Page 13 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)

Chapter nine

Pyro was a fucking fool—a fool who was about to unwittingly get his two most famed fighters killed.

Cyrus and Bravat stood at the arena’s gate entry, waiting.

They hadn’t had a single spar together. They didn’t know each other’s strengths to use them, or each other’s weaknesses to guard them.

They didn’t know how to protect each other.

Cyrus wasn’t sure if he even wanted to protect Bravat, and he was pretty sure Bravat felt likewise.

It was a four-man fight: Cyrus and one of his younger fighters, Ram, together with Bravat and a man from Bravat’s purchased team, Val.

Together they’d face four men from House Camden.

Ram was well settled into the bronze tier, and having already met his kill requirements, he needed only to build team wins to progress.

They didn’t need the numbers, which took some of the pressure off.

They just needed to stay alive. Easy enough.

He cast Bravat a glance from the corner of his eye.

At least, he hoped it was easy enough. He didn’t trust Bravat.

The gates rose. “Follow my lead,” Cyrus told him.

Bravat shouldered him backward. “Stay the fuck out of my way.” Then he entered first.

Cyrus glanced back at Ram, and the young fighter shook his head. This was exactly what Cyrus was worried about. He pursed his lips and followed. “Four!” he called as he stepped into the arena.

“Four!” Ram and Bravat’s man, Val, both echoed.

“Four!” the gate guard confirmed.

They were the second team into the arena.

Cyrus chose his target and broke into a run.

Ram spread slightly to his right. This was the first time the young fighter was taking the position of Cyrus’s co-sword, but Ram had seen Everan and Kord do it plenty of times, and they’d practiced it repeatedly in the sparring fields.

Cyrus gained speed, focusing. At the clash, Ram executed the sequence beautifully. Just as they’d practiced. As their opponent fell, he gave Ram a click of his tongue in approval. That had been impressively fast. Ram flashed him a grin.

This opening move was getting old, but it kept working, mostly thanks to fighters not being able to watch and study other teams. But sooner or later, their opponents would catch on, and they’d have to come up with something different. Until then…

Cyrus and Ram swung their attention back to the fight. Bravat dropped another man from the opposing team, then there were only two left from House Camden.

Three javelins lodged themselves into the sand several paces away—thrown by paying spectators. Cyrus appreciated that they were typically poor shots. What he wouldn’t give to launch them back.

Now that was a thought—

The side gate of the arena rose, pulling Cyrus’s attention. The cats. Talk about a play that was getting old , but the crowd loved the cats, and they were released almost every fight.

“Center!” Cyrus bellowed, just as the gleam of a sword came for his head. He knocked it away. High and low, left and right, he drew the man’s focus to his every move and drove him back, letting Ram calculate a silent strike. When Ram saw the opening, he took it, getting the third kill.

Cyrus spun to continue but stopped when he saw the last man hanging from Bravat’s sword. Bravat kicked him back and off, letting the body drop to the ground.

The arena roared with cheers from the crowd.

The chains pulled the cats back into their cages, and the gates lowered. Cyrus let out a breath of relief that the fight hadn’t gone as poorly as he’d feared. In fact, it had gone exceptionally well. They’d been lucky.

Bravat held his arms high, encouraging the crowd to be louder, and they responded. Cyrus glanced at Ram with a dark brow. He hated fighting, but he hated this even more, and he turned and headed for the exit. Ram followed.

“Four!” Cyrus bellowed to the gate guard, not waiting for Bravat and Val.

“Four!” came the echo.

Cyrus was annoyed. More than annoyed. Was this how fights would be when he and Bravat were paired? It was a dangerous thing. He’d have to figure out what to do about it—how to handle Bravat.

Bravat and Val caught up, and Cyrus heard a shuffle behind him. He glanced at them over his shoulder.

“What the fuck?” Val spat, shoving Bravat.

Bravat snorted. “Be faster, and you might get one next time.”

Cyrus slowed. “What’s going on?” he called.

