Carve the Mark (Carve the Mark #1)(121)

If my body ached, it didn’t mention it. I was on Akos’s painkiller, but it was adrenaline that really made me separate from my pain now.

“I’m here to challenge you to the arena,” I said.

There was a smattering of laughter from the crowd, like they weren’t sure if it was expected of them. Ryzek was certainly not laughing.

“I never knew you to be so theatrical,” Ryzek said at last. His face was sweaty; he wiped his upper lip with the back of his hand. “Marching in here with a hostage to make an attempt on your brother’s life is . . . well, just as cruel as we have come to expect from you, I suppose.”

“No crueler than having your sister beaten to death and recording it so everyone can watch,” I said.

“You are not my sister,” Ryzek said. “You’re my mother’s murderer.”

“Then come down here and avenge her,” I said hotly.

The amphitheater was full of mutters again, noise poured back into it like water into a glass.

“You don’t deny killing her?” Ryzek said.

I couldn’t even pretend to deny it. Even after all this time, the memory was close to me. I had been yelling at her at the time, throwing a tantrum. “I don’t want to go to another doctor! I won’t!” I had grabbed her arm, and shoved the pain at her like a child thrusting a plate of unwanted food away. But I had pushed too hard, and she had fallen at my feet. What I most remembered were her hands, folded over her stomach. So elegant, so perfect. Even in death.

“I am not here to trade accusations with you,” I said. “I am here to do what I should have done seasons ago. Fight me in the arena.” I drew my knife and held it out from my side. “And before you tell me that I don’t have the rank to make such a challenge, let me point out how convenient that is.”

Ryzek’s jaw was set. When we were young, he had lost a tooth because he ground them in his sleep. It had fractured from the force, and its replacement was capped with metal. Sometimes I saw it glinting when he spoke, a reminder of the pressure that had created the man standing in front of me.

I went on, “You stripped me of my rank so no one could ever see for themselves that I am stronger than you. Now you hide behind your throne like a cowering child, and call it law.” I tilted my head. “But no one can quite forget your fate, can they? To fall to the family Benesit?” I smiled. “Refusing to fight me just confirms what everyone suspects about you: that you are weak.”

I heard low whispers in the crowd. No one had declared Ryzek’s fate so baldly, so publicly, without suffering the consequences. The last one who had tried had been Teka’s mother on the sojourn ship’s intercom, and now she was dead. The soldiers by the doors shifted, waiting for the order to kill me, but it didn’t come.

All that came was Ryzek’s smile, showing teeth. It was not the smile of someone who was squirming.

“All right, little Cyra. I’ll spar with you,” he said. “Since that seems to be the only behavior that makes sense to you.”

I couldn’t let him unsettle me, but he was doing well. The smile had chilled me. It made the currentshadows race around my arms and throat, my forever adornments. Always denser, faster, when my brother cued them with his voice.

“Yes, I will execute this traitor myself,” he said. “Clear a path.”

I knew his smile, and what it disguised. He had a plan. But hopefully mine was better.

Ryzek descended to the arena floor slowly and with grace, walking the path the crowd made for him, pausing at the barrier so a servant could check the tension of his armor straps and the sharpness of his currentblades.

In an honest fight, I would beat Ryzek within minutes. My father had taught Ryzek the art of cruelty, and my mother had taught him political scheming, but everyone had always left me alone to my own studies. My isolation had made me his superior in combat. Ryzek knew that, so he would never make this an honest fight. That meant I didn’t know what weapon he was really holding.

He was taking his time on his way to the arena, which meant there was likely something he was waiting for. He didn’t intend to actually fight me, obviously, just as I didn’t intend to fight him.

If all was going according to plan, and Yma had slipped the contents of the vial into the calming tonic he drank with his breakfast, the iceflowers were already swimming through his body. The timing would not be exact; that depended on the person. I would have to be ready for the potion to surprise me, or fail entirely.

“You’re dawdling,” I said, hoping that calling him out would speed him up. “What is it you’re waiting for?”

“I am waiting for the right blade,” Ryzek said, and he dropped down to the arena floor. Dust rose up in a cloud around his feet. He rolled up his left sleeve, baring his kill marks. He had run out of space on his arm, and started a second row next to the first, near his elbow. He claimed every kill that he ordered as his own, even if he himself had not brought about the death.

Ryzek drew his currentblade slowly, and as he raised his arm, the crowd around us exploded into cheers. Their roar clouded my thoughts. I couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t look pale and unfocused, like he had actually consumed the poison. He looked, if anything, more focused than ever.

I wanted to run at him with blade extended, like an arrow released from a bow, a transport vessel breaking through the atmosphere. But I didn’t. And neither did he. We both stood in the arena, waiting.