Page 160 of Peasants and Kings
There was a collective gasp from the audience and the unmistakable sound of a man wheezing in pain.
Gisella murmured, “Sterling.”
My eyes flipped open and my jaw dropped. I expected to see Hadrian bleeding out, blood staining the dirt beneath him.
Instead, I saw Raphael’s blade sticking out of Hadrian’s left pectoral, and Raphael laying on the ground a few feet away, striving to get back on his feet.
Hadrian’s wound looked deep, but I didn’t know if it was fatal. He remained on his knees, staring at the blade. He peered at it curiously, like he wasn’t sure how it had gotten there or how he was still alive.
Raphael finally regained his stance and took a few steps closer with the intent of finishing the fight and ending Hadrian’s life.
He reached for the blade stuck in Hadrian’s chest.
Hadrian suddenly moved, alert and with the precision of an experienced killer.
In two swift motions, he yanked the blade from his own flesh and then impaled Raphael under the breastbone, burying the knife to the hilt.
Hadrian gruesomely twisted the blade and then yanked it out.
Blood gushed from Raphael’s wound like he was a stuck pig.
A look of complete disbelief washed over the Foscari’s face and he fell to his knees, realizing that Hadrian had pierced his heart. He sat for a moment and then went ghost white and fell backward into the dirt, lying motionless.
Hadrian collapsed to the ground in the opposite direction, the blade still in his hand.
I leapt from my chair and flung myself over the two-foot wall, my purple dress ripping along the hem.
When I got to Hadrian’s side, I dropped to my knees and leaned over him. His eyes were halfway open and caked with dirt and blood, but a triumphant smile drifted across his face.
“You will not die,” I commanded.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured me.
I pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “They didn’t think you’d win,” I whispered.
“I know.” He peered at me, his eyes closing as unconsciousness came for him.
“What did you whisper to Raphael,” I demanded.
“I told him that when he was dead, I was going to pry every one of his teeth from his head and string them into a necklace for you to wear.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Seriously?”
“Viking,” he reminded me.
I rose and stood next to Hadrian. My eyes met Angelo’s and then landed on each member of my family, one by one. And then I surveyed the Foscari, who were waiting to see what would unfold next.
“Foscari blood has been spilled today,” I said, my voice ringing out like a bell. “It’s over. On your honor you will not violate your oaths. I denounce the Foscari name. I am Sterling Moretti of theCompagnia Bianca del Falco,and I choose Hadrian Rhys. I carry his child.”
I kept my attention on the crowd, watching as they hung on my every word.
“I will accept your pronouncement, but you must seal it in blood,” Angelo stated. “It’s the blood within you that brought you to this place. Spill it here and now, and it will be done.”
I bent down and gently took the blade from Hadrian’s hand and then sliced my palm. The pain was sharp and instant. I closed my hand, letting blood well, ignoring the agony. Slowly, I rose, blood dripping onto the arena floor as I held my hand out by my side.
Angelo nodded. “Now it is done. Any Foscari who breaks the blood sacrifice, know that it will be a declaration of war on the Moretti.”
I looked to the Foscari—to Raphael’s brother, the next in line.
