ten minutes, so why don’t you ease up on the judgement?”
Her eyes blinked in shock, and I was happy to see you holding steadfast to your position. But the warborn were not accustomed to having their authority challenged, and your barb was the equivalent to throwing down the gauntlet.
“Parousia or not,” she continued with a regal lift of her chin, “the warborn will not pledge their allegiance to a fledgling princeling who’s not yet been battle-tested.”
You stared at her, and I knew you were resisting the urge to say something snotty in return. “I’m getting the sense that you’d like some demonstration of my abilities.”
“That would be a start,” she said.
You threw up your hands. “Fine. Pick someone to fight me. But maybe one of your intermediate warriors. I’m still in training.”
Aretha’s smile widened as she turned toward her band of warriors.
“Vincent,” I said in warning. Regardless of your recent sparring sessions with Anika, you weren’t ready for a battle with the warborn. I doubted you understood the stakes of this “demonstration.”
“Henri is my bodyguard and soulmate,” you said to the crowd, “and it’s difficult for him to see me in peril, but it’s fine, Henri. I got this.”
You unbuttoned your shirt and tossed it on the arm rest of your throne while Anika came forward with a leather breastplate and began securing it around your torso. It was similar to my own, only smaller, and instead of displaying our matron Medusa, it bore the crest of the thirteenth tribe. That alone caused a commotion.
“I’m reclaiming this,” you said as the audience murmured and balked. “As my birthright. I know a lot of you have beef with my mother. From my own personal experience, I can tell you she sometimes behaves very badly, so in this revolution I’ll be representing the sunborn tribe. They’ve been dead long enough that you all should have put aside your grudges.”
You had a knack for candor with a presentation that was charming and a little bit bratty too. It was a clever move, to distance yourself from Lena. Let her bear the burden of her past misdeeds while you, hopefully, would be received with a clean slate. I had expected her to protest, but she only stood by idly while you geared up for battle.
You then discarded your trousers and replaced them with black, athletic pants, all within the sights of the crowd. Anika presented you with a slender, glittering blade, slightly curved at the end, with sinister notches at its base. It was not one that I recognized, neither from our armory nor from antiquity, so I assumed it must be a modern piece, customized to fit your frame and wingspan, procured for you by the warborn as well.
Aretha had selected a behemoth of a man to go up against you. His size alone made for an unfair fight. This simply would not do. I stepped forward and drew my sword.
“I’ll fight in his place.”
“No, you will not,” you said sharply. “Stand down, Henri.” It was a direct command, but not one that I could possibly honor.
“The warborn fight to the death,” I said.
Aretha nodded. “That is true.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m immortal,” you said flippantly.
“Immortal doesn’t mean—”
“I know that,” you said, cutting me off.
As if I couldn’t be any more dissatisfied with your decision, Anika then wrapped a red cloth around your eyes. Not only were you going to fight a much larger and more experienced opponent, but blindfolded? This must have been what you were practicing without any of our knowledge. I’d never thought you stupid before, but I did right then. Stupid and arrogant and suffering from an irrational sense of invincibility.
“You will not fight him.” I bellowed my seduction. The command echoed through the large hall, attracting the attention of our spectators. The set of your shoulders told me you were resisting, so I strode across the floor to physically compel you.
“Lucian,” you called, and I was seized by a sudden paralysis, which caused my knees to buckle. I faltered, nearly tumbling to the floor, then stood ramrod straight, but I couldn’t take another step toward you. My sword fell from my grip with a resounding clang against marble. My hands were fixed at my sides, rigid as a statue. I couldn’t move my fingers, even to ball my hand into a fist.
Goddamn Lucian was compelling me with mudra.
“Vin…cent,” I uttered, unable to say anything more.
“Get him out of the way,” you instructed. Lucian crooked one finger and pressed his flattened palm toward me, compelling me to walk backward until I was in my former position across from him at the front of the room. My eyes darted toward Lena, who only shook her head slightly in warning. Curse Lucian for agreeing to this deception. And curse you, Vincent, for robbing me of my duty. Tears of rage burned in my eyes as I watched you swing your sword a few times, testing its heft as you warmed your muscles. You would be gutted like a boar.
