He released a sigh. “This damn training.” He looked away, shifting his gaze off to the left.
A lie?
“What are you not telling me?”
Another sigh, forced. “I spoke with Thorne. I don’t have all the details yet. He just wanted to stress with me how important it was for both of us to work hard at the training over the next several hours.”
Alison knew he wasn’t telling her everything. She also knew he would tell her if she pushed him. So the question was, did she really want to know?
His demeanor said enough and right now, no, she didn’t want to know, not yet.
She drew her sword into her hand, her fingers tingling with recognition, her heart now slamming in her chest. Did this make her a coward, the not wanting to know? Or maybe just sensible.
One step at a time, Alison of Mortal Earth.
I don’t need to know anything more, she sent. Just train me, Warrior.
At that he turned toward her fully. His expression lightened … a little. You are a warrior, Alison. Maybe not of swords and daggers, but you have a warrior’s heart and a warrior’s courage. He nodded several times. Aloud, he said, “I just want you to know this has been one of the finest nights of my life.”
Alison crumbled inside. He sure knew how to get to a girl. “Ditto,” she whispered. She brought her hands together on the leather-wrapped handle of her sword. She lowered her chin and shoulders. She set her gaze on his abdomen to see which direction he intended to move.
The sacrifice of hours,
Reveals the truth of character.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 17
At dawn Kerrick stood over Alison. She was sound asleep in the guest room. He had trained her hard through the night until she simply couldn’t take one more step. He’d let her shower and head to bed. The truth was, she’d need her sleep, dammit, lots of it to be ready to undergo this latest farce, which would take place in about twelve hours.
At least she had a fucking amount of power. Maybe that would get her through.
Who was he kidding? She would be fighting General Leto, former Warrior of the Blood, Greaves’s second-in-command. How the hell was she supposed to defeat him? He’d been ascended for three thousand years and had fought as a warrior the entire time.
He cursed under his breath. He wanted to wake her up and keep teaching her how to use her sword, how to battle, how to size up an opponent, how to use her strengths and exploit the weaknesses of her enemy. But now he couldn’t. She needed sleep for the horror of what was about to happen to her, but oh, how he wanted more time to train her.
COPASS, that bullshit Committee of bullshit Committees, had done the Commander’s bidding … again. As he looked down at her, resolve tightened his chest. He couldn’t let the arena battle happen without putting up a fight.
Thorne had been right when he used the word reamed.
He thumbed his phone. “Hey, Central,” he said softly, turning away from Alison.
“Hey, duhuro,” Jeannie drawled, ready to tease as always.
“So not in the mood.”
“Give.” Yeah, Jeannie knew how to read the warriors, and her adjustment was swift.
“I need a lift to Second.”
“You got it. Location?”
“The Cave.”
He thumbed his phone and the vibration began. A moment later he stood in the middle of the rec room. Thorne was sprawled on the sofa opposite, asleep or maybe he’d passed out, probably the latter. Jean-Pierre sagged on a stool at the bar, sipping a French martini. He lifted his chin in a brief acknowledgment to Kerrick, sighed, then took another sip. He had bruises up and down both arms and shoulders. Fighting this night had gotten up close and personal for the Frenchman.
Kerrick did a double take in the direction of the pool table where Luken and Santiago were actually playing a game. Some kind of half-ass repair had been executed, which involved a lot of chicken wire and several two-by-fours. The result looked like something taken from a really run-down Mortal Earth trailer park. If they’d set up empty beer cans in a row on the rim, the picture would have been complete. At least the table was functional.
“Hey, Kerrick,” Santiago called. He flipped the cue and sank three balls. He had a massive spidery bruise on the back of his left shoulder. Yeah, the boys had been out fighting.
Luken’s gaze tracked the shot. “Lucky bastard,” he muttered. His hair hung down his back, free of the cadroen, a thick mass of blond waves and stray, rebellious curls that gave him the appearance of an Olympian god.
Kerrick jerked his chin toward the sofa. “How long has he been out?”
“The last hour. He went to see Endelle.”
“Is she going to protest the arena battle?”
Luken shrugged. His cue stood upright and he tapped it on the floor. “He didn’t say but as soon as he returned, he started tossing back Ketel shots. You want a game?”
“No, thanks. I have to get back to Queen Creek after I make a couple of calls.” His gaze drifted to Thorne.
