Page 64 of Nemesis Mine
“And the Federation would come down on me like the four old gods combined, if they knew,” Max added quietly.
He didn’t want to think about that, to allow outsideforces to slink in around the edges and tarnish this moment. But if they were going to make this work, they needed to be realistic. And they had to know what they were up against.
“They’d strip your title,” Cyrus deduced. “Make you do community service. Like the champion from years ago, the one who stole from the charity.”
A minute shake of his head. “That’s only half the story. Everyone thought that was all Vespar got. But she was killed not long after.”
“I read about it. She got into a fight with a—”
“No.” Max looked away. “It wasn’t a wrongdoer. The Federation got rid of her.”
Cyrus blinked. The words carried the weight of complete certainty. He didn’t want or need to ask how Max knew. Perhaps it was an open secret within the Federation. Something to keep their champions in line.
Strange, the brutality of the good and righteous.
“The Federation takes its reputation very seriously.” Max’s eyes came back to his, dark in the shadows, and tired. “They removed Vespar before she could embarrass them any further.”
Cyrus absorbed that, a new concern snaking tendrils around his heart and pulling tight. What would the Federation do to a champion who fooled them, not just by teaming up with a wrongdoer, but by falling for him too?
“I don’t care,” Max whispered, suddenly fierce. He leaned in so his forehead nudged Cyrus’s. Cyrus found his hands coming up without conscious thought, fingers wrapping around Max’s forearms and holding tight. “I don’tcare. I choose it anyway.”
And Cyrus heard the meaning behind those words, incredible as they seemed.I choose us.
They ended up back in bed. Not for sex this time, though there were a couple of moments where Cyrus thought they were headed in that direction and if they traded one more messy, open-mouthed kiss they wouldn’t be able to stop.
But as much as Cyrus craved Max’s touch, there were other things he wanted too. To look his fill and learn the shape of his body and take all the time in the world in doing so. Totalk, in a way he’d never wanted to talk to anyone before.
So they did. Max told him about life as a champion. How he’d thrown himself into it at the start, gaining early acceptance into the Federation at fourteen. He was only seventeen when he graduated from their academy: no magic, but enough guts to win respect regardless. Two years spent roaming Athaca followed his graduation, helping where he could and building his practical experience. He’d met Balthazar during that time, tucked away in the administrative side of event planning, and realised that the two of them would work well together, Max’s charisma backed up by Balthazar’s dogged attention to detail. Max stood for election in Heliarth at nineteen, the youngest champion to win a seat, only to realise after he’d won thata champion was not so free as he’d imagined. It was a life that came with glitz and glamour and riches, but it also came with ever-increasing expectations like an anchor tied to his foot. For those who were always looking for fault, he could never do right.
“But it was worth it,” Max said. He lounged on Cyrus’s bed, propped up on his forearm, one leg dangling over the side. A tray set on the bed contained the remains of the olives and bread they had shared. Cyrus, leaning against the swirling metal of the headboard, was making a concentrated effort to keep his hands to himself so as not to derail the conversation. It was difficult when Max looked like that. “At the time, at least. It was nice having people so impressed with me.”
“That must have been such a novelty for you,” Cyrus drawled.
Max moved to kick him. “Shut up, it was. You lot with your magic don’t know what it’s like for the rest of us, having to prove ourselves without the ability to set things on fire or bring about a flood—or cause an earthquake.” His eyes flickered towards Cyrus, as though checking for a reaction. Cyrus lifted an eyebrow until he looked away again. “My parents were worried for me, when I first joined the Federation. It didn’t matter how many times I reminded them that there are just as many champions without magic.” Discontent gathered at his brow. Clearly, Max did not care for the slight against his ego no matter how long ago it had occurred. “Little old magicless me, standing up to the likes of you.”
Cyrus made a noncommittal noise. “Are they dead now?” he enquired.
Max side-eyed him. “You know, some might consider it rude to just come out and casually ask people if their parents have passed away like that—”
“I was only asking,” Cyrus protested. “You never mentioned them before today.”
“Yeah, well. Bal’s the only real family I have these days. My parents and sister... I don’t see them much. They liked it when I was up-and-coming and everyone was all over me. Less so when I got older and it was more...” Max scrunched his face up. “You know. The daily grind.”
Cyrus did know. He hummed in affirmation.
“Bal invites them to the odd event, but I don’t really hear from them unless something big happens. Some success they can ride on.” Max was taking care to keep his tone light, but there was a trace of bitterness there. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the ivy creeping across the ceiling. “If they found out about us, they’d probably never speak to me again.”
Cyrus glanced at the downward turn of his mouth. “Who needs parents when you’ve got Balthazar fussing after your every whim,” he said, but Max continued to frown up at the ceiling. Cyrus tried another option. He knew he could bring that smile back. “And I thought you seemed like an only child. You have that air about you. Centre of attention and all that...”
It worked. Max grinned despite himself, even as he squirmed around on the bed to deliver a proper kick this time. “Funny. Think you’ll find that’s you, not me.”
True. Max’s contemplative glance in Cyrus’s direction suggested he was thinking the same. Cyrus fidgeted. Sinceadulthood he had never told another soul about his family. Nobody had ever dared ask.
“Youarean only child,” Max deduced. He chewed on his lip as he watched Cyrus, thoughtful. “You’re not originally from around here, your accent doesn’t sound... More to the south? And your parents...”
“They were poor fishermen who died in a storm,” said Cyrus, voice even and face carefully blank. “I was on the boat with them when they went down. In her final moments my mother fashioned a makeshift raft for me and left me to the mercy of Winter’s winds. I made it to shore but there was nothing left for me.” He mustered all the sorrow he could as he heaved a sigh. “I became just another lowly orphan struggling to survive on the cold streets. Eventually I realised there is no justice in this world and decided to pursue a life of wrongdoing.”
Max blanched. “What, really?”