“None of your fucking business,” Bravat told him.

And that was enough to send Cyrus over. He spun, nearly making Bravat run into him as he confronted him nose to nose. “I’m the lead of House Pyro,” Cyrus snarled. “Everything is my fucking business.” He’d drop this man here and now.

Bravat bristled, and for a minute, Cyrus thought they might actually spill blood in the transfer hall. It would gain them a severe punishment, but Cyrus didn’t care about that right now.

But to Cyrus’s surprise, Bravat took a wary step back. He didn’t lose his attitude, though. “Val’s just pissed because he needed a kill this fight,” he sneered. Then he shrugged. “Now he needs two in the next, so he doesn’t drop status.”

Cyrus felt his lips thin and his brows drop even lower. “Why did you take two kills if he needed one?”

Bravat shrugged again. “He’ll get it on the next one.”

Cyrus lunged, grabbed Bravat, and shoved him against the wall. “And what if there isn’t a next one?”

Bravat shoved him back. “What the fuck? Get off me!”

“Hey, what’s going on?” an arena guard yelled from down the hall.

Ram grabbed Cyrus’s arm. “Let him go.”

“He’ll damn his own men!” Cyrus spat. “And us with him!”

“Cyrus,” Ram said, gripping him tighter.

Rage seeped from Cyrus’s pores as his blazing stare stayed locked with Bravat’s.

“Hey!” the arena guard bellowed again, and started toward them, a dog at his side.

“Cyrus,” Ram called, more firmly this time.

Bravat shoved Cyrus back, then shouldered by and continued down the corridor, past another guard that had come to see what the commotion was about.

Cyrus knew there was nothing more he could do. At least, not right now. He looked at Val. “How many do you need? Two?”

Val shook his head, clearly not wanting Cyrus’s support. “Don’t worry about it,” he said sharply. “I’m fine. I’ll get them.”

Except it wasn’t fine, and there might not be a next time. Val followed after Bravat, and Cyrus could only watch him go.

“Come on,” Ram said. “We’ll figure this out back at the villa.” Cyrus wasn’t so sure, but he nodded, and they both headed toward the loading area and the waiting wagon that would take them back.

The water of the pool drew the heat from Cyrus’s body. He’d stopped by Kieve’s chamber to get him to join, but the fighter had been asleep. Cyrus had left him. It wasn’t often that those who were haunted got such relief.

He sat languidly now, facing Everan and Kord, who relaxed across from him. He’d shared with them what had happened with Bravat in the arena. Neither of them was surprised, but now the question was what to do about it all.

Their discussion was cut short by the subject himself, as Bravat stepped into the pool house. A couple of his men, Arns and Bevin, followed in after him.

The big fighter was laughing. “The fucks think they—”

Bravat’s voice cut when he saw Cyrus.

The teams didn’t say a word to each other, but Bravat wore a smirk as he entered the water on the far side of the pool. Cyrus watched him. How ignorant this man was.

“What, you got something to say?” Bravat challenged as he sank down into the water.

Cyrus forgot sometimes that he wore his thoughts on his face. He might as well tell them. They needed to know. “You need to start looking out for one another here,” he said to them. “Pyro isn’t a lord you can afford to disappoint.”

“Worry about yourself,” Bravat sneered back. “I can handle Pyro just fine.”

Cyrus snorted. “You? Handle Pyro? Do you know what he does to men who fail to make tier, or worse—lose status?”

“From where I see it, you’re the only one who needs to be worried about that.”

What did that mean? “I’m lead of House Pyro,” Cyrus said.

“For how long?” Bravat gave a crooked smile. “You know my purchase was the most expensive one in bloodsport history?” he boasted. Like it was something to be proud of. “You don’t spend that much on a man without having a plan for him.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Kord told Cyrus. “Pyro would have to be mad to remove you as lead.”

Mad, or completely ignorant of how everything worked, which Pyro was.

Cyrus and Bravat were paired again for a two-on-two fight in the morning.

