Page 81 of Nemesis Mine
Cyrus stared at the pair on the podium, baffled. This wasweird. Why was Forwick acting so differently? Perhaps the remaining champions also thought it odd; out of the corner of his eye, he saw the castle door crack open, a slim figure emerging. Avexa, leaning against her spear, her face intent as she watched Max. She had just lost Heliarth; she should be moping inside. Why was she coming out into the public eye during Max’s moment?
“Wise as ever,” said Forwick, recapturing Cyrus’s attention. “A necessary trait for a successful champion, to be sure.” She paused, looking to the crowd again. “There are many essential traits for champions. Bravery, fortitude. The strength to prevail when dark forces seek to undermine. I’m sure Maximillian would agree.”
Max inclined his head. “Very true, President Forwick,” he agreed blandly.
“Maximillian has provided us with a master class in courage in recent times,” said Forwick. There was an odd tone to her voice, a barely suppressed excitement that chased a prickle across Cyrus’s skin. “The past half year has been spent with a terrible wrongdoer in pursuit—a chasefrom the western lands to the eastern shores and back again, north and south of the Bek mountains, with a foe causing havoc and chaos wherever he went.”
The urge to pull his hood down further over his face had his hand twitching by his side. Cyrus resisted with an effort. Nobody knew he was here. There was no need to draw attention to himself.
On the platform Max sighed, world weary. It was a good performance. It almost sounded genuine. “Indeed, it has been difficult at times.”
“The wrongdoer Earthshaker must be brought to justice,” said Forwick, and Cyrus’s breath caught in his throat. She raised her voice again so that it rang all around the courtyard and beyond. “He cannot be allowed to stalk our lands bringing misery and strife wherever he goes! And so—”
Forwick turned back to Max and extended a hand, indicating the space beside her. Max stepped into it with the easy confidence Cyrus knew so well.
Cyrus’s heart clattered against his ribs. The prickling had spread, all up his spine and into his hairline, like a thousand ants were crawling over his skin.
Something was wrong, something was wrong, something was—
“We thank you, Maximillian, for coming here today,” said Forwick. “For working with us to rid this land of the Earthshaker’s stain once and for all. For you see, this is the mark of a true champion—one who knows his enemy, and can use that knowledge to outwit him. Maximillian has done that, and his loyalty will not be forgotten. He has lured Earthshaker to us today, and as such proved himselfa true friend to the Federation and a champion greatly deserving of our respect and gratitude.”
No.
No, no, no, that wasn’t right, Max hadn’twantedhim here, Max was his—
Forwick turned away from Max, facing the crowd. Her eyes roved the faces before her, face set in a small, pleased smile.
“Finally, we can be free of him,” she said, and she looked right at Cyrus. A chill jolted down the length of his spine. Forwick’s finger lifted and pointed directly at him. “Avexa—attack!”
Chapter Nineteen
Several things happened in quick succession. But they blurred into one for Cyrus.
Avexa leapt into action from her position by the castle steps—where she had been waiting for this moment, he realised too late, poised with easy access to the platform and to Cyrus himself. She landed with instinctive grace, spear in hand, striding towards the podium. Avexa did not acknowledge Max. Max did not stop her.
But Avexa still seemed so far away. Everything did. Cyrus was not standing in a crowded courtyard surrounded by people, gasps and shrieks rising around him as they realised what was happening. He was not about to face a young champion already renowned across the land for her fighting prowess.
Nobody else was there, nobody else mattered. There was only Max, standing there on the platform and looking back at Cyrus. His expression was completely blank. There was no hint of his Max in the indifferent man before him. Cyrus could hear his own breathing, ragged and stilted,like it was catching on every bit of muscle and flesh between his lungs and his mouth.
He felt as though his chest had caved in on itself. The organ that usually pumped his lifeblood around his body had surely fallen out of the cavity. It could not be safe behind his rib cage. It was on the ground by his boots, thrashing weakly as a dying fish.
Avexa stopped in the centre of the platform, hefting her spear in her hand. It was that movement that finally shocked Cyrus out of the stillness that had settled unforgivably over his limbs.
He couldn’t think about Max. He couldn’t let himself. He had to shut down that part of him, that stupid,stupidpart of him, he had to move—
Cyrus started to shove his way back through the crowd. Guards had materialised at the top of the castle wall, at the metal gate. Those who had already begun to flee the courtyard were being shepherded hurriedly through, but it was only a matter of time before the gate was dragged closed.
And Cyrus had other problems. Some people ran at the realisation that a wrongdoer stood among them. In the Federation’s courtyard, surrounded by reminders of Athaca’s best and bravest, others yelled and tried to get closer. As he stumbled towards the gate, hands grabbed at him, seized a handful of his cloak. They were trying to stop him from escaping, and Cyrus couldn’t evade them, they were all around him, closing in and grabbing for him, clawing—
Up on the platform Avexa raised her spear. People scattered. His way cleared, but before he could make any progress a scrawny hand reached out and buried itself inthe folds of Cyrus’s cloak, stopping him in his tracks and half-throttling him as he tried to shove forward. Someone screamed close to his ear, deafeningly loud even above the cacophony. Cyrus twisted desperately, trying to wriggle free of the clutching fingers, and as he lurched around, the platform came once more into sight behind him.
Max had vanished. That shouldn’t have been the first thing he noticed, but it was. There was no time to scan the crowd for a familiar bronze head, because Avexa was looking right at him. Her arm reared, the muscles in her shoulder rippling. The spear glinted in the sun as she threw it.
The person who had grabbed Cyrus was still clinging on to him—a man with wild, excited eyes, whipped up into a frenzy of exhilaration by the potential of a fight. He had the wrongdoer, he bleated, he’d caught him, he wouldn’t let him go. Under the confusion and the horror and the awful pulsing agony, there was finally a surge of fury.
If they wanted Cyrus, they could have him.
He whirled around, letting momentum drag the man with him. The fool didn’t let go even as he staggered with the force of Cyrus’s spin.
