Page 85 of The Faceless Queen

“Yield,” Brennan roared triumphantly. His face was red, sweat dripping from the top of his helm down his nose and cheeks. I could see him leaning forward—his strength beginning to fail him.

Come on, come on!

“Yield!” he demanded again, his voice full of exhaustion and weariness.

The crowd chanted along with him, demanding Jaron yield.

And then a moment later, Jaron lifted his visor and removed his helm, letting it roll uselessly into the dirt beside his sword.

“I yield,” he seethed, just barely loud enough for us to hear.

Brennan had won.

Hundreds of cheers filled the night sky as Brennan rode across the field to the king’s pavilion. He threw off his helm, his curls full of sweat, and matted to his head. Beads of sweat shone against his forehead, and there was an exhausted yet jubilant, boyish smile on his face as he reached me.

King Tirian rose to his feet and walked to the edge of the pavilion, bending down just enough to place a golden wreath over his son’s head. He announced him again as the winner, and for a second, he seemed genuinely proud. Almost human. He handed Brennan a silver wreath with jasmine flowers woven into the design.

Brennan held it above his head, then dismounted from his stag and raced up the stairs to me. “Princess Olivay,” he yelled, his chest heaving with exertion, “You are the Lady of Beauty.” He placed the crown on my head and swept me up into his arms.

And this time when his lips found mine, it only took seconds for a small stream of lust and excitement to pour into me. The high of winning the games had caught up to him. And to me.

I kissed him back, his hands pressing into my waist, pulling me closer, until he stumbled, his face flushed, his chest heaving with exertion. The crowd began to disperse from their seats, swarming the fields as Finlay and the other musicians pushed their way through the crowd to play a victory song in Brennan’s honor.

But I could hear voices rising above the music. A chant roared from the pavilion next to us, flags of the chimera thrusting high into the air.

“Undefeated, unburied, we burn. Undefeated, unburied, we burn.”

The king signaled to a soldier, and suddenly they were marching into the crowd, and the celebration turned to screams. There were men holding flags and banners for House Bathiner, some who had emerged from the shadows, merely wearing their colors. Some started to run. Because within seconds, it was clear that the soldiers were heading for them. For anyone showing House Bathiner their loyalty and support.

Already someone with a chimera flag had been tackled to the ground. And then another man, shouting the words, holding the banner above his head, was grabbed by two soldiers, his arms pushed back until he screamed, a crack resounding through the chaos. His arm was broken. More began to run away, pushing and shoving their way through the crowd, while others called out, warning of the soldiers coming. Anyone showing support for House Bathiner was going to be arrested.

In the darkness, as the nobles of House Bathiner remained silent and stoic on their dais, I found Jaron in the crowd, his green eyes still on me, and a half dozen soldiers suddenly moved behind him, like a guard. They wore the blue cloaks of House Lafir and boasted the moonstag of the sigil on their shields.

But Jaron, an heir of House Bathiner, a lord boldly wearing their colors, and a man who was almost crown prince, a man whose father had once held a greater claim to the throne than even Brennan’s, was showing off that he was untouchable. And that even in the chaos and violence ramping up all around him, even the soldiers loyal to House Lafir wouldn’t harm him.

And that violence was only getting closer to us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Are we safe?” I asked Brennan quickly, still holding onto him for fear he would fall. There were even more screams in the crowd, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, and swords clashing. Mobs were forming, fights breaking out. People who’d been celebrating only seconds ago were being dragged away into the night. Some soldiers from House Lafir were simply grabbing anyone they saw, even if they’d done nothing wrong, even when they laid down their weapons. They were punching and hitting anyone they thought was in their way. One show of senseless violence after another.

Brennan took my hand and squeezed. “We are. This will blow over. It happens from time to time.”

“Are the words of House Bathiner forbidden?” I asked. They’d been shouted so freely earlier. I knew the existence of the house was a threat to King Tirian, but he’d done nothing about it until now. He had even seemed to show support for his nephew who wore the sigil and rode into the tourney under their banner.

All while wearing the black witch armor that was supposedly meant for the king’s house. And now stood on the field in open rebellion, untouched while anyone else who supported his family was taken away.

Brennan paled. “The words are not forbidden. House Bathiner is part of our family, and history. The bloodline has a long, noble tradition in Eskalon. But there are many who believe that Jaron should be sitting on the throne—not my father. And because Jaron’s mother is in House Bathiner, they’ve taken up their support.” He frowned, eyeing Jaron in the crowd. “Of course there are some that just support House Bathiner outright, I suppose. They use Jaron’s father, my uncle, as an excuse. But there is a fine line for my father between support and sedition.”

Jaron nodded at someone. I couldn’t see who, but I knew he was giving a signal. Maybe calling off the sudden rally. The idea that he’d been behind this, that he might have arranged for many to show him their loyalty and then to be brutalized and arrested, sent a shiver down my spine.

I couldn’t care less if Tirian was unseated from the throne. I welcomed the day it happened. The day he took his last breath. But I would not see Jaron take his place. And I didn’t like the way he stood there, confident and in control. And all of those who so openly supported him were now in chains.

“I’m sorry you had to see this,” Brennan said. “It’s not always like this. But there are so many people here. This will pass. Everything will be normal again. It always is.”

And he was right. For soon the shouts for House Bathiner ended, and not one symbol of the chimera was in sight. But any questions I had about Tirian giving the black armor willingly to Jaron were now answered. Lady Alena’s request had been anything but innocent or born out of the love a son had for his father. It was becoming increasingly evident that I wasn’t the only threat to Tirian’s rule or bloodline. From the fervor of those yelling out in support and the sheer presence of the House at the tourney, I would almost bet that they took out House Lafir before I could. They certainly seemed to be setting the stage.

I watched Brennan, hopeful for a second that I wasn’t going to be his destruction, that there was another way to see the prophecy come to pass. The Hermit had said they didn’t always happen the way we imagined they would.