Page 19 of House of the Beast

Chapter

T he first time I saw Kaim fight, I had been his opponent.

My father had deemed it a necessary part of my education at the time—a chance for me to understand just how lacking I was, compared to the boy who would take his dream from him.

He had led me into the Avera halls of training, where all the great Avera warriors had first learned their craft, and I had no choice but to go along.

Vast ceilings kept the space open and the air circulation fresh, with skylights over each of the three training rings to let in the sun.

Practice weapons lined the walls—swords aplenty, but also spears, bows, and javelins.

The floors were scarred after centuries of hosting fights of every kind.

The air smelled of old leather and sword oil.

There was an air of reverence here—this was a place as sacred to House Avera as the temple.

It was certainly a change from the makeshift sparring ground set up for me in front of my guesthouse.

Though it was midafternoon and the estate was alive with the comings and goings of the staff, these halls were mostly empty, kept clear for my cousin’s daily lessons.

The air rang with the sharp clacking of wooden practice swords.

Kaim was in the middle of sparring against one of the weapons instructors.

He was a whirlwind of movement, strikes focused and efficient.

Fion, who had been sitting on a bench nearby picking at his nails with a pair of short daggers, was the first to notice us. He straightened up from his bored slouch, watching our approach curiously.

Kaim noticed us too. He pulled his next blow short and turned to face us with a scowl.

The instructor bowed toward my father. “Lord Zander,” she greeted. “This is a most pleasant surprise. What brings you here today?”

I shuffled uncomfortably. I did not want to be there. Judging by the haughty glare aimed my way, Kaim did not want me there either.

“Madam Zul,” my father greeted. “I realize this is quite unusual, but I was hoping to borrow young Kaim for a few minutes. My daughter will benefit from sparring against an opponent her age.”

The instructor looked taken aback. “I... I see. I understand, Lord Zander—however, I’m not sure if Lady Darantha would appreciate the interruption to her son’s lessons.”

“She’s right,” I told my father. “I don’t want to be rude—”

“Nonsense, Alma,” said my father in a tone that let me know any further opinions would be unappreciated.

The instructor tried to hedge again: “Perhaps I should ask her ladyship first. I’m sure a more formal sparring session could be arranged some other time—”

“No,” said Kaim, his imperious gaze fixing on me. He swung his practice weapon in a slow, confident circle, ending the motion with the point facing toward me. “I’d like to spar with Alma.”

Damn . I tried not to grimace.

Beside me, Aster let out a huff of laughter. “Don’t worry,” he whispered into my ear. “He can’t actually kill you with that wooden sword.”

No—but he would certainly try his best, judging by the glint in his eye.

“Wonderful,” my father pronounced. “Alma, grab yourself a weapon and meet your cousin in the ring.”

I did as he bid, feeling like a woman condemned.

This was a fight I knew I could not win.

It wasn’t that I didn’t have the talent; with Aster’s power thrumming through my metal arm, I knew I could cleave my cousin’s sword straight from his hand.

But with all the effort I had made to hide this fact, I was not going to risk revealing it today.

Any advantage Aster gave me was moot, and my cousin had been training with the sword for far longer than I had.

He waited in the center of the training room with an easy assurance in his stance that came from knowing one’s own strength.

He raised his sword in readiness. I did the same.

“Begin!” the instructor called.

The word had barely made it out of her mouth before Kaim raced toward me.

I brought my sword up in time to block his blow, but the force of it knocked me on my ass all the same.

“That’s one point to me,” Kaim said calmly, pacing around my fallen form with his sword pointed toward my stomach. Then he added more quietly, “This is what your father thinks will win him the House’s favor?”

I got to my feet, humiliated and angry. Kaim gave me a second to get my bearings, and then he was upon me again, his strikes quick and merciless.

He had me backing away helplessly as I struggled to match his blows, each one ferocious enough to jar my sweaty grip on my weapon.

Then he caught the back of my hand with a painful thwack, and my sword went clattering across the ground.

“Pick it up,” my father growled.

I did not want to. This had been a stupid idea, and whatever point my father had wanted to prove to me—that I was inferior, that I was weak—had been proven very quickly.

