A Power of Old(22)

“Though,” she continued, “I don’t know how fair that will be…Ash, your human looks a little pale. Have you not been getting out much?” She smiled at me for the benefit of the minster.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, but thank you so much for your concern,” I replied without missing a beat. “I’m sure my youth and your extensive experience are equally matched.”

Queen Trina’s eyes flashed with rage as she held her placid smile in place. She didn’t reply, and I continued to grin at her. One day I would get my revenge on Queen Trina—perhaps not today, but that day would come.

Lithan hurried over, with Qentos behind him.

“Jenus of Hellswan is ready,” Lithan declared.

I looked over to the pavilion. In the center I saw Jenus, his hair cut, his beard gone and wearing fresh robes. His feet and hands were now unbound, and he walked slowly around the circumference of the pavilion, muttering to himself. He might have been clean-shaven, but he looked just as crazy as when I’d seen him last.

We made our way up the stone steps, and I took the opportunity to grab hold of Ash’s hand and squeeze it tightly. I wanted him to know that I supported him, that I believed he could do this. His fingers closed around mine briefly and then released me.

“Sentries, kings,” another of the ancient-looking ministers announced, “as Tejus has forfeited his crown, the Imperial trials will continue once a new Hellswan champion is chosen.”

The crowd didn’t make a sound. The only noise that could be heard was the scratching of some stray leaves scuttling along the stone ground.

“Each contender will be provided with a sword, and they will battle one another using the weapon only. Jenus will syphon-pair with Queen Trina Seraq, and Ashbik will syphon-pair with a human.”

“Ruby,” Ash interrupted.

“Yes, Ruby.” The minister glared at him, but then continued. “The battle is won when one of you surrenders or concedes. May the best sentry win.”

The ministers and the other royals stood back. Only one of the old ministers remained, handing swords to Ash and Jenus.

My heart leapt into my throat. I watched as Ash took the sword, thanking the minister with a small bow. When it came to Jenus, he snatched the sword from the minister and held it aloft, his hands and arms shaking in anticipation. He looked like a crazed, rabid beast, foam and spittle forming at the edge of his mouth as he prepared to take Ash down.

“Kitchen boy, see this sword?” he sneered. “It will be as close as you ever get to royalty when your blood wets its tip!”

Ash didn’t reply; he just watched Jenus, taking in the shaking arms, the bulging eyes and the thin, malnourished frame.

You can do this, Ash.

I hoped he could hear me. I was waiting impatiently for him to syphon off me, trying to keep my mind as focused as possible for when he needed it. But I also knew from experience that Ash preferred to play the more strategic long game. He would wait till he really needed me before taking my energy.

The pair circled one another, moving slowly. I could hear both of their breaths—Ash’s even and controlled, Jenus’s rasping and excited. I looked over at Queen Trina. She was keeping the smug smile on her face, but leaning against one of the arches with perspiration lightly smattering her forehead. Jenus must be syphoning off her. I knew from experience just how painful that could be.

Good.

I hoped it hurt like hell.

Suddenly Jenus lunged, sword pointed toward Ash’s chest. I suppressed a cry as Ash dodged the blade and shifted into position behind Jenus to strike back. Jenus’s sword crashed against his, and both weapons clanged with a deafening screech of steel on steel. Jenus’s attacks were wild and unrestrained. He spun around madly, cloak flying and screaming bizarre obscenities. Ash was far more measured, each attack more calculated and aimed. In any other fight it would have benefited him, his aim almost always perfect. But this fight wasn’t like any other—against the animalistic rage of Jenus, Ash was starting to tire.

Please—please, Ash, take my energy!

I called to him mentally, pleading to have him use me. Queen Trina was fading. Her face had turned a pasty, wax-like color and I knew that now was Ash’s best chance of gaining the upper hand.

Ash! I cried, throwing out my energy.

Finally, he reciprocated and I could feel the tingling sensation of his syphon spreading across my mind. It made me feel warm and fuzzy for a while, until I could feel the more urgent tug of Ash consuming all that I had to offer. It was making me unsteady on my feet, but it was working.

Ash’s lunges were coming harder and faster. Jenus was starting to look panicked. A second later, Ash landed a blow on Jenus’s upper arm. Blood sprayed onto the stone floor and then started to soak his gown. I hoped the blow would make Jenus nervous, but it seemed to do the opposite. His attacks became even more ferocious, his spittle and blood flying about as he launched himself at Ash again and again. This time Ash was better prepared—he blocked the wild slashes of Jenus’s sword, gaining ground as he moved slowly toward him. Jenus threw his weight behind one final aim. When Ash blocked it, sliding Jenus’s sword off the blade of his own, Jenus fell backward onto the floor of the pavilion.