Heir of Dust and Wind

Chapter 18 - The Duel II

No one dared to breathe.

While the room had erupted in noise before, it now fell into utter silence.

Not even the Aldermen or the king himself could maintain the blank-faced expressions they usually wore. They now varied between shock and disbelief, fury, and outright wrath.

"Insolent child," the king boomed, breaking the silence. "How dare you reject my benevolent request." 

Ava could swear she saw sparks dancing on the tips of his fingers, the king's rage barely contained inside of his body. she did her best not to flinch, her heart racing in her chest. What had she done?

"Your disgrace shall be met in equal measure," he shouted angrily when she didn't say anything in reply. "You'll be duelling your own mentor then."

Ava didn't know who was more shocked when the king announced his choice. She or the very mentor Farvald had just made her opponent. When she dared to let her gaze flicker over to the sorcerer, she watched Frode's arrogant mask turn into an expression of utter fury. Nevertheless, he got up and bowed stiffly to the king, before moving towards the ground level.

"Clear the floor," Farvald ordered, and the men got op to move tables and benches out of the way. 

The Colonels and their men would be standing outside the duelling rink, very much like the Dracaeni had at Frode's gym. Only this time she wouldn't be sparring with Trygve but fighting the Alderman himself.

Arriving on the ground floor and facing her, Frode bowed his head slightly and Ava mirrored his motion. It was the formal beginning of their duel.

"What weapon do you choose?" she asked and left out the "Lord" on purpose. 

Even though she was practically trembling with fear, Orla and Trygve had agreed that kindling Frode's wrath would make him even more overbearing than he already was. The Goblin and the Dracaeni had argued it would provide a chink in the Alderman's armour hoping that his anger and arrogance, would make Frode more susceptible to her skills.

Smirking at her, eyes sparkling with the evil glee of certain victory, he replied, "Magic."

It was an obvious choice, for Frode knew full well how powerful Trygve was in his dragon form and that they had been practising with swords ever since her arrival in the Between.

What he didn't know of, however, were Ava's secret magic lessons with Orla and her telepathy. From where the sorcerer was standing, she only had a theoretical gift in healing magic that she didn't know how to use.

"Name your price," she demanded, clinging to the protocol as if it was her sheet-anchor, something she needed to hold onto if she didn't want to drown in the waves of her upwelling fear.

Deep and even breaths, Trygve's words flitted across her mind, but her whole body was so tense with concentration and anticipation that it didn't do much to calm her down.

"Your allegiance," came his prompt reply and she could her hushed conversation picking up at his words.

It was a clever choice, she thought, and one they had been expecting. 

Trygve himself was out of his reach due to the seventh oath he had sworn to Ava. Demanding her allegiance though, would not only have her at his mercy - and Trygve for that matter - but he would also be the one that determined who had access to the only female of their kind and her healing talents. Therefore, he could take revenge and strengthen his position in the Council at the same time.

As expected as it was, Frode's claim still made Ava's blood run cold. She needed to win this duel, for her own sake and Trygve's. Nobody deserved to be at this monster's mercy.