Page 120 of The Only Way Out Is Up

Here goes nothing.

[Affront: speak for yourself. My efforts will be quite substantial.]

Alzimyth opens his mouth, and I prepare for the usual cursory introduction. But it’s not his amplified voice that fills the arena but Ky’s; I turn to see her pointing one trembling finger at the Dreikins.

“Gestian Vianor!” She takes a deep breath. “You betrayed and murdered my father. I demand justice.”

Alzimyth frowns, but he says nothing. Hisham steps forward and clears his throat.

“That is, um, a very serious accusation, Miss Tranto. Your father was an, um, honored member of the Council and a personal, um, friend, and I was most distressed by his passing. But for justice to be done the Council and the Arbiters would need, um, evidence. This is not the place, but if you, um, wish to present something a forum can be provided—”

“No need.” Ky’s hand drops to her sword. “I challenge him to a duel.”

Devon Dreikin starts to say something, but Gestian interrupts with a delighted look on his face. “I accept!”

“That is, um, your right. I suppose.” Hisham mops sweat from his brow. “A suitable time and place will be, um, arranged—”

“Why wait?” Alzimyth drawls unexpectedly. The knight is smiling mischievously, and he flicks his eyes to me. “We have a crowd. We have an arena. We can decide this here and now.”

Now it’s Ky’s turn to look surprised. “What?”

“I stand ready to defend my honor anytime,” Gestian sneers.

“That is, um, not how we do things, I’m afraid,” Hisham says, rubbing at his forehead again. “There’s a proper procedure—”

“And the Ascent comes first, surely,” Devon Dreikin puts in. “Its importance cannot be compared to a mere squabble—”

A muscle in Alzimyth’s cheek begins to twitch. He touches his high collar, and abruptly his voice is louder than the rest, thundering across the arena.

“Shut. Up.” In the ringing silence that follows, he speaks again in a more normal tone. “I am the executor of this tournament, am I not?”

“Y-yes,” Hisham says weakly. “Of course.”

“And the rules state that the matches can take whatever form I wish.”

“Technically”—the Council head squirms—“but there is a traditional form—”

“Fuck your traditions.” Alzimyth throws himself into his high-backed seat. “I decree that the final match include representatives from each side’s sponsor. Since two of them have conveniently volunteered themselves, I believe we have our fighters.”

“Included in the match?” Devon sputters. “That’s—”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” the knight snaps. “I’m sick of pretending there’s any dignity to this farce. Go ahead and finish this tournament of worms.”

He catches my eye, then, and the anger I see there tells me this is all my fault. Apparently a Hesed Knight does not take kindly to being backtalked by vermin.

“You heard me!” Alzimyth booms, over the rising murmur of the crowd. “Now fight!”

“Taj,” Ky says, hurrying to keep up with me and Star as we round the arena. “Taj!”

I don’t turn. “What?”

“Will you just listen to me for a second?”

“I don’t think we want to keep Alzimyth waiting.”

“Taj, I’m sorry.”

I stop abruptly, and she nearly walks into me. When I turn on my heel, she’s standing too close, breathing hard.