Five chairs were brought in and placed in a row beneath the dais, and as the king returned to his throne, two of his men guided us to the seats. I took the one farthest to the left as the karls left acircular spot before us, allowing Viljan to creep closer, standing only a few feet to the side.
The king’s second strolled into the empty space. “The rules are simple. No weapons. Fight until either one of you yields or the gods claim you.” An itching stillness fell over the tent as the second walked up to the first row of men and women. “Who will be the first to step forward?”
The suffocating quiet continued, spreading through my limbs until they twitched.
“No one dares to step forward?” the king called. “Do we have a generation of cowards?”
“I’ll go.” A silver-haired man walked into the ring. “Who will fight me?”
Another man, his stature also towering somewhere around six foot one, stepped forward. “I’ll take you, Oscri.”
“Will you now?” There was a murderous lilt in Oscri’s tone. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“Go on. We didn’t ask for a speech.” The king waved with a greasy hand, his face glistening from the feast he’d laid waste to. “Get started!”
The two men began circling each other. A low thrumming wove through the room as the karls hummed one of the songs of high mountains and wide seas that we sang to ready ourselves for battle.
Fire flickered across the two men as the one called Oscri lunged, using the edge of his wrist to jab upward, striking the other’s nose. Instantly, blood splattered across the darkened grass.
The crowd screamed when Oscri’s opponent did, and their shouts grew wilder as the injured karl used his fingers and with a loud snap pulled his broken nose into place.
“Is that all you got?” he roared, his voice thick and teeth red from blood.
“No.” Oscri laughed, and the sound filled me with foreboding.
I shook my head when a servant offered me wineand meat, but the other heirs indulged. Adrion leaned back in his chair, sucking his fingers—he’d devoured an entire lamb shank—and Ivren and Rakkel whispered to each other as they sipped on their ale.
More cries echoed around the tent, and the king himself clapped as Oscri stormed forward again, landing a jab to the other man’s gut that had him double over. As Oscri went to kick his legs out from under him, though, the man flew backward, landing a punch to Oscri’s face that split open his brow.
More blood pooled on the floor as the men interlocked their arms, each using the other to land strike after strike wherever they could reach. The slightly shorter man got hold of Oscri’s hair and dragged him close to jab his fingers into his eyes, fighting to pull them from their sockets.
I looked to Viljan. His face was blanched, but not because he was watching the fight. He was staring right at me, and for the first time in my life there was terror in my guard’s eyes. I spun forward again, my feet tapping against the ground, making my knees bounce.
The crowd shrieked as Oscri managed to get out of the man’s grip. I pulled at my dress, letting the stupid gilded tendrils of the skirt weave between my fingers as Oscri’s hand wrapped around the man’s throat and he yanked, ripping a chuck of flesh out. There was a spark of surprise in the man’s eyes before blood gushed, painting Oscri’s entire face red, and the light in the former’s gaze went out.
Oscri threw the man’s dead body onto the ground. After dragging his hands down his face, he ripped open his tunic and smacked his palms against his chest, leaving two crimson imprints as he ran around the ring. “Anyone else want to try?”
There was a shuffle as karls shoved and elbowed themselves forward, their bloodthirst awakened—or perhaps their throats had been wetted with enough liquid courage—but my legs stopped moving when Rakkel spun into the ring, mock-curtsying to Oscri.
The karl gave a dry chuckle. “I don’t fight girls.”
Rakkel rolled up the sleeves of her far more appropriate dress. “Good thing I’m an heir as well.”
“Not for much longer if you fight me.” Wickedness spread across Oscri’s features as he called to the king. “May I take her place if I kill her?”
“Certainly.” The king lifted his cup to more cheers and whistles. “If you can, the gods have already abandoned her.” King Gustief winked at Rakkel. “Feel free to put this karl in his place.”
Rakkel beckoned Oscri with a finger. “Oh. I plan to.”
She looked so small as the grinning Oscri stalked forward, but when he went for her, diving forward with only a second’s notice, Rakkel was suddenly behind him. His thick arms waved in the air as she kicked him in the back, nearly sending him into the ground.
“You missed,” she said innocently when he whirled, his face flushing.
“Is she allowed to use her magic?” he growled.
“Of course,” the king called. “You did not specify you wished for her not to.”
“Seems fucking unfair when we don’t have any anymore,” Oscri growled as he swung out with his arm, missing Rakkel again as she appeared two feet back. The rumbles in his chest built into screams of frustration as he began punching, kicking, jabbing, trying to outmaneuver the female heir. But Rakkel only danced and whirled and spun, her positions never where Oscri believed they were.
