He motioned toward the towering statue of Coppertomb and then he twisted his hand and as he did so the arms of the statue moved. They dropped the arrow scepter. It fell amongst the crowd, igniting screams of terror as it hit with a crunch that I was certain was not just rock on rock but rock with bodies smashed in between.
“He still has Wittenbrand magic,” I heard a voice quaver and I shot a glance at the crowd where a horned woman leaned to whisper in the ear of a magnificent courtier whose face was pierced all over with golden rings. “Is it possible that he really is the Bramble King?”
“Tricks,” the courtier sighed, but the sigh was a happy one.
And then Bluebeard twisted his hand to lay flat horizontally, and the statue moved to cup its hands at the waist.
“A better place to display a battle of the Queens, don’t you think, Coppertomb?” he asked easily, swiping a drink from one of the trays passing by and toying with it.
The murmurs of appreciation around us were growing.
“You think to impress us by wasting what little Wittenbrand magic lies still at our disposal?” Coppertomb asked tightly. “We are not impressed. But I ask you this — man who is no longer the Arrow, Nameless One, Ghost of the Past — have you a stomach to gamble?”
“Always,” Bluebeard said, downing his goblet with one quaff. He coughed. “Mortal wine? Were there no glow spirits? It’s hardly a proper Coronation Ball without Wittenbrand draught, Coppertomb. We might as well be mortals. And here I had such confidence in you, I nearly had a mind to make you my steward.”
Coppertomb’s lip twitched manically and my eyes widened. My husband was goading him to the breaking point, and while I should not have found that funny, I must confess that I did.
“We don’t need dramatics,” Coppertomb said firmly. “I have won my crown by right and trickery.”
Bluebeard snapped his fingers and then Coppertomb’s crown was in his hand. The Wittenbrand lord shook with fury but, impressively, he kept his face impassive.
“Cheap tricks. Go ahead,” he said with a nod to me. “Use the last of her days on them.”
Bluebeard smirked and then looked around at the crowd. “What say you? Shall I use all my magic on cheap tricks?”
The crowd laughed. Their eyes were bright and they’d abandoned their torment of the mortal servants to become spectators to the drama here.
“It’s settled then, Coppertomb. I’ll be displaying every cheap trick I know for the delight of my fellow Wittenbrand.”
That garnered him another laugh.
“And I must confess, my young friend,” my husband said, gliding around to where he could drape an arm over Coppertomb’s shoulders. “You’ve presented me with an interesting riddle. Perhaps those assembled here can help us solve this. Who owns a thing? The originator, or the current possessor?”
“If you mean to ask if you are worthy of the crown because it’s in your hand, then I shall tell you succinctly, no. The current possessor is not the owner.”
“Ah,” Bluebeard said, spinning the crown on his finger. “But I am the originator, for that is my pale bone thrust through the grip of the crown. How … crass. Don’t you think?”
“Then it does not belong to the originator, either.”
Bluebeard smiled. “The first originator, then? He who made my rib? The Bramble King?”
“It belongs to me.” Coppertomb clipped every word as he snatched the crown back and replaced it on his brow.
“But it bears no Brambles,” Bluebeard said, looking confused.
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at him wryly. He was delaying the inevitable. I would have to fight Ki'e'iren no matter how long he drew this out. One of my owls hooted as if to remind him of this and another made a powerful effort to fly away. He could no more leave my skirts, though, than I could leave this clever trap.
“The wager,” Coppertomb said through gritted teeth.
My husband tugged him closer as if in a half-embrace. “Of course I’ll gamble with you, dear Coppertomb. Nothing would please me more. After all, I could stand to win some of my own back after all your triumphs.”
There was a murmur of appreciation from the crowd. They were loving every moment of this.
“Then offer me this,” Coppertomb said, disentangling himself from my husband’s brotherly affection. “Your most recent wife will stand as your champion, and your earlier one will stand as mine, and whoever loses, will leave the Bramble Court forever, never again to make a nuisance of himself.”
“I would never call you a nuisance, Coppertomb,” Bluebeard said sincerely. “All kingdoms need their flies or who else would dispose of the rotting flesh?”
“Take my wager, craven fool.” Coppertomb’s eyes sparkled and his mouth drew into a severe line. “I have plans for the Wittenbrand now that we own the world of mortals. We shall start the Games anew. But we shall start them without you and your onerous presence. You had not the good grace to die. At least have the dignity to leave when you are not wanted.”
