The Shadow Prince
Page 8

I slow to a halt and try to place my hand on the hilt of my sword to show him I am ready for any attack he has planned, but then I remember the weapon was taken from me by one of Ren’s guards.
Never mind. Hand-to-hand combat suits me just fine.
Several Underlords step around me, most gawking as they go, trying to get a good look at the king’s disgraced son, who is now the lone Champion for our year.
The Lessers, who are not allowed to wear armor outside of the ceremony, stop to remove their bronze breastplates and leather wrist cuffs before returning to their labors. I am not surprised to see Lord Lex standing near Rowan and a couple of other Elites who’ve congregated near the exit. My hands grow hot, prickling with energy, as I think of the things Lex suggested in the throne room.
Lex whispers something to the Elites that I cannot hear. Rowan nods and laughs, glancing in my direction. Fire rings gleam in his eyes.
I hope to the gods that Rowan issues a challenge now. It would be my duty to riposte.
Lex clasps his hands in the sleeves of his robe and takes his leave, presumably to join the other Heirs. Only a handful of Underlords remain in the antechamber now, and I wonder if Rowan wants our fight to be a private affair, rather than the spectacle I predicted. I decide to push the issue by advancing toward Rowan—when someone collides with me.
At first, I think I am being attacked from the side, and I raise my hand to strike, but then I see that the clumsy fool who has gotten in my way is nothing but a scrawny boy. With a twist in the strap of the heavy, ill-fitting breastplate that drapes over his sagging shoulders. He’s the Lesser who stood in front of me during the ceremony.
“Watch it!” I shout instead of striking him.
The boy glances at me and gives the smallest nod. Again, I feel as though I should know him. “My apologies, my lord,” he says, and scurries away as fast as he can toward the exit.
It is now that Rowan chooses to make his move. But it’s not toward me. He signals two of his chimera-faced lackeys to follow his lead. They step in front of the doorway, and the Lesser boy, not paying attention, runs right into Rowan’s chest.
“Where do you think you are going?” Rowan asks him.
The boy trembles. Rowan’s menacing glower makes him take a step back. “Returning to my barracks, Lord Rowan,” he says. “As I was instructed.”
“And you were going to take your borrowed armor with you?” Rowan points at the stack of breastplates where the other Lessers have left theirs behind. “You know what we do to thieves.”
“Yes,” the boy says. “I mean, no. I wasn’t stealing. I just forgot. I was distracted.” He glances slightly back toward me.
My impulse is to look away, but I can’t.
“Then let us help you get out of it.” Rowan wraps his hand around the boy’s left wrist cuff, and one of Rowan’s friends clutches on to the twisted leather strap that lies across the boy’s back.
Before the Lesser can even try to fight back, Rowan and his crony both yank viciously on the boy’s armor, pulling him in opposite directions. The boy screams. The noise echoes off the walls and fills my ears, but I can still hear the sickening sound of his shoulder being dislocated from its socket.
I react before I even have a chance to think. I push my way through the bystanders who still remain in the antechamber. My hands clutch into fists. I can feel a current of electricity surging up my body.
Rowan lets go of the boy and pushes him away. The Lesser whimpers and sinks to the stone floor, his arm hanging at an unnatural angle. Rowan opens his mouth to laugh, but I smash my fist into his jaw before he can make a sound. He slams into the doorjamb, and I hit him with a bolt of lightning to the chest.
Rowan’s two friends try to grab me from behind, but he waves them away. Rowan charges at me. We grapple, knocking into the stacks of discarded armor, sending them scattering. I smash my forehead against his and slam him to the ground. I pin him there with one of my knees on his chest.
A second bolt of electricity shudders through my body. The energy bursts into my arms and explodes from my fingertips.
Rowan writhes in agony as I direct the crackling streaks of blue lightning into his rib cage a second time. I imagine the electricity clenching his heart in a taloned grip, squeezing the life from it.
The energy dissipates so quickly, it nearly knocks me back. Rowan tries to roll away. I grab him by the throat with one hand and lift my other over his heart, preparing to blast him again.
Rowan and I both know a third jolt of lightning will stop his heart completely.
“Say it.” I keep my voice cold like King Ren’s, not giving away the anger that boils behind my words.
“Never,” Rowan says.
A gasp ripples through the small crowd of Underlords who’ve circled around us. I can feel Rowan’s pulse hammering against my hand. Energy that has been building up inside of me courses through my free arm, and I flex my fingers as wisps of blue light lace between them like webbing.
Rowan doesn’t flinch. Neither do I.
“Say it,” I demand. “Say it, or you’re done.”
Another sound of shock escapes the crowd of Underlords. They know the rules of a proper challenge. The loser must invoke elios—a cry for mercy—or face death at the hands of the victor. The others wonder if I mean what I threaten. Their doubt gives me more strength to accomplish the deed.
“Lord Haden, don’t,” Dax says. I know it must be him without taking my eyes off Rowan’s face. Dax is the only one whose standing is low enough among this group to feel free to show concern. “Rowan has had enough. Let him go.” By the sound of his voice, he’s moving closer. “What would your father think?”
I know exactly what Ren would think. Only a coward wouldn’t finish off an opponent who doesn’t properly relent.
I’ve never lost a fight. I’ve never backed down. But I’ve also never been in a brawl that has escalated quite this far. I’ve never had to kill another Underlord before.
Rowan smiles mockingly. His teeth are stained with blood, but I can read the scorn in his expression. I’m stronger than Rowan. He knows that. I clearly have the upper hand, so why would he choose this moment of all times to taunt me?
The energy I hold in my hand swirls itself into an angry ball of white-hot lightning. It’s almost too hot to bear. I must throw it soon, or it will incinerate my fingers. “He has to say it.” I shake Rowan by the throat. “Say. It.” I keep my voice cold and steady even though I want to scream at him. I want to force the word out of his mouth. I’d reach my hand down his throat and claw it out of him if I could.