A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(29)

I freeze. Since Karis Luran died, it might be the first time someone has offered me any kind of deference on this field.

I keep my eyes on Solt. “Again.” My eyes flick to another soldier, someone who snickered when Solt made a comment about Tycho. “Baz.”

Baz isn’t snickering now. He’s quick to obey. Solt gives me a glare, but he fights when Baz draws a blade.

At my side, Lia Mara speaks, her voice is low and quiet, just for me. “How long are you going to make him do this?”

“Until he takes it seriously.” It sounds petty, petulant even. In a way, it is—but it’s also not. I need them to respect me. I need them to respect her. We’re on opposite sides of the same coin: I’m every bit as frustrated as Solt. At least he can burn off his anger on the field.

But with every day that passes, we draw closer to the time when everyone will have to take this seriously, or Rhen’s soldiers will run us through. My magic can’t protect the entire army.

“He could refuse to fight,” she says.

“His pride won’t let him do that.”

And it doesn’t. Solt spars with Baz for six rounds.

He learned his lesson with Hazen and wins all six—then glares at me derisively when I say, “Again.”

We’ve gained the attention of most of the soldiers on the field by now, and I don’t care. Solt is breathing hard. Blood is in stripes on his sleeves where he’s gotten sloppy on defense, pink where it’s been diluted with sweat. His arms are shaking.

Pride or not, he won’t win many more. I can tell.

Then again, desperation always makes for a good ally.

“Again,” I repeat. Baz coughs, but he lifts his blade. I glance at the other soldiers. No one looks defiant now.

I was right. In this match, Baz is able to knock the blade right out of Solt’s hand. The soldier goes down. Baz has a weapon against the other man’s throat in less than a minute.

“Baz,” I say. “You’ve earned a rest.”

Baz steps back and nods. He glances at Hazen, then back at me. “Thank you. Your Highness.”

Solt reclaims his sword and shoves himself to his feet. His breathing is ragged now. He looks like he wants to vomit on the field. No, in all truth, he looks like he wants to run me through and then vomit on my corpse.

Good. I inhale to tell him to do it again.

“Enough,” says Lia Mara. “If you please, Prince Grey.”

I glance at her. Her voice is strong and clear.

“Of course,” I say.

Solt is still panting, sweat dripping off his jaw, but he looks at her in surprise.

“My mother would have made an example of you,” she says to him. “Burned off your fingers or forced you to swallow boiling oil. You know this, I am sure.” When he says nothing, her eyebrows go up. “Answer me, please.”

Please. They see her courtesies as weakness. Rhen did too. They’re wrong. She’s not weak at all.

His breathing has slowed a bit, and he nods. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You believe I will not be so cruel,” she says. “Is that correct?”

He hesitates. If Karis Luran asked that question, it would be a trap. It would be a trap from Rhen, too. But Lia Mara is forthright with her kindness, and I think that is what’s most unexpected here. I watch as a flicker of uncertainty crosses his expression. He wonders if he’s pushed her too far.

“I do not believe you will rule as your mother did.” Solt’s eyes flick to me briefly, but she notices.

“Prince Grey can be as vicious as my mother,” she says. “You may not have seen it, but I have. You are lucky that he respects my hope to rule without violence. I believe he would have ordered you to fight until your hand was too weak to hold that sword. I am tempted to let him.” She pauses. “But you’re a good soldier. I can see your strength and talent. I would not like to see it wasted. Do not force my hand.”

It’s a good speech, but her fingers have a death grip on mine. I’m the only one who can feel her uncertainty. This isn’t like the moment in the tavern. It’s not even like the moment she was attacked by a clear enemy. This is one of her soldiers—and she’s worried he will force her hand.

But I wish she could see herself as I do. As they do, right now in this moment. Because this is when she’s most impressive, when her strength shines through her words. Rhen was such a fool to turn her down when she came seeking peace. Even today, I made them fight, but she made them stop.

Solt nods, then drops to a knee. There’s no repentance in his gaze, but there’s a shred of respect, which is better. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Lia Mara looks up at me. “I should return to the palace. I have duties to attend to. Will I see you at the evening meal?”

“Yes, of course.” I pause. “Should I return with you now?”

Her eyes meet mine, and I know she hears what I am not saying.

Do you want me to remain at your side?

Lia Mara lifts her chin. “I can manage.”

“I have no doubt.” I lift her hand to kiss her knuckles, and she blushes.

“Well,” she says coyly. “Perhaps you should not take too long.”

That makes me want to follow her immediately. But I have a field full of soldiers, and I’ve gained ground. I can’t lose it now.