Page 24 of Nemesis Mine
“It was stupid to send anything by letter. Anyone could have read it.”
“Nobody reads my post but me.”
Maximillian exhaled. “Yeah, well, try being an elected champion. I’ve got city officials who’d love to get their hands on something incriminating.”
Cyrus frowned. He didn’t like the sound of anyone reading their letters, frankly. “You don’t mean—”
“No, nobody read yours. Well, my personal assistant did, but he’s as loyal as they come.”
“Aw. Your loyal dogsbody.”
Rather than denying it, Maximillian nodded. “He’ll never speak of it. Which is good, because you can’t begin to picture the chaos that would erupt if anyone knew I was sitting here with you. With Earthshaker. In his lair.” Maximillian looked like he couldn’t quite believe it himself, massaging his temples as though the mere knowledge was enough to inspire a headache. “Do you have any idea how quickly my brand deals would drop me if they knew?”
Of course that was what most concerned him. “Ah, yes. The worst thing that could happen to anyone, I’m sure.”
Maximillian’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t say it would be theworstthing. But it wouldn’t be good. Wrongdoers just don’t get it. Those sponsorships bring in a lot of money.”
“I know. They’re splashed across every copy ofAthaca News.” Cyrus had meant to sound sardonic, but instead a thread of envy ran through his words. He moved on quickly before Maximillian picked up on any vulnerabilityhe could dig his claws into. “But the deals aren’t why you became a champion. Saved a family from a fire, didn’t you? So very noble.” He tilted his head, letting a small, knowing smile speak for him.And now you’re here, in a wrongdoer’s lair.How the mighty fall.
Maximillian’s frown deepened, his shoulders stiff. He was still facing forward, staring down at his drink. Cyrus studied his profile, the tight purse of his mouth, more curious than he wanted to admit.
“It doesn’t matterwhyI became a champion,” Maximillian muttered. “That’s the reality of the situation now. Brand deals bring money. You think we can live off peasants rewarding us with crusts of bread and ale here and there?”
“Please,” Cyrus said, a sharp edge to his own tone. “I think I know what it’s like not to get rewarded with gifts and free food wherever I go.”
But Maximillian shook his head, finally turning his body to face Cyrus. “No, you don’t know. They give you offerings out of fear so you’ll leave them alone, but if you want something else you can just go and get it. If they don’t give you something you like, you demand something else. You’re not—constrainedby the same rules as a champion. You don’t have to do everything by the book, the Federation-approved way.”
Cyrus let those words—that tone—sink in. It was... unexpected. Everything about this was unexpected.
Maximillian was right, in some ways. It was part of the initial lure of being a wrongdoer, after all—not having to dance to the same tune as everyone else. Cyrus had long believed that champions were trapped by games of theirown making. They clung to their moral codes and their prideful nobility. But that was just the glossy veneer of the champion life; peel back the surface and there was a cesspit of competition and ambition and greed, champions jostling for recognition and reward. They weren’t in it for the people they professed to protect, not really. Even if they’d started out with grand ideas, most of them took the same path in the end.
But... didn’t wrongdoers do the same thing? Yes, they had more freedom than champions; the Guild didn’t hover over their shoulders judging their work and policing their efforts. But that didn’t mean they were without expectations. Society had a clear understanding of a wrongdoer’s place in the world, and anyone who tried to do something a little different received disinterest at best or ridicule at worst. Cyrus himself was the living proof of that.
He shifted, uncomfortable with that line of thought, and looked away, tracing the rim of his goblet just to do something with his hands. Maximillian was still watching him. Cyrus could feel the weight of his gaze.
“You still haven’t told me what you wanted to talk about,” Cyrus said eventually.
“You want to shake things up,” stated Maximillian.
“Wrongdoers are always looking to shake things up. It’s quite literally in my name.”
Maximillian’s eyes bored into Cyrus’s, too intense.
“But are you willing tochangethings? To try something properly different, something new, and see what happens?”
Cyrus wanted to object. But saying no felt like shying away, and there was no way he was going to lose groundto a champion. Especially not this one. His nod was quick and fleeting.
Maximillian smiled properly for the first time. It made that awful dimple peep out amid his stubble. There was satisfaction in his expression that Cyrus recognised from his own face when he’d come up with a plan he was particularly pleased with, as though an unexpected mirror had been held up between them.
“I thought so,” Maximillian said. “I hoped so.”
“Stop talking around it. What is thischangethat you want to see?”
Maximillian’s smile grew. He set down his glass and leaned forward, just a touch.
“Have you ever wondered what would happen if a wrongdoer and a champion teamed up?”
Chapter Seven
