Anderz warned me. Sainte assured me. Yet nothing prepared me for my brother’s reaction.
“What?!” Adastrus abandoned all decorum, his hair brushing across his furrowed brow.
“I demand a Valahant of my choosing,” I reiterated, chin lifted in defiance.
As Counselor Dyre instructed, I approached him in the Hall of Receiving, prepared to confront him. He told me I could seek him out privately, yet facing him in front of nobles would compel him to honor the request. Surrounded by onlookers, my breath seemed to reverberate against the lofty ceilings. Sainte stood behind me, a silent support. Meanwhile, Anderz mingled with the crowd, whispering to a nearby noble.
Adastrus lounged in the gem-encrusted chair atop the dais. It resembled a throne more than a seat for common pleas, but who was I to judge?
“That’s an ancient custom you invoke, sister,” he remarked, his posture relaxed yet his eyes sharp and calculating as they fixed on Sainte.
“Tradition is tradition. Law is law. I’m not asking, brother.” I quoted the words Anderz told me to say. He said it would move the nobles, and as I spoke, murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“Ah, so there it is. You survive one rite unscathed and believe you're destined for the throne.”
My lips pressed tight. I needed to choose my words with care. I was ill-equipped for this conversation.
“Less than a month you’ve been here and already you try to remove me.” His dead fingers drummed on the hard wood of the chair.
Clack, clack, clack.
“I would name Sainte Nytestorm as my Valahant.”
“Predictable.”
Adastrus pushed to his feet. Angry sparks flew from his eyes, a sharp contrast to his easy smile as he descended the steps, reaching me on level ground. It must have irked him that I was nearly as tall as he was—he couldn’t look down on me anymore. I struggled to stay composed as he drew closer, his gaze flicking to Sainte.
“Do you know the old customs, Captain?”
I turned, keeping Adastrus in my sight as he circled Sainte, who stood unwavering under the scrutiny, his head held high.
“Do you realize you’ll be a mere puppet—”
I fought a thrum of panic as he moved behind Sainte and whispered in his ear.
“—just as they wish her to be?”
As my lips parted to speak, movement from the crowd caught my eye. Anderz shifted in his seat, pressing his fingers to his mouth. His golden eyes bore a silent warning.
“I am willing,” Sainte declared, gaze fixed ahead.
“Willing, but not eager? Yes, I can’t imagine any man would be eager to provide for her needs.”
A tic worked in Sainte’s jaw, but he remained still.
“Him?” Adastrus’ hand settled on his left shoulder, resting his chin on the other. His dead-black fingers dug in as he smirked behind Sainte. “You would demand him?”
“Yes. I demand Sainte Nyte–”
My teeth slammed together as my brother rammed his fist into the small of Sainte's back. He grunted, staggering with the blow, but remained upright. His eyes fluttered shut, as if he were pulling himself to another time or place.
“The first lesson, dear sister, is that your Valahant must take a beating,” Adastrus declared, dragging his lifeless fingers across his back, eliciting a wince, before circling to his front. “We wouldn’t want,” he threw a fist into his stomach, causing him to stumble and gasp, “you to be protected by someone weak.”
My whole body trembled with rage, my vision blurring with red as I witnessed my brother pummel Sainte.
And he took it.
He stood firm, absorbing each blow.
