The next second, he’s smiling and nodding to Isobel.
I turn on Myles. “Did you see that?”
“If you’re referring to anything besides Lady Isobel’s superior curvesss flexing in front of me, then no, I didn’t.”
It’s an impressive feat of self-control that I refrain from jabbing Myles in his family heirlooms just as Draewulf tips his hand in Isobel’s direction. She grins and strides the last two feet to the victor of the blood sport and, in one swift movement, presses her hand over the man’s chest and mutters a chant. His face sags. His black skin yellows. He stiffens and falls in a heap on the floor.
Every member at our table gasps, and Gwen, Lord Percival, and I are all immediately standing. What the hulls?
“Is he dead?” Gwen asks.
“Fascinating,” Myles murmurs.
The footsteps of soldiers sound behind us. I flip around to find them lined up, their cautioning stares bearing down—Bron’s men indicating we should sit back down and Faelen’s guards hinting they’d rather not get in a fight here. Beside me, Myles gives a soft cluck of his tongue, although something in it hints that he’s wary too.
Ignoring them all, I lean forward to study the fallen soldier, scrutinizing his chest for signs of breathing just as Eogan claps heartily. The rest of the Assembly joins in. Gwen and Percival reclaim their seats as Isobel bows, and the doors are flung open again by a soldier who ushers in a boy of maybe seven. He’s dressed to match the victor in that shiny silver suit, but his face . . .
His face is that of the boy, Kel.
Isobel moves back, and as she does, the victor I’d thought dead moans, sits, then quickly pulls himself into a fighting stance once again. A stream of blood drips from his nose, and from the way he staggers, I’m sure whatever Isobel did will kill him sooner than later.
Myles yanks my elbow. “For hulls’ sakesss, sit down.”
Kel steps forward and raises a blade curved in the shape of a crescent. He doesn’t look at me, even though I’ve no doubt he knows I’m here. The bleeding victor lifts his sword.
The air in the room pauses as they wait. The Assembly waits. I wait. For . . . what? I don’t know. But I want to lunge for the boy—to help him—to stop him—because this is so wrong.
I feel Draewulf’s eyes on me. “Are you an imp, boy, or a man?” His shout makes me jump. “Show us how they’ve trained you here.”
Kel moves forward even as I catch the twitch in his pale face. Something shifts there and for a second I see a flash and recognize the fear. Not of what might be done to him, but of what he’ll do to the bigger man.
It almost kicks in my chest.
I rise as he uses his foot to toss the beaten fighter’s ax over to the bloodied victor. Offering him another weapon. He’s trying to making it a fair fight.
Even though everyone in here knows it won’t be.
“Faster, boy!” Draewulf yells, and abruptly the entire room is goading the child on.
“Do it!” another calls.
“Take him down!”
Is this a jest? What’s wrong with these people?
I peer around and notice the horror blossoming on Gwen’s face before I continue on to look at the old man, Sir Gowon. He appears only slightly less uncomfortable, but the focus of his gaze tells me it’s nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with Lady Isobel, who’s moved to Eogan’s side. She’s staring at Draewulf with a mixture of pride and disgust.
And Draewulf’s staring at me. Leering. Waiting.
Next thing I know Isobel’s turned her gaze my way as well. Her face clears of everything but arrogance before she looks back toward the young boy, who’s suddenly dropped the blade to the ground and stepped away from the injured man.
The gasp that rocked the room when she walked in is equaled in strength by the level of silence now.
Kel’s eyes focus on me. I stand there staring right back at him. What’s he doing?
But I know exactly what he’s doing. His words from the airship surface. “Maybe power comes in different forms. And maybe we get a choice how we use it.”
He blinks, then turns expertly toward Eogan as the guests seem to hold their breath in unison. Even Myles is devoid of smart remarks.
Kel tips his head forward. “Your Majesty, please forgive my decision not to complete this task. I don’t think this man guilty of an offense and therefore can’t find justice in killing him. I’m willing to perform another task instead to prove I’m your humble servant.”
An angered intake of breath erupts among multiple council members and guards, and even audibly from Sir Gowon. Their stares of disapproval all move from Kel’s face to mine.