Page 40 of Nemesis Mine
“You will pay for this!” Maximillian drew his sword, peasants diving for cover all around at the sharp ring of it.
More like Maximillian would pay for this, just as soon as Cyrus had cooked up a suitable revenge. His daggers lost beneath his too-baggy sleeves, he did the only thing he could think of and snatched up the apple pie to launch it directly at Maximillian.
Maximillian ducked. The peasant behind him—the unfortunate baker whose table Cyrus had kicked—did not. The man howled in anger and anguish as stewed apple slid wetly down the side of his bald head. He wobbled up to his feet, trying to wipe the apple off, and grabbed at another table to steady himself. But he slipped and fell, bringing that table down with a resounding crash. Beef and gravy went everywhere, a yell of outrage rising above Cyrus’s snigger. Then everyone was shouting and gesticulating and a pie was sailing overhead. Cyrus watched with interest as it nailed its target right between the shoulder blades.
For a slip of a second, Cyrus caught Maximillian’s eye. He saw the same urge to laugh mirrored back at him. ThenMaximillian smothered it under a performance of righteous anger and hefted his sword again.
Cyrus took the hint, and ran for it.
The report in the news was pleasing. Starting a mass brawl and food fight hadn’t been Cyrus’s intention, but wrongdoing was wrongdoing. He enjoyed the drawings of people screaming with bits of pie in their hair. The drawing of himself he enjoyed less, because someone had clearly snitched to the press about his outfit. He didn’t add it to his scrapbook collection.
Two and a half weeks passed before they could fit another altercation into Maximillian’s packed schedule. At least, Balthazar claimed that was the case. Cyrus thought it more likely that Balthazar was just hogging the champion’s diary as much as possible, but he said nothing. He didn’t want to lookeager. That would just be undignified.
The days crawled by. Cyrus filled his time with day-to-day wrongdoing—heckling an amateur theatre production in Ranragh in which a champion with a dodgy wig nobly overcame a wrongdoer who kept forgetting her lines; sidling in through a tavern’s kitchen door to steal all their spoons. A minor earthquake rattled Dorre overnight, which people took as his retribution for the winemaker’s furious railing against Earthshaker in the news. Usually, that would have been enough to give Cyrus a spring in his step. But it seemed unsatisfying in comparison to the chaos he and Maximillian had been wreaking together.
It was only that it was something new, he reasoned, something different. He could hardly be blamed for enjoying a spot of creativity.
When the next opportunity arose to showcase their feud, it was at least a fun one. Awedding. Cyrus had never been to one of those. Oddly enough, nobody had ever thought to invite him.
When Maximillian showed up at Cyrus’s lair for their planning session, he and Balthazar were halfway through an argument about the merits of the idea. It sounded like they’d had the argument several times already. Maximillian was annoyed and dismissive, Balthazar almost treading on his heels as he tried and failed to convince him.
“I just think that—”
“I know what you think.” Maximillian sounded exasperated as he flung himself down onto Cyrus’s couch. Cyrus couldn’t blame him. He would be exasperated too if he had Balthazar fussing about him every day, though that would never be the case, becausehewould have pitched Balthazar headfirst down the mountain by now. “You think it’s unfair to target a wedding. You think it’s bad press because everyone will associate me with someone’s big party getting ruined.”
“Itisbad press—”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Cyrus said from the door. They ignored him.
“Can’t you just trust me to make it work?” Maximillian implored, frustration brimming in his tone.
Balthazar hauled the brooding chair closer. He had,unfortunately, made it his usual spot. However, he failed to notice the pair of sprites curled up on the cushion, and jolted with an undignified squawk as he tried to sit down. They buzzed about his face indignantly, butting against the hands he threw up to shield himself, before zooming out of the window. Cyrus watched them go with a smile. He’d only allowed them inside (and coaxed them to snooze on his brooding chair with a spoonful of sugary water as a bribe) in the hopes that this would happen. He did love it when a plan came together.
Shaking the cushion again before he sat, Balthazar’s mulish mutter was still audible. “You just want to upset Mayor Korral by spoiling his daughter’s wedding.”
Maximillian’s head snapped up. Balthazar had pushed him too far, his exasperation chased out by something narrow-eyed and hostile.
“That’s not true.”
“It is.” Balthazar was a strange one. He invariably submitted to Maximillian’s demands and seemed to go out of his way to cater for his champion’s whims, and yet he constantly argued. He nitpicked and complained and sulked, even as he did exactly what Maximillian said. “You didn’t like what the mayor said about you at the yearly summit, it stirred up a lot of talk—”
Maximillian rolled his eyes. “Of course I didn’t like what he said about me. He called me idle.” He tossed his bronze head back against Cyrus’s couch with a huff. “Me,” he repeated, staring up at the jagged ceiling. “Idle, after everything I’ve done.” From his prone position he lookedat Cyrus as though he expected fervent nods and agreement. Cyrus blinked slowly at him, deadpan. Maximillian smothered a smile.
“Not that I don’t get a real kick out of listening to your domestics,” Cyrus began, finally moving away from the door. Maximillian huffed again. Balthazar flushed an ugly shade of red. “But seeing as Maximillian wants to interrupt the wedding, and more importantlyIwant to interrupt the wedding, I’d say that’s what we’re going to do.” Balthazar turned his head away with an irritated noise. From the minute working of his clenched jaw, Cyrus imagined that he was silently muttering to himself.
Sitting up straight, Maximillian drew his attention back. “You’ve got the documents, Bal,” he said. He was cheerful again, now that he’d got his own way. Balthazar opened his leather bag and took out several rolls of parchment, placing them reluctantly on the table. He’d managed to acquire the timings for the event, the seating plan, even the wedding menu. At least he was efficient. Everybody neededsomethinggoing for them.
An hour passed and their plan started to form. They were adept at it by now, bouncing ideas off each other until the best route forward emerged. There was plenty of potential here, no matter what Balthazar thought; perhaps it would be their most dramatic showdown yet. Cyrus’s suggestion that he could explode out of the wedding cake and chase the bride and groom around the hall was sadly vetoed, despite his best efforts to add it to the plan. Apparently he couldn’t expect to throw food in people’s facesevery time they planned a fight, no matter how much he enjoyed it.
“I’ll have lodgings arranged close by—you can call after, if you can be discreet about it, and get changed,” said Maximillian, head bent low over a piece of parchment as he examined the menu. “It says here they’re serving blackberry syrup with the dessert, sounds like it’ll stain...”
Balthazar looked up sharply. “I’m not sure that’s a—”
“Good idea, yeah, we’ve heard all about your disapproval,” Cyrus cut in. There was no way he was going to skip out on an opportunity to clean up just because Balthazar was the realm’s biggest killjoy. “Why don’t you go and be boring somewhere else? We’ve got everything we need from you.”
Balthazar’s eyes slanted to Maximillian. Cyrus saw the hesitance, the ingrained urge to step in on Balthazar’s behalf worn down by the nagging and constant disapproval, and he saw the moment Maximillian decided not to help. “There aren’t any other champions in attendance. So we don’t have to worry about that, at least,” he mused, seating plan now in hand, as though Cyrus’s put-down had never happened. “Korral’s probably only had me invited so he can corner me afterwards and start bleating on about politics.”
Balthazar stood up. “I can take a hint,” he said stiffly.
