It’s that sheer audacity at avenging anyone who has wronged me that guarantees me Skartovius will not kill Lukain.For me. If for no other reason.
I lean into that idea. “Please, stop this, you two! I love you both! It’s not worth it—we can get past this like adults, not children swinging swords!”
Fucking men. If they’re not swinging their dicks like braggadocios, they’re swinging swords to prove their might. Extensions of their cocks.
They ignore me, of course.
During one of their brief respites, Lukain digs into the heart of the issue. “My father loved me, and you took him from me. He was theonlyperson who ever truly loved me.”
He wails with his sword again.
Skar says, “Your father tossed you aside like everyone else, Lukain. A Silverknight could never have any love in his heart for vampires and half-bloods. It’s against their core nature!”
Gods above.“That isnothelpful, Skartovius!” I shout.
The eating hall is full now. All fifty Grimsons and the twenty Chained Sisters are here, it seems. Everyone’s watching this ludicrous fight between masters play out.
Antones hobbles in and nearly swoons at the sight. “Stop this, Master Lukain. This isn’t the man I remember!”
“This isexactlythe man you remember, Ant,” Lukain answers. “Some things can never change.”
They go at it again. Blurring strikes, spinning feet, a dance of death that’s carving a destructive path through our host’s furniture. The ground is covered with as many wood chips as it is dirt.
Perhaps if they no longer have an audience. Maybe the boys will put the sticks away and grow bored of each other.I doubt it will work. The tension is high and stuffy in the room, no matter how big it is.
When they clash again, and more blood sprays—this time from Skar as well as Lukain—I see things are getting more dire. More vicious. One of them is trying to end it.
“Take me instead!” I scream.
My voice echoes.
The blades stop.
Slowly, they pause, lower their blades, and glare at me in unison. There’s equal confusion on their brows, asking me to explain myself.
I throw my arms out. “You want revenge and aggression? Thentake it out on me. This is all my fault!”
Am I telling them to fuck me like wild animals? Am I telling them to strike me down like I’m a suicidal banshee? I don’t even know. No one will ever know, I think. And despite my embarrassment, it seems to be working. They’ve paused, if only to question my direction.
I open my mouth to cry out again, “Both of you can work through this through me—”
A single light thudding of footsteps draws attention to the southern entrance behind me. It’s the same lad who burst into the Chained Sisters’ infirmary who almost died from seeing tits,just as pale-faced and shocked and sweaty as before. The poor fucker isn’t getting a break.
“S-Sir! Master Antones! Just heard news, I did!”
He leaps onto a long bench—one of only four remaining—and searches the sea of people for his leader.
Antones pushes aside people with his cane and lurches into view. “What is it, Filgy?”
“You must come quick! Th-They’re lowering the gates, they are, sir!”
Ant’s face twists. “What gates, lad? Slow down. You’ll pass out from lack of air.”
“I just seen it! The gates to Nuhav are bein’ dropped on orders of some snooty Buver in Olhav! Some big boss!”
Near me, Vallan grunts in a low, disapproving voice. “Aramastun Wyvox.”
Antones shouts above the suddenly silent room. “Fuckin’ True, Filgy. Are they planning an incursion?”