Page 16 of Birthright

Doran looked to Bevin for assistance. When I had feared things would go badly today, this was the last thing I had imagined. Doran’s obvious lack of confidence in me hurt. I didn’t want to fight today, but there was no way I was going to let Doran think I wasn’t ready. I stepped up next to my wicked half-sister.

“I accept.”

More gasps from the crowd. I looked to Manus, and he came to my side and stood, legs spread slightly and arms crossing his chest. If little sis wanted to play today, we were ready. I might not be able to take her with magic yet, but I could take her in a fair fight.

I glanced at the tacky Vampire at her side and hoped the fight would be fair.

“Keena, you do not need to battle. This is your introduction and—” Doran began.

“I will not dishonor you or the council by not accepting this challenge.” I lowered myself to one knee and bowed my head, my gown billowing out around me. With that statement, and the respect I was showing the council, I had drawn first blood. I’d taken the high road, making Dema look like the spiteful child she was. I felt hatred and disgust emanating from her. It felt very different from the inviting glow from Doran.

Her magic was cold and empty, but her temper was hot—and that, thankfully, could be used to my advantage.

I raised my head to Doran. Several expressions crossed her face as she slumped into her chair on the dais. I could see she was impressed by my calm. “So be it,” she said to me and then raised her voice to the others in the room. “In one hour’s time. You have made the challenge, Feldema. Choose the location and the weapons.”

“I choose here, in the meet room, to demonstrate for the Kith my superiority. Simple, short blades so I can see her eyes as she cries in pain.” Dema trembled in anger, her voice cracking. The murmurs around us echoed my surprise.

Doran leaned back in her chair and looked to me with a defeated expression. I bowed again and remained on my knees. “I accept the challenge and the boundaries.”

Back in my room, Hogan and Manus diligently gathered my weapons and clothing. Neither seemed worried. When Manus finally spoke, his voice was calm. “You won’t have your protective gear on. You’re accustomed to the feel of the blows, but the cut of a blade is going to be a new sensation. Be prepared for it.”

I nodded my understanding. We’d had this conversation before. I wasn’t sure if he was repeating his usual instructions for his comfort or my preparation. Hogan produced my black leather pants and tight leather tank top. We had planned on a special suit for the battle, but I was glad it was my usual workout garb. I had two short daggers with six-inch blades, one strapped to each thigh. A larger dagger was in a sheath at my waist, and a little knife was tucked into my right boot. Feldema would be armed with an equal number of weapons.

As Hogan braided my hair back out of my face, I started to feel the adrenaline. I couldn’t contemplate Dema’s motives for the abrupt call to battle, but I knew I was going to be fighting for real this time. Real punches, real blood, real injuries and real consequences.

The stability of the supernatural world rested on the shoulders of the High Priestess. Dema’s erratic episodes made it easy to see why most of the Kith wanted me in the position, not her. The woman was unstable and emotionally irrational. I shivered, trying to imagine her as head of the council.

No. She wouldn’t win. This was my birthright, not hers.

“Ready?” Manus asked as he jerked the sheath at my waist one last time. I nodded.

CHAPTER 8

The doors to the meet room opened as we approached. The tables that had been set up for the feast had all been removed. At the end of the room, Doran sat between her consorts on the dais, elevated above the cobblestone floor. With the tables gone, I could see faded bloodstains on the old floor. This obviously wasn’t the first battle to take place in the unassuming hall.

On either side of Doran were two identical sets of seating, each with three chairs. Dema was already in her seat to Doran’s right and dressed much like me, but her leathers were white. I guessed she intended not to spill any blood on them. Her shirtless blond and Kendrick were sprawled in their chairs on either side of her. The chairs to Doran’s left were vacant.

So, there was more to this show than just the battle. It was a display to prove that I’d not chosen a consort. That I’d not come into my full powers yet. Doran followed the direction of my gaze and nodded in agreement with that assessment.

All the guests were now standing along the walls, still in their finery. The crowd looked bigger than it had earlier. I strode as confidently as I could to my seat, and Manus moved to stand behind me. The chairs to my sides stood glaringly empty. Tynan stood close but not on the platform. I could feel him there but didn’t risk looking at him for fear of losing my composure.

Doran stood. All whispers came to a stop. “This is the first contest to determine the next High Priestess, to prove birthright. I had hoped we would not start the rituals until closer to the correct moon phase, but so be it.” She paused, her displeasure clear. “The prophecy lives. The daughters of Trevina will prove their worthiness, their strength, and their cunning in battle. Agnus the Betrayed foretold the coming of the twins, and the ritual of birthright has been called for the first time in many generations. It is an important time for all Kith. May the Goddess bless these two Witches with her strength and wisdom.”

She turned her attention to us. “The rules of the battle are very simple,” she said, facing Dema. “You are to fight until one of you is completely disarmed. This is not a duel to the death. No magic is to be used. Understood?” As she sat back down, her gown gathered gracefully at her feet. She’d never had to complete a ritual like this. No. She’d inherited her position when our mother died.

Feldema leaped to the floor, her movements abrupt and choppy in her haste. I assessed the crowd, got up slowly, and tried to look as unimpressed with her as I could. My unhurried, calm appearance was making her mad. Her eyes narrowed, jaw tightened—and that was just what I wanted. She bowed deeply as I came face-to-face with her. The room was absolutely silent as I returned the gesture.

As soon as my face was up, she caught my jaw with a fast right hook. Reeling from shock, I spun backward from the blow but managed to draw one of the short daggers as I righted myself. She was fast but I recovered before she lunged at me with a swipe of her short blade. I jerked to the right and she missed. I gave her a mean blow to the face from my elbow as she passed.

She spun around and spat blood from her busted lower lip. Her eyes were burning with anger. With more bravado than I felt, I winked at her to rub it in. Those cold, steel-blue eyes connected with mine for a silent moment of blame before she lunged at me with a high-pitched scream.

I was easily able to get out of the way and followed her around as she passed, gouging her shoulder with the dagger. She shrieked again, not from pain but anger. She kicked backward, hitting me square in the stomach and knocking me off my feet. When I hit the ground, she threw herself on top of me, driving her blade into my side while forcing her knee into my pelvis. The cold sting of steel slicing through skin was more shocking than Manus could have ever prepared me for.

I bit my lip and closed my eyes against the nauseating pain taking over my mind. She twisted the shaft. Instinctively, I reacted to the additional pain by circling my leg over her head and striking her across the face with my knee. The force sent her tumbling. She lost one of the blades from her sheath in the roll.

“Oohs” and “ahhs” drifted from the onlookers. I stood holding my side as she tried to right herself. Her second blade was still in my side, stuck in the skin and protruding from my back. I grabbed the handle and pulled it out. I felt the warmth of my blood running down my hip as I tossed the blade to the ground. It skidded across the cobblestone floor and stopped just in front of Kendrick. Four to two—my favor.

She attacked again, bending and grabbing me around the waist, squeezing the wound in my side as we fell to the floor. I cringed but wouldn’t give her the pleasure of screaming in pain, as I knew she wanted. In the struggle, she plucked the remaining short blade from its sheath on my thigh and threw it before I could knock her off. It was a coward’s way to disarm but she’d taken it. “Easy way out, sis?” I asked as I got back to my feet. There were more rumblings from the crowd.