“I yield,” I called, furious.

“An Avera does not yield,” he barked back. His eyes narrowed and he drew himself up to full height. “An Avera fights until the battle is done. Pick up your sword, Alma.”

I did as he ordered, picking the sword back up, just in time for Kaim to circle back on me.

Another round began. There was no opportunity for attack.

Kaim held the upper hand so decisively I almost wanted to laugh.

I panted and struggled for all I was worth, but in less than a minute he had backed me into a corner.

I raised my sword with an exhausted, shaking hand, prepared for the blow to come.

Aster, perched on the bench next to Fion, called out, “Fight back!”

I was under no illusion that I would win this bout. In fact, I was pretty certain I wouldn’t have even come close to landing a hit on Kaim—if Fion had not sprung up at that very moment, eyes wide. He wildly scanned the bench where Aster was sitting, like he knew something was there.

Kaim faltered.

I saw my chance—the only one I would have—and lunged forward. Even distracted as he was, my cousin was quick enough to dodge the brunt of my attack, but the point of my sword clipped him on the cheek as it went by.

It was barely a hit—I doubted it would amount to anything more than a light bruise—but clearly, that didn’t matter.

Rage stormed in his eyes, dark and turbulent and quickly eclipsing all sense.

He renewed his attack on me, and this time, he was not holding back.

In two quick maneuvers he had knocked my weapon painfully out of my hand again.

He swung his sword overhead, and there was such cold, glittering intent in his eyes that I had no doubt he would crack my skull in two with his next blow.

Just as I was raising my hands in an instinctive move to protect myself, Madam Zul called out, “Enough!”

Kaim held perfectly still. For a moment I wasn’t sure if he would do it anyway—but then he let out a slow breath, and quietly dropped his arms to his sides.

I slumped back onto the training room floor with relief.

“Lord Zander,” the instructor said, her voice trembling. “I’m afraid this must be all for today. Kaim must return to his quarters and prepare for dinner with his family. Isn’t that right, Kaim?”

“That’s fine, Instructor,” said my father calmly. “I thank you both for your time today. My daughter has learned what I needed her to.”

I had learned something, that was for certain.

My cousin was a ruthless, unstable asshole who wanted nothing more than to see me gone.

And if ever the children of Avera were to fight for real, we might really have to kill each other.

KAIM WAS BLEEDING .

The air in the temple was thick with tension. Everyone had expected this part of the trial to be over quickly. So had I, if I were being honest.

Kaim had gotten off to an explosive start, awing the crowds with his speed and the brutal grace of his swordwork.

He seemed to sense every attack coming his way and dodged them with ease—no doubt an effect of his bond with Fion, who was in the ring with him as part of his trial, keeping safely back but holding two short daggers in case he needed to defend himself.

The Tinkerer’s Thing had seemed unable to deal with Kaim’s onslaught, backing away slowly as my cousin opened up its dead flesh with cut after fluid cut.

Some of those wounds would have been debilitating on a man, and it was only a testament to House Goldmercy’s craft that the Thing did not stop.

The crowd was excited; everything had seemed to be going in my cousin’s favor, and that had made him cocky.

As he had dashed in for a finishing blow, the Thing twisted itself quickly to the side, joints whirring and crackling, and then retaliated with a lightning-fast strike of its own, one of its claws catching Kaim on the shoulder.

It was only a flesh wound, but it made my cousin falter.

In that split second, the momentum of the fight had turned.

The Thing pursued its advantage with bullish force as my cousin attempted to regain his footing.

I could see the snarl on his face, his frustration growing with each passing second.

He was still using his left hand—his flesh hand—but I knew that would be changing soon.

The crowd buzzed. Was he weaker than Lord Zander, after all? He was young, and inexperienced. Perhaps it would be better to have the House led by a real man.

I almost hoped that the trial would end here. That my cousin would be done in by his own arrogance, and I would have one less thing to worry about when the Pilgrimage began.

Of course, I should have known from experience that making him angry only made him better.

“Fion!” Kaim barked—and gripped his blade with both hands.

Behind him, Fion closed his right eye—the one that was his own. Then he crumpled in on himself, jerking in pain as his hands went up to clutch at his face.