A man in black robes rose to his feet as Zyion strode straight for him. The man smiled, but whatever he saw on Zyion’s face made his joy falter. He grabbed a silver breastplate with red phoenixes on it and then assisted Zyion into the heavy armor. The gorget that protected his throat and neck was obsidian and had a blood-red cape attached. Once he’d finished adding the arm pieces, he pushed the pauldrons onto his shoulders. Zyion stood to accept the helmet, which covered his entire face in etched silver with a thin slit over the eyes.
Aden’s armor seemed to be for show, since it lacked the thickness of Zyion’s armor. His cape was silver instead of red, which I was certain held some meaning, and his breastplate was as shiny and untried as his helmet with red and white feathers. He was a knight in shining armor who had never seen a true battle.
Overall, Aden’s armor looked more minimal compared to Zyion’s, who exuded a lethal, merciless presence on the field. After both men received their blades, Zyion glanced up at me with a worrisome look churning in his stormy blue depths.
“You should’ve handed Aden your colors, woman.”
My eyes narrowed. “If I’d wanted to hand them to Aden, I’d have done so. I didn’t choose him because, if I am expected to choose the winner of the match before the fight has even begun, I’d choose you. Aden? He’s weak of mind and conviction, and he’s also ruled by his emotions.” The sound he made inside my head was heavy with disapproval, but he didn’t deny my observation. “If it weren’t a choice, you should’ve told me that plainly.” A soft rattle of approval rushed through my mind. “Besides, I don’t have time for men who dance around shit or play word games. If you expect me to discern or read your cues without offering me a reason for your madness, then that’s on you. I don’t intend to sit around here wasting time when Hecate is healing as we speak.”
“I think I prefer your silence rather than listening to you.” My brow creased as he stopped in front of a small dirt circle in the center of the vividly green field. “Do you honestly think your uncles will allow you to walk away from this realm? I assure you it won’t be so easy to leave here. You are the true heir to the throne. No, you’re choosing to ignore the alpha male they tossed at you. They picked him because he’s easily controllable and simple-minded. Do you think they will allow you to live if you don’t do what little girls are told to do? You weren’t supposed to have a mind of your own. They wanted a puppet, one that they could control. You’re ruining their plans.”
“They think I’m a lamb.” Establishing my place above my uncle had done nothing but heighten their scrutiny of me. Let them think I was a delicate, weak-minded thing. It would be their mistake. The last one they made.
“You are a lamb. You should carry a weapon, Aria,” Zyion hissed, and the rebuke in his tone rubbed me raw.
“I may have been once, but that was long ago. I was forced to become a lion, and predators don’t need weapons when they are one.”
Aden lunged with his blade drawn, swinging on Zyion with hard, quick blows. Zyion deflected and guarded against each strike. Far sooner than I expected, Aden became winded, and that was when Zyion moved, advancing on Aden with hard, bone-jarring hits. Aden’s lack of blade skills and training were apparent when compared to Zyion’s. Anger fueled Aden’s fight. Emotions held no place in a sword fight—or any fight, for that matter. Emotions made you sloppy, and careless warriors often ended up dead. The moment they began, cheers and screaming erupted throughout the air. Each move drove their excitement, ending with them growing louder until it became almost deafening.
Aden lunged, and Zyion stepped back, masterfully deflecting each blow meant to disarm him. Every parry Zyion made was precise, and forced Aden to riposte each swing. The merciless assault Zyion led had Aden backing away as each blow landed with a thud against his blade. Aden blocked each clash of his blade, but Zyion didn’t appear to be working hard.
The fight continued with one pushing the other back, before they’d switch and the aggressor would be forced to defend. The sharp clang of steel meeting steel filled the air as sweat trickled down my neck. It sent the scent of adrenaline, excitement, and fear fluttering on the breeze drifting through the stands, increasing the cries of those watching the maddening match. No one cheered for any color throughout the match, and the tension ratcheted higher every time the two men clashed.
Zyion continued, thrusting his blade forward at Aden, sending him back onto the verdant field. He executed each movement with precision, as though he had mastered a dance instead of swordplay. The dragons and phoenixes made noise, which forced my attention toward them, frowning as the dragons made a loud keening noise. The creatures even seemed excited about the fight, which was good for them, I guess.
I could tell the moment Aden barely escaped a few of the attacks he wielded by parrying with the blade he held, that he was tiring. Zyion waited for Aden to lift his blade, then spun in a move I’d never seen a warrior use against an opponent. His blade sliced through the air and sent Aden’s to the grass-covered field a few steps away from him.
Aden lunged for the blade, and Zyion didn’t move to end the battle. Instead, his eyes slid to mine before drifting to Griffon, who had been studying me instead of watching the fighting on the field. Griffon’s expression tightened before he jerked his head in some kind of unspoken order.
Zyion allowed Aden to retrieve his blade, which had my lips pinching in disapproval. I wasn’t sure if Griffon had told Zyion to throw the match or to end it, but either way, his interference was granted. Zyion shifted, slamming his blade against Aden’s in an aggressive, precise and powerful block.
Aden continued slashing against the blade Zyion wielded and then feigned right, but Zyion must have been expecting it because he side-stepped and then swung. Aden parried, but Zyion was so incredibly fast that Aden had little time to recover before Zyion’s blade slammed against his helm, sending both Aden and his blade to the ground. Zyion turned, staring at me as the crowd released a collective gasp.
Aden retrieved his blade for a second time, but Zyion’s attention remained on me. What the hell was he doing? It didn’t waiver as Aden approached his back or as Aden’s blade landed against his armor. Through whatever thread connected us, I felt Zyion tense as Aden pulled his blade back and then lunged forward. Horror flooded me as the tip of Aden’s blade pushed through Zyion’s lower abdomen, and I jumped to my feet. The eruption of cheers from the people watching, drowned out Zyion’s grunt of pain.
Griffon rose, his hand elevated in the air. Aden pulled his blade out and stepped back as Zyion dropped, leaning forward. He lifted his blade as Zyion’s gauntlet crashed against the earthen floor, hauling up the blade until it aimed in the air. His blood-curdling war cry filled the air as I felt my magic rushing to my fingertips.