Starflight (Starflight, #1)(41)

His question drew the interest of another nearby group, who silenced their conversation to listen in. Four-Eyes studied Doran’s face warily before telling him, “There’s only one way to break a marriage bond.”

“How?” Doran demanded.

“One of us can challenge him for the bride.” Four-Eyes glanced at his comrades and let out a barking chortle. “But who’s fool enough to do that?”

While the men joined him in laughter, Doran peered across the crowd at Solara, who seemed to have shrunk an inch. Her skin was the color of almond milk, pale white against purple bruises. Soon her eyes met his and widened with the unmistakable relief of a lost soul who’d found her only friend in the world. She lifted her head in an obvious show of strength, but her gaze shimmered. And then her proud chin began to wobble.

Something behind Doran’s breastbone cracked in half.

He lost control of his vocal cords and heard himself say, “I’ll do it.”

For the span of two heartbeats, there was silence all around.

He repeated, louder, “I challenge him.”

The pirates must have craved a night’s entertainment more than a life of marital bliss for their chief because cheers erupted from nearby, along with shouts of, “A challenge! A challenge for the bride!”

Four-Eyes clapped Doran on the back hard enough to send him stumbling forward a step. “You’ve got titanium twins between your legs, my friend. What’s your name?”

Doran had rehearsed this answer in the shuttle, but it took a few tries to untie his tongue. “Daro,” he said. “Daro the Red.”

Four-Eyes lifted Doran’s hand in the air and hollered at the stage, “Daro the Red issues a formal challenge of combat for the girl!”

“Wait. Combat?” All the blood left Doran’s face. He’d assumed the challenge would involve athletics—target shooting, or a race, perhaps. He’d never engaged in combat before, unless varsity football counted. “Can’t we do something else?”

But it was too late. Four-Eyes began pulling him through the crowd. Rough palms slapped his shoulders as he passed, while unseen men shouted, “Good on ya, boy!” and “Die well, you crazy bastard!”

Doran’s legs went numb somewhere along the way, and he felt like a wooden marionette by the time he climbed the stairs to the platform. His feet seemed to know what awaited him there, because they kept sticking to the planks, forcing him into a jerky dance across the stage until he stopped in front of a pair of boots large enough to house an elephant.

When Doran craned his neck up—and then up some more—to look Demarkus in the eyes, he was grateful he’d used the bathroom recently. Because a few of his internal parts simply let go, surrendering before the fight had even begun.

After Demarkus finished sizing him up, which didn’t take long, he beamed as if Doran had given him the best wedding present ever. “So this is my challenger?” he asked with a grin.

“Daro the Red, Chief,” said Four-Eyes. The man still had an arm wrapped around Doran’s shoulders. “The girl’s pilot.”

“And her lover,” Demarkus added.

“No.” The clarity of Doran’s voice surprised even himself. He glanced at Solara and said, “Her friend.” It felt strange calling himself that, but if combat with a seven-foot-tall pirate chief didn’t upgrade them to friends, nothing would.

Demarkus scratched his chin. “How old are you, boy?”

“Old enough. Eighteen.”

The pirate brought both hands together and studied Doran like a proud parent. “I command a thousand men. Seasoned fighters with three times your grit. And do you know how long it’s been since someone challenged me?”

Doran shook his head.

“Five years.”

That’s because your men are smart, Doran thought.

“You’ve got more guts than sense,” Demarkus said. “I respect that. Traditionally, the challenged party chooses the weapons, but I defer that decision to you.”

Doran turned to Four-Eyes for a translation.

“He’s giving you the advantage,” Four-Eyes whispered. “What’s your weapon of choice? Pistols? Staffs? Clubs?” When that didn’t yield a response, he added, “Long blades? Spears? Pulse rifles?”

“None of that,” Doran whispered back.

“Good man.” Four-Eyes gave a respectful nod. “Bare fists, it is!” he announced to the crowd below, eliciting a chorus of cheers.

Demarkus rested one meaty palm on Doran’s shoulder, then gave it an encouraging shake that rattled his teeth. “Excellent choice. That’s how a real man fights.” He lowered his head and murmured, “I like your spirit, boy. I’m going to try not to kill you.”

If that was supposed to make Doran feel better, it didn’t work.

Demarkus strode off toward the boxing ring, leaving Doran to face Solara. She rushed forward and grabbed him by the upper arms. Her fingernails bit through his shirt, but the contact barely registered. Soon he would know real pain.

“Are you insane?” she screeched. “He’ll kill you!”

The wires in Doran’s brain must’ve crossed because that made him laugh. “Not on purpose.”

“Call it off. I’ll get out of here some other way.”