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Draven moved slightly forward. My breath caught in my throat.
Avriel’s foot shifted.
“No,” Draven shouted sharply. He moved forward with lightning speed crossing into the sparring ring like a flash.
But it was too late. The sound of crunching bones filled the air.
Avriel lifted his foot. But Pearl did not rise.
I glanced at Lyrastra. Her face had gone pale. Her hands were curled into tight fists.
“...when I take pathetic little Pearl out of the running for us all,” Avriel finished slowly, with a small smile. “She was never going to get very far, you know. What does it matter if she died now or later? Either way she’d have been dead. Either way you’d have been too late.”
“She might have withdrawn before the ceremony,” Gawain said. “And you know that, Avriel.”
Avriel shrugged. “Perhaps. She was a persistent little bitch, Pearl was. She might have kept at it. Been a thorn in your side. No need to thank me, Kairos.”
Draven said nothing. Instead, he simply turned away.
I watched as he seemed to notice Lyrastra for the first time. Their eyes met. Draven went very still.
Then he began to walk back in the direction of the dueling ring. Gawain was not far behind.
“Of course, if it was the sweet little morsel I hear you have hidden away in your rooms, then I’d have taken my time with her. Do you hear me, Draven? I’d have turned that little Valtain bitch over, spread her nice and wide and...”
I would never know how Avriel planned to finish that sentence. For however it had begun, Draven finished it.
With a flash of impossible agility, he vaulted into the sparring ring, springing through the air and landing on his feet in front of the scaled man.
In an instant, his hands became a whirlwind of rapid blows, each strike delivered with catlike grace. Avriel tried to muster a defense but it was pointless. Draven's strikes landed seamlessly, outmatching his cousin's every move.
Blood flew through the air like droplets of water, landing on the padded mats as Avriel's face quickly became a raw canvas of brutality.
One final blow and Avriel went sprawling on the ground, blood trickling from his split lip, his chin stained with crimson.
Only then did Draven step away.
“I could kill you now, Avriel,” I heard him say quietly. “But what difference does it make if you die now or later? Either way, you’ll be dead.”
And then he walked away.
I stood back from the hole in the wall, my whole body trembling.
This was a game? The game Draven had to play to gain the throne?
I turned to my fight to where Beks had backed away from his own peephole.
“You said it was a game,” I said accusingly. “That? That wasn’t a game. That was life and death.”
Beks’ eyes were wide. “Pearl... That’s never happened before. They fight hard, but... But Avriel. Well, Avriel...” His voice trailed off.
I felt sick as I thought about poor Pearl’s body lying there on the mat.
That was the man who might wind up the ruler of all of these people?
Not if Draven had anything to do with it.
Suddenly I started to understand what might have been important enough to come back for–besides supposedly protecting me, as Draven had claimed.
