Page 172 of The King is Dead
“Holy shit.”
“Is that the Fetch?”
“It’s Melek! Melek is alive!”
The cries and growls of the Nephilim bounced through the air as more and more of my brothers rushed to get closer. I remained stern and waited until a substantial crowd had gathered and more were rolling in before I raised my voice again.
“Do you see me, Neph? Do you hear me? Lay down your weapons and use your ears: I am General Melek Handras, great-grandson of the Fallen, and yourdominant!”
In a symbolic show, because challengers for dominance weren’t supposed to use weapons, I threw each of my spears down to the base of the rocks behind me so they pierced the dirt and stuck straight up, wavering.
The males below shouted a muddy mix of approval and disgust, but I ignored my detractors and continued. “I was taken from you, but I have returned—and I have aprize. The Fetch who attempted to thwart my claim is here,” I bellowed, shaking Yilan’s arm. “She is my prisoner, my servant… and she is aQueen!”
The roar that met that declaration was loud enough to beat my ribs. Yilan flinched, and I wasn’t sure if the movement was intentional, or reflex.
But then, as the uproar died down, one voice raised from somewhere below me.
“Were you taken or did you flee? You disappeared at the same time as Gault!”
I looked, but couldn’t find the owner of the voice. “I did not shed a drop of Gault’s blood,” I growled—sincerely. “I was taken… and I have returned triumphant over our enemies, and ready to make my claim.” Another roar from the crowd.
“I stand before you in possession of aQueen.I led you in battle. I won you the continent. I claimEpitome.Who has the balls to stand in my way? Speak now—I claim the throne and I will not relent until it is mine!”
The crowd of Nephilim lost their minds. Wings were released, beating the air. Roars and growls, shouts—some protesting, others urging me forward—rose in a great cloud of noise. I felt a scrape on the rock behind me and quickly untied Yilan, passing her off to Jann when he reached my side.
As the men below discussed the challenge and considered who might step forward, Jann stepped up to my side and raised his voice too.
“I am Jannus the Halfling, descended from the purest Nephilim blood. If you follow me, join me in allegiance to our General!”
There were pockets of activity east and south of where I stood. A rush of admiration and encouragement reached me through the bond, and it was an effort not to turn and look at Yilan, but I mademyself stand before the Nephilim with chin high and wearing my strength.
Finally, moments later, a shout went up from the east. “I challenge Melek Handras,” a voice growled. The male named Lern.
“As do I!” a second voice snarled. I assumed that was Zebe, though the male was so closely circled, I could only make out the arm he raised, not his face. The crowd nearby rippled with excitement. Praying that Rayan and Norg supported me as they had claimed, I opened my mouth to recognize both challengers. But just then…
“I also challenge.” The voice was calmer than the other two, and more ragged. I turned, frowning, to look for its owner because it sounded familiar.
To my shock, Hever had climbed one of the guard platforms off to my right. When he reached the top, he threw back his hood and stared at me down his nose. “I carry the seal of the former King. I will assess the challenge and determine his approval… or not.”
I frowned. In tradition, a former King’s seal only came into play when a succession was claimed by blood—but that was for use when the Heir was too young or weak, or there were sticky ties between siblings, or cousins and no clear challenger for the throne.
What was Hever playing at?
But there was nothing to be done—I shot the man a warning glare, then turned to the others.
“The challenge has been called and I will answer it.”
Then I turned my back to them in a sign of disdain, walking back down the outcropping with Jann in my wake.
Behind me, chanting began, a babble of names, mostly mine.
There was a moment when the four of us—me, Yilan, Diadre, and Jann were out of sight of the crowd. Yilan grabbed my hand. “Be careful. For me.”
Slipping a hand to the back of her head, I pulled her into a quick, desperate kiss. When we broke apart, Diadre scowled and Jann rolled his eyes.
But Yilan stared at me with love and fear. I wiped a single tear from her cheek with my thumb, then I looked grimly at Jann.
“Are you ready?”
