Page 24 of Untempered
She didn’t care if he lived or died. “Yes.” My tone matched hers almost perfectly. I’d warned him. And I was glad, too. I was glad to see the extended show of skill, swordsmanship, and raw physical prowess. And I quite enjoyed seeing Mikus having to work for his victory.
Mikus’ words had become shouts. Foul things about Chay’s parentage, about sex acts with his horse, about his intelligence and body and honor and heart.
None of it seemed to faze Chay. I wondered what one could say if they wanted to spur his temper. We all had something. Apparently, Chay’s something didn’t include public, high-volume discussions of how much of his horse’s ejaculate he enjoyed slathering on his face.
His bladework never faltered. There was a grace to the sword I’d always appreciated. Even knowing it was ridiculous, I felt my lungs burn with Chay, and my legs ache. I could feel the ground beneath my feet, the weight of the shield, and the stifling heat of the padded gambeson sticking to my back. It made sitting still so much harder. I wanted to move with them as they clashed together, hilt to hilt. Chay almost had him but was pushed back by pure brute force, and Mikus maneuvered him into a position that made my gut twist.
Rather than evade, Chay engaged and took a blow to his shield. The force of it echoed in my head, the crash of metal against wood, the head-splitting crack of sound as the wood gave way. Trying to draw in calm breaths, I questioned whether it was possible that my ears were right. The shieldseemedwhole. I was getting lost in the give-and-take.
Urgency drummed in my veins, my heart was in my throat, but I stayed still as the crowd erupted around me.
Mikus’ leg collapsed and he went down hard on one knee.
Isolde let out a snort, but the cider in my belly rose. I swallowed both it and my heart as Chay leapt forward and Mikus lunged—not exhausted, but luring Chay in close.
My eyes didn’t close, though my mind skipped ahead to frozen memories of other times Mikus had lured people in.
The glistening spill of intestines. The puff of dust as bodies fell.
But Chay knocked aside the attack and moved inside of Mikus’ guard.
The burst of pride was so huge and sudden it made my eyes water. I locked my jaw as he tagged Mikus.
He wasmydamned champion.Mine.
Everyone saw it. Everyone knew.
The crowd roared, of course. They always did. They preferred blood to skill, but they’d take anything they could get.
My heart seized in my chest as Mikus got up under Chay’s shield, dropped his sword to grab Chay’s arm, and drove his knee into my champion’s chest.
I was on my feet, a scream locked in my throat, hands fisted helplessly in my skirts.
Chay’s elbow snapped up and out, smashing Mikus in the jaw with enough force to make him stagger back. The scream in my throat blocked my airways. Noise surrounded me, a world of shifting, indecipherable fury and hunger.
I sucked in air and fought the battle with that hot ball of feelings, letting myself rock, just twice, foot to foot, before I sat, hunched over that agonizing lump inside of me. Stewards came forward, their steps hesitant, glancing between one another, Mikus, Chay, and my father. The crowd was screaming for more.
I couldn’t take any more.
It was over. Mikus couldn’t go back in and blame it on momentum or not knowing his own strength—Chay was, very clearly, waiting for him to make another pass, regardless of how obvious it would be.
As I watched, Chay kicked Mikus’ blunted sword behind him.
“Well,” Isolde mused. The word came from far away.
Mikus spat a wad of blood, turned on his heel, and stormed off the field. Only then did Chay let the steward take his arm and raise it.
My head swam. The noise was a physical assault, and I was already flayed raw. I closed my eyes and wished it really was done. The banquets, the dancing, the stress, and socializing.
I’d won. Now I just wanted my bed.
Isolde leaned into me, our hips touching. Her presence was anchoring, and I breathed into her, moving the energy slowly through my body.
I opened my eyes to the brightness of the day, the fashionable clothes attached to fashionable bodies, the movement of the crowd, and the reflection off jewelry. It was all too much.
“Eyes straight,” Isolde murmured.
My body was heavy. I kept my eyes forward and drew from her strength, desperate.