The crowd had loved them together, and Pyro always gave the crowd what they wanted.

Kord and Everan had been bumped yet another day, to a three-on-three that would again include Cyrus.

“This is the life, yeah?” Bravat said to his companions. They all wore stupid grins as they relaxed against the sides of the pool.

They had no idea what this life was.

Cyrus watched the arrogant fighter. He needed to get rid of him.

Not for himself. Cyrus didn’t care about being lead.

He did care about his men, and Bravat would put every single one of them in jeopardy.

It would be difficult to stage an accident with a silver-tier fighter that called a lot of attention to himself, but perhaps tomorrow there would be an opportunity…

Bravat looked around. “Hey, where’s Val?”

His words pulled Cyrus from his plotting.

“Haven’t seen him,” Bevin said.

Arns snorted. “Probably sleeping.”

Bravat shrugged. “He’s probably still pissed at me for taking his kill. He’s gotta be faster.”

They all chuckled.

But there was nothing to chuckle about.

Cyrus wanted to leave; however, leaving right now would send the wrong message. So he stayed, forcing a front of indifference through their boorish banter. And the unpeaceful pools became even more so.

Kord shifted, stretching his arms out on either side of him along the pool’s edge. “How’s Bash?” he asked Cyrus, picking the conversation back up between the three of them.

Cyrus sighed. It had been two days since Haddick’s death, for which Bash still blamed himself, but he’d make it through. “A little better. He just needs some time.” Hopefully not much more time, though. The fighter was on the roster for another fight in three days, and he needed to be ready.

Bravat stood and rose from the water. “It’s too crowded,” he said shortly as he eyed Cyrus.

It gave Cyrus a small sense of satisfaction that his presence bothered Bravat enough to make him leave. He almost smiled.

Benly, the pool-house servant, stepped forward and handed him a towel, and Bravat snapped it from his hands and dried off. Bravat’s two men stepped out as well, also taking towels.

“I’m hungry,” Bravat added. “Let’s go get something to eat.” The three men headed toward the door. As Bravat passed Cyrus, he dropped his wet towel on the ground less than a pace from where Cyrus rested his arm against the edge. Then they exited.

Everan’s eyes followed them out as Benly scrambled forward and collected the soiled towel.

“He’s a risk,” Kord said when they were gone.

Bravat was a risk, a risk that would cost them all. He had to be dealt with. “I’ll take care of him,” Cyrus told them.

“You’ll need to be careful,” Everan warned. “He’s got a lot of attention on him right now.”

The three of them rose from the pool and toweled off before donning their robes.

Then they headed back toward their chambers to dress.

As they walked, Cyrus spotted Bravat, Bevin, and Arns at the edge of the courtyard, laughing.

They’d run into a couple more of Bravat’s men on the way to the meal hall.

Great. More of them. Cyrus considered opting for his meal in his chamber.

Suddenly, everyone quieted.

On the far side of the courtyard, from Pyro’s end of the villa, two guards dragged an unrecognizable, bloodied body past them, toward Teron’s workroom.

Bravat and his men stared in confusion and dismay. Then they looked at one another.

“Who was that?” Bravat called across to Cyrus as the guards disappeared with the unconscious man around the corner. “What happened to him?”

Cyrus didn’t need to recognize him to know who he was.

“Do you know who that was?” Bravat asked him again, walking toward him. His voice held a ring of annoyance.

“Where’s your man who missed his kill?” Cyrus asked him, and he watched Bravat’s face change.

“Val?” Bravat looked down the way toward Teron’s workroom. “Val!” He moved to follow, but Everan reached out and caught him.

“Let the healer tend him,” Everan said. “You can see him later.”

Bravat pushed Everan off, and his face twisted. “What fucking happened to him?” he raged.

“What is it you said before?” Cyrus asked him. “This is the life.”

Bravat stared at him, struck with horror.

And Cyrus left for his chamber, letting Bravat discover the hell he was in now.