The Code of Combat Conduct dictated that no person be permitted to strike a blow if the bout was halted.
Saskia was screaming foul. Her claim was that there’d been no signal, no sign from the marshal, that there was a break in the proceedings. “I struck in good faith,” she bellowed.
Unfortunately, she was right, but Demelza had been distracted by an outsider, which was also outlawed.
The Elders huddled around Rhey, urging him to resume play, but Demelza was injured, badly – her arm hung limp at her side and ran red – and he longed to end the whole, damned mess. He knew she’d kill him if he interfered with her ability to determine her own fate, though. Then again, he couldn’t let her continue with a slashed arm.
His heart stopped for a beat, as it often did when his eyes fell on the dauntless human in the pit, but it wasn’t lust that fired burned inside him now. It was hope. Struck by an idea - a stupid idea he couldn’t quite formulate - Rhey whispered in Nathos’ ear. His Councilor beckoned a squire and relayed the order.
Xandrie bound Demelza’s arm with strips torn from her own blouse and took up her sword. She glared at Rhey from below.
It wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but the woman was clearly challenging him. Her defiant stance dared him to order her to step away. She had run afoul of the rules by entering the ring, but the fact that she didn’t break eye contact signaled she didn’t give a good goddamn about their laws. She loved Demelza and he had no doubt that she would take her place in combat in a heartbeat.
The question was, was she allowed to? And would she survive it?
Against anyone else, he would have thought that she had a chance, at least, but it was Saskia, Nathos’ niece. The woman had a reputation for being fierce, and bloodthirsty.
His instincts were torn. He rebelled against all possibilities; he didn’t like endangering Demelza, or endangering Xandrie - but he had a choice to make. One woman or the other.
The squire returned to the Royal Box with a tome three-hands thick. Nathos and his cronies broke the book open and pored over its contents. Rhey continued to watch Xandrie, who continued to stare at him, but he had one ear on the debate raging behind him.
“Any creature – be they dragon born or nay – carrying dragon blood in their veins is eligible to enter The Claiming,” Alfot read, an Elder known for his love of the law.
A Councilman sucked his teeth, the way he always did when something irritated him. “She’s no dragon.”
“The law is clear,” Alfot stipulated. “She need only have dragon blood.”
“But she doesn’t shift…”
“There are dragons aplenty who do not shift, Vincent among them. It is not a barrier to her entering the fray. This is the law.”
Rhey sighed, wondering if they were going to be there ‘til winter - gods knew the Elder could argue for days - but Nathos surprised them all.
“Let’s stop kidding ourselves,” he begged. “She’s a Dragon Rider. Test her blood if you must - you’ll find Aether and fire aplenty.”
Rhey turned to his advisor, who held his hand up in surrender, “We’ll talk of this another time. Let’s resolve this matter first. What might the King have to add to a decision that lacks precedent?”
Rhey found his lips curving, and his chest lightening. How unexpected. And perfect.
“The law is the law, and the law is clear. If the woman has dragon blood as you say, she may fight.” He sat, and turned his eyes down towards the pit, focusing on hers. “Let her fight for me.”
“The King has spoken.”
Indeed, he had. He’d allowed the woman he couldn’t chase away from his mind to enter the tournament that may make her his.
If she won the fight, she was in.
He didn’t release her from his gaze, eyes narrowed almost threateningly. Don’t mess this up, he wished he could say. But as no private words could be exchanged now, he did the only thing a King could do without causing an uprising.
“Alexandria hasn’t brought her weapons, and isn’t appropriately attired.”
He drew the two swords buckled at his belt and threw the first towards Saskia.
“Melnak, the Death Bringer. It has killed a thousand men and is still just as sharp, and just as thirsty for blood.” Then, the second was planted at Xandrie’s feet. No one would know what it meant, not even her. “Laria. It’s lighter.”
Some chuckled, others were offended on her behalf, believing he’d written her out, thinking he’d given her nothing more than an oversized letter opener; Laria was made of gold, and looked small, even pitiful perhaps. It was also his mother’s blade, an elven made, magic-infused sword he valued dearly. Part of his treasure.
Vincent and Demelza turned to him, visibly shocked; they recognized it then.
“Fight with heart and honor.”
They did.
Saskia lunged first and that was all it took; the two of them were a whirlwind of wild weaponry and skill, on both parts - the dragoness knew how to comport herself with grace, and Xandrie knew just how to get under her skin, avoid her blows, and gain an inch with moves that weren’t quite the form. Rhey smirked as she tripped the fire-breather, using the knowledge he’d shared - Saskia hadn’t paid attention to her balance.
The women were strangely matched, but after a full twenty minutes of unstinting sword play, Xandrie used Saskia’s speed as she lunged, moving at the very last second and backing her up against the wall of the pit, holding Laria at her throat.
“Concede,” she growled low, and Rhey grew hard.
Saskia nodded and let Melnak fall to her side.
Holy fireball. Xandrie was the victor.
The stands exploded in celebration. An upstart had upset the apple cart. Most of them knew she was human, yet fought her way to the next round; she was the only person without a drop of noble dragon blood who’d made it.
Rhey stood and threw his cape over his shoulder, calling an end to the day’s play. He knew Xandrie – drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, her mouth wet and wild – was going to haunt his dreams again, but for once, he wouldn’t chastise himself for it.
She was in the running. And who knew? It would take a lot of training, but she may just win herself a King.
Dance
Xandrie watched with a wince as the nurses dressed Demelza’s wound, wishing that Talia was there again. The combination of goldenseal and comfrey crushed into the healing poultice they used reminded her of her sister. They could have used a healer with Talia’s powers right about now. The gash Saskia had carved in Demelza’s arm was deep. She wanted to be sure it didn’t get infected. They’d both been green-lighted into the quarter-finals of The Claiming and she knew Demelza would rather chop her own arm off at the joint than throw in the towel and let the women of the Court lord it over her. Dragons were apparently very proud, and perhaps a little stupid, too.
“We only have a month to get you fighting fit.”