Perfect. He’d wanted Thorne to lead the charge on this one.What a great big fucking mess.
He left the Cave to stand just outside the doors.
He lifted his phone once more to his ear and contacted Central. “Jeannie—”
“Need a lift?”
“Not yet. I need to speak with Endelle.”
A too quiet silence followed after which Jeannie drew in a breath. “She’s not receiving.”
“What do you mean, she’s not receiving?” What the hell?
Jeannie sighed. “Specifically, if you called in asking for her, you were to be told, and I quote, You got Alison into this by calling an emergency lift so go fuck yourself, end quote.”
Kerrick ground his teeth. His temper once more started pounding on the inside of his skull. He took deep breaths and tried to order his mind. If Endelle said no, then no it was.
Goddammit.
Thorne … Endelle … two strikes. Shit.
He held the phone at his back and let loose with a good long string of obscenities.
There had to be a way to fix this. He ground his teeth a little more. He hated to speak the next words, though at this point his choices were appallingly limited.
He brought the phone back to his ear. “Then I want to speak with Harding.”
“You mean Chairman Harding?” He heard the disbelief in Jeannie’s voice. He could hardly believe it himself.
“Get him on the com, Jeannie. Now.”
“You got it but it might take a couple of minutes. He’s not the most accessible ascender.”
“I’ll wait.”
Daniel Harding chaired COPASS and as said chairman, he would have had the final approval of the upcoming mockery of a spectacle. Maybe, just this once, Harding would listen to reason.
Whatever.
Harding had no choice but to speak with the Warriors of the Blood. Given the Commander’s access to him, Endelle had fought to retain equal rights. What the Committee allowed Greaves, by the law of the land had to be granted to the Supreme High Administrator.
At last, Harding came on the line. “I’m here to serve, duhuro Kerrick. How can I help?”
Complete bullshit.
“I want COPASS to reconsider its decision about ascender Wells and the arena battle. She’s not a warrior.”
A slight pause, then, “I’m sorry but the Committee reviewed all the data and voted unanimously. Ascendiate Wells must receive an appropriate consequence since her guardian violated a very important law, as did Madame Endelle.” He enumerated their sins and ended with, “Commander Greaves had every right to submit a protest and COPASS really didn’t have any other option. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”
His condescending tone pushed Kerrick’s temper over the edge. “What about the law the Commander broke sending a regiment to Carefree One? What about that rule?” He was pissed and couldn’t stop himself.
“Now, now. Calm yourself, duhuro. Be reasonable. The Commander will certainly receive a severe censure from the Committee in due course. The sentence assigned to ascendiate Wells is a separate matter entirely. Endelle has thirty days to file a complaint and as you must know we take all complaints seriously.”
He felt the blood rush to his face as he once more ground his teeth. “We’re talking about a woman’s life, an innocent,” he cried. “You’ve basically handed her a death sentence.”
“I simply do not agree. We’ve seen the reports on ascendiate Wells, one of which suggests her powers exceed those of Second. I’m sure she will perform admirably during the arena challenge.”
“The arena challenge? Is that what you’re calling it? A mere challenge? It’s an old-fashioned fight-to-the-death and you fucking know it.”
He paced back and forth now, his voice growing louder. He saw the doors to the Cave open and Luken, Santiago, and Jean-Pierre filed out to stand near him, a strong line of support.
Harding continued his reasonableness. “Given the gravity of the rules that you and Madame Endelle chose to break, I had no recourse. Greaves had every right to establish the contest as a fight-to-the-death event.”
That did it. Kerrick’s temper shot into the stratosphere.
“No recourse? Have you no conscience left, you fucking tool? And what the hell were you thinking putting yourself in the Commander’s hands, anyway? What does he give you, Harding? A serum after you’ve drunk a human to death, you fucking piece of shit.”
A brief silence followed, then Harding cleared his throat. “You are clearly agitated,” he said. “I will therefore forgive these accusations so unworthy of your rank. Good night, most respected duhuro warrior.”
Kerrick’s hands shook as he thumbed his phone.
And at that moment, who should show up but Marcus yukking it up with Medichi. Marcus had cuts all over his arms, shoulders, and face.
Well, goddamnsonofabitch, the deserter had made up with the warriors.
It was the proverbial last straw, especially when the fucking vampire smirked and said, “Well, if it isn’t the bastard who got my sister killed.”