Ve'Rah Daa (The Ephemeral: Book 3)

Chapter 16

With anxiety chewing up my stomach lining, I watched Will take his place atop the raised, wooden stage of the amphitheater. He wielded his vanadium sword in his right hand and a shield in his left, and he'd pulled his hair back from his brow, exposing the harsh black line across his face.

To any stranger, he looked perfectly poised and unbothered, but I knew he was nervous. Not of dying, necessarily, but of losing, and what that loss would mean for everyone here today.

Thankfully, someone had lent him a steel cuirass and a set of bracers for a proper fight. But even in his metal shell, the eighteen-year-old looked so small compared to his opponents.

Small, thin, and breakable.

Only seven clan chiefs contested his right to the throne, much to my relief. The other two included the Abadi Clan, who trusted Torian's account of the prince and was willing to put the matter of fighting to a vote, and the Miyamoto Clan—Sora Sterling's birth clan—who was moved by Will's speech and acknowledged his sovereignty.

Among the chosen fighters, six were male, including Jeremy and Laughlin, the only two clan chiefs participating. The female opponent, however, appeared to be in her mid-thirties, and her muscular, eagle-like features instilled true fear in my heart. She reminded me of a larger, angrier Siren, and the dual broadswords at her hips pointed to her dexterity.

If anyone could intimidate Will, she was it.

Reese, the royal councilor turned village matriarch, leaned against the back wall of stage, exasperated by her peers' decision to fight this out. She wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders and shook her head. "You heard me, Laughlin. We need to establish some ground rules. You're no good to us dead."

The leader of the Friedman Clan rolled his eyes. "We've never set limitations on a Rite before. This is nonsense."

"That was before weapons consisted of beheading devices," she argued. "I will not have carnage on peaceful soil."

"You like to sap the fun out of everything, don't you, woman?" Jeremy grumbled. He stood between two of the columns holding up the flat, wooden ceiling above the stage, and he cut a sharp glance in Will's direction. "You afraid to fight with your neck on the line, Your Majesty?"

Will narrowed his eyes. "I don't expect restraint from any of you. But to the Councilor's point, I'm not killing my own people." His gaze swept over the other clansmen. "What sense is there in asking for an army if I slay your strongest?"

"Bold of you to think you'll be doing any slaying, kid," another fighter spat.

Will said nothing to that.

"Could we use blunt weapons?" an older man proposed.

"No. The law states you can use any weapon of your choosing," the female fighter said. "Good luck prying my swords away from me."

"Or my axe," Jeremy grunted.

"Oh, you're a stubborn lot, aren't you?" Reese complained, but her voice barely carried over the rumble of the amassing crowd. She studied the individuals before her and released a heavy sigh. "Very well. Then I propose the following: if any one of you are fully disarmed by an opponent, you're out. If you kiss the stage or land flat on your back, you're out."

"And if you're killed, you're out," Jeremy added.

Reese glared at him, then the eight fighters gathered upon the stage. "Furthermore, if you attempt to harm a man who's down, you'll be disqualified. I have zero toleration for cruelty at this event." She turned to Laughlin with an arched brow. "Does that work for you, oh Violent One?"