“Not wanted?” Bluebeard pressed his hand to his chest as if surprised. “I? Who brings with him such violent delights?”
There was laughter again and my husband winked at the crowd.
“Take. The. Wager.” Coppertomb’s eyes were bright.
“A bargain is struck,” Bluebeard said and his eyes were dancing as he took Coppertomb’s hand in his and grinned.
He had, of course, received exactly what he wanted but I wished he hadn’t bet so high … again. For now it was all resting on my performance and I was no warrior. I was not even as tall as my rival or as strong as she. I was certainly not so bloodthirsty. I had lost even my guide to the Wittenhame.
My guide.
Who had been suspiciously quiet.
I shot Grosbeak a mistrustful look and saw he had a mild, peaceable expression of slight boredom on his face. That was not right. Grosbeak, for all his terrible traits, was never peaceable. Never mild. Certainly, never bored.
I frowned, but before I could question him, Coppertomb waved a hand. “How are they to climb to the hands?”
Bluebeard flicked a finger lazily and steps formed leading up the sides of the statue to the hands.
“To every problem, a solution,” he said, plopping down lazily on the throne and flinging his legs up, one over the arm and the other over the back as if he were a child and not a man.
I could practically hear Coppertomb’s teeth grinding from here, but he did not bother to challenge my husband’s right to sit on his throne. Or drape over it, as was the case now.
“Then no more delays. They shall fight, and as Bramble King, I have the right to determine their weapons. I shall choose —”
There was a loud clearing of a throat, followed by a hacking cough and all eyes turned to my green-faced former friend, lover of mermaids, traitor to all, Grosbeak.
“Need I remind you, my King, of the terms of our agreement?” he asked with a silky sweet voice. When was Grosbeak ever sweet?
“You need not,” Coppertomb said tightly. “But, I pray you, remember who your sovereign is and who will remain your lord when this is past and you are nothing but a cracking clay horse with a Wittenbrand’s head.”
“Would that I could forget, my lord, and yet it is seared into every thought,” Grosbeak said acidly.
“Care to explain, Coppertomb?” Bluebeard asked and his fingers were steepled under his chin again. I was starting to be skeptical of that gesture. It seemed to indicate that he knew what would happen next and when he caught my gaze, he winked at me, confirming that fear. He knew how I must fight, and like the rest of the Wittenbrand, he was longing to watch me acquit myself against my rival.
“It was the revenant who offered me the suggestion that I turn to one of your former brides, and he who suggested that I drain the last of our residual magic to walk through the sands of time and draw her back to us,” Coppertomb said and his smile was superior now. “And was I not correct to ask him — as I did — how to gut you? Was I not correct to assume you would crawl back here and try to take what is not yours? Was I not prescient to gather all I needed to defeat you one last time?”
“So prescient,” Bluebeard said. “Perhaps when we are done here you may practice your visionary talents as an oracle to those similarly afflicted with poor planning and cowardly hearts. When I journeyed through the lands of Death I noted a pretty spot along a river of corpses that might serve you well.”
“I’m glad you noted it, for it will be home to you hereafter.”
“And what did our friend Grosbeak garner in exchange for this intelligence?” Bluebeard asked, smirking.
“He won the right to choose the challenge,” Coppertomb said. “For he rightly guessed that your current mortal bride would wish to defend her position, and would gladly give of her last breath in your defense.”
“Then perhaps Grosbeak should serve as oracle,” Bluebeard said wryly.
Grosbeak sounded ill when he spoke. “I’ll predict — accurately, I might add — that you’ll father no children and live with no palace or lands.”
“A grim fate indeed,” Bluebeard said lightly, but his eyes were on mine when he said it for we both knew that whether Grosbeak mean to insult him or was truly psychic, his words were true. “Come then, my old enemy. What battle awaits my two wives in their quest to have me once and for all.”
And there was silence as the Wittenbrand waited with held breath to hear what my former friend might say and his wicked smile told me that whatever it was, I would not like it in the slightest.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
Grosbeak had always hada head for drama and he was not to be deterred by the mere fact that his body was now clay or that he had four feet instead of two. He clambered up the steps to the hands above us and looked out and over the assembled mass, his voice raised as he spoke.
“Lords and Ladies of the Wittenhame now in exile! Dukes and Duchesses, Counts and Countesses, fairy friends, centaurs, mermaids, and brownies, demonkind and angelic watchers, mortal dust and dreary human whelps — all who love tales of trickery and vice lend me your ears!”
