Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe #2)(95)

Goddard lunged at him again. This time Rowan just dropped to the ground in cross-legged position.

Goddard paced away. Punched a wall. Left a dent.

“I know what will get him to fight,” Rand said, and stepped forward, addressing Rowan. “Do your best against Goddard,” she said, “and we’ll tell you what happened in conclave.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Goddard insisted.

“Do you want a real match or not?”

Goddard hesitated, then gave in. “Very well.”

Rowan stood up. He had no reason to believe they would keep their word, but as much as he wanted to deny Goddard his match, Rowan also wanted the chance to take him down. To show no more mercy for him than he intended to show for Rowan.

Rand started a new match. The two circled. Again, Goddard made the first move, but this time Rowan countered with a dodge and a well-placed elbow. Goddard smiled now, realizing that the match was truly on.

As they brutally battled, Rowan realized that Goddard was right. Tyger’s brawn and Goddard’s brain were a hard combination to beat. But Rowan was not going to let Goddard have his day. Not now. Not ever. When it came to Bokator, Rowan did his best under pressure, and this time was no exception. He executed a series of moves that left Goddard one beat behind the curve, until Rowan slammed him to the ground and pinned him there.

“Yield!” Rowan shouted.

“No!”

“Yield!” Rowan demanded.

But Goddard did not, so Rand had to call the match.

Then, as soon as Rowan let Goddard go, Goddard got up, strode to a cabinet, pulled out a pistol, and shoved it into Rowan’s ribs. “New rules,” he said, then pulled the trigger, blasting a bullet that shredded through Rowan’s heart and shattered a lamp across the room.

Darkness began to overtake him, but before it did, he let loose a single laugh.

“Cheater,” he said, and died.

? ? ?

“Uh . . . foul,” said Scythe Rand.

Goddard put the pistol into her hand. “Never end a match until I say so,” he said.

“So that’s it, then?” she asked. “Was that a gleaning?”

“Are you serious? And miss my chance to hurl him at the feet of the Grandslayers at my inquest? Take him to an off-grid revival center. I want him back as soon as possible so I can kill him again.” ?Then Goddard strode off.

Once he was gone, Rand looked down at Rowan, deadish as deadish gets. His eyes were open, and his lips were still set in a defiant grin. She had once admired him—was jealous of him even—because of the attention Goddard had given him during his apprenticeship. She knew he wasn’t cut from the same cloth as she or Goddard. She suspected he might break—but she never expected he would break so spectacularly. Goddard had no one but himself to blame, putting his trust in a boy who Scythe Faraday chose for his compassion.

Ayn didn’t put much stock in compassion. Never had. She didn’t understand it, and resented those who did. Now Rowan Damisch would be well-punished for his conceited ideals.

She turned to see the guards just standing there, not sure what to do.

“What’s wrong with you? You heard Scythe Goddard! Take him to be revived.”

? ? ?

Once Rowan was carried off and the unfazed house bot had scrubbed the mat clean of blood, Ayn sat in a chair that looked out at the spectacular view. ?Although Goddard never praised her for much of anything, she knew she had chosen the right place to stage their return. The Texan scythedom left them alone as long as they didn’t start gleaning there, and the Thunderhead had cameras only in public locations, which made it easier to remain out of its sight. On top of that, it was easier to find off-grid situations, such as the revival center that Rowan was on his way to. They asked no questions as long as they were paid—and although scythes were handed everything for free in this world, off-grid was off-grid. She detached one of the lower emeralds near the hem of her robe and handed it to the guard to give the revival center as payment for their work on Rowan. It was more than enough to cover the cost.

Ayn had never been a schemer. She tended to live in the moment, a student of impulse, motivated by the power of whim. As a child, her parents had called her a will-o’-the-wisp, and she enjoyed being a lethal one. Now, however, she had a taste of being the architect of a long-term plan. She thought it would be easy to step aside and let Goddard take the lead again once he was restored—for what had been done to him was much more of a restoration than a revival—but she was finding his temper and his uncharacteristic impulsiveness in need of balance. Was this the impulsiveness of the 93 percent of him that was Tyger Salazar? There was arrogance in both of them, that was certain. But Tyger’s naivety was replaced by Goddard’s temper. Ayn had to admit she had found Tyger’s guileless, callow nature to be refreshing. But innocence will always be ground up in the gearwork of a greater design—and Goddard was, by Ayn’s estimation, forging a great design that truly excited her. A scythedom void of restraints. A world of whim without consequence.

But dispensing with Tyger Salazar had been much harder than she’d ever expected it would be.

When the guards returned, they informed her that Rowan would be revived in about thirty-six hours, and she went to tell Goddard. She caught him stepping out of the bathroom, having just taken a shower. He was wrapped only minimally in a towel.