Page 25 of The Court of Venus

I was going to scream. It was crawling up my throat. But someone else did it for me. Lifting his visor, Roland shouted, “Get out!” Wyatt shot him a withering look that said no interference, but Roland ignored it. “Get out of there, Cosmo! Now!”

A massive claw stretched through the iron, raking across the boy’s back. Cosmo cried out, clutching his shoulder, and when he removed his hand there was so much blood, bright red and slick. The crowd booed in unison.

Across the yard, a sudden growl. Heads swiveled around in shock: The sound was coming from somewhere deep in Oliver’s chest.

Mercuries, of course, knew the language of every beast.

When Oliver roared, the lions perked up. One attempted a final, lazy swipe at Cosmo’s cage, swaying in place while the other stalked the Mercury in a wide semicircle, retracing his steps, pacing back and forth.

Oliver roared again. The sound so deafening, we all covered our ears. He contorted his body, making strange, less familiar noises: panting and mewing and snarling, then inching up to the closest lion and chuffing against his mane. He beckoned the great cats forward, leading them down the tilt, toward his cage. What could he be saying? The conversation played out before us: Oliver grunting or snarling to the lions, the lions responding, sometimes with gestures if not sounds.

One took a tentative step inside the cage, yellow eyes locked onto Oliver’s. He yawned, exposing finger-length canines. Oliver yawned back. The twin bounded forward, nudging Oliver’s leg.

The crowd erupted when the cage was shut, the two lions cramped inside it.

Oliver took a sweeping bow, his metallic hair drenched in sweat. Across the tiltyard, Cosmo was huddled against his knees, shivering. Blood still streaked across his face from wiping tears away.

Gently, I entered his mind. There was so much pain—sharp, all-consuming. I could hardly bear the immediacy of it. Back and forth across his mind, my magic was a rag for his panic, seeping it away. The boy glanced around him, searching for the source of the sudden relief as his breathing evened out, as he looked down at his hands and found they weren’t shaking anymore. When our eyes met, his gratitude poured into me, and he sobbed into his knees again.

The court paid the injured boy no mind, too busy swarming around Oliver. Roland leapt down from the stands, slamming his shoulder into Wyatt’s as he passed. He helped the boy limp off the yard, murmuring softly to him. Cosmo nodded, sniffing and wiping his tears away. I saw the shape of my name pass through his lips, and Roland glanced up to me, then to the opposite stands. Roland’s glare remained on the striped awning until he caught the king’s attention. Chin resting on his hand, King Richard regarded his favorite. In both their eyes was authority, and a challenge to it. A belief they should be the ruler of this court. It was a question first posed long ago by King Armel and the first magician Oberon—from whom, king or sorcerer, did the fount of power truly spring?

Roland broke the stare first.

“Play on,” the king said, settling deeper in his seat and barking for another drink.

A bucket of water was splashed over the blood in Cosmo’s cage, and the trumpets blared again.

“The king announces His Grace Roland Daymour, Duke of Hampton, Lord Chancellor of Alvion, and Jasper LeFequire of the Roet family.”

From his canopied seat near the royal box, I saw Fulke Roet lean forward. His anticipation so bright, it was almost a glow.

A bear was led into the tiltyard. The same size as the lion, but there were no exposed ribs beneath her brown fur. One of her canines was a broken stub. The king clapped his hands and laughed like a child as she was chained to the post.

Roland clamped his helmet over his head.

When the trumpets sounded again, the bear surged onto two feet. She snarled and spat, then slammed back onto all fours to charge at Jasper.

The Jupiter shrank back. “Get away, go on—hungry lady, aren’t you? Come here, hungry lady.” He pointed to the sack by the keeper, and suddenly slabs of meat were pouring out, multiplied by the hundreds, and he snatched the spine of a fish, dangling the carcass before the bear.

For a minute or two, I thought Jasper had won. He’d managed—with no shortage of Jupiter luck—to coax the bear toward his cage, waving the fish in the air and tiptoeing backward.

Then, across the yard, Roland cast off his helmet. His hair pointed in every direction. Sweat dripped from his brow.

The bear tore herself away from the dangling carrion.

She sniffed the air, backing away from Jasper, and suddenly, in one violent movement, careened toward Roland. The crowd gasped, and Cecily lost all sense of decorum and screamed. I dug my nails into my palm.

But the bear’s jaws paused inches from Roland’s neck. She was only sniffing him, tracing his scent into one of his ears, then into his breastplate. She nuzzled his neck and nipped playfully at his gauntlets.

I thought he’d lost his grip on her mind when she backed away and returned to the other side of the tiltyard, but she merely stuck her head into the keeper’s bag, scooped a fish into her mouth and laid it before Roland as an offering.

“Thank you,” said Roland, accepting the gift and flashing a smile up at the king.

He’d tamed her completely—she was brimming with love.

The bear nudged him with her nose to follow him, and he nudged back, herding her toward the cage.

The crowd was booing. Fists and voices raised in protest. “Not fair!” Jasper cried from the other end.