Page 26 of Nemesis Mine
Cyrus and Maximillian, locked together in combat across the land. Crowds of people drawn to watch them fight it out, witnessing Cyrus’s prowess. A small smile formed. It was an enjoyable notion, particularly when he imagined how he would twist each fight to his advantage. Maximillian stumbling to his knees in the dust as Cyrus loomed before him, magnificent in his wrath, feared by all...
Maximillian nodded, encouraged, and smiled back like he thought he had convinced Cyrus already. It was a bit revolting, Cyrus decided, all earnest and hopeful. Gave him the shudders. He held up a hand before Maximillian could speak.
“Why me?” Cyrus’s tone remained cool, still guarded. He would not have Maximillian thinking he was easily convinced. “Of all the wrongdoers out there, why approach me?”
“Because I think you could pull this off,” Maximilliansaid immediately. “It came to me the other night, after Arclee. You put on such a good show.” It was Cyrus’s turn to blink, not expecting the compliment. Maximillian didn’t seem to notice, waving a hand in his direction. “And I’ve heard about your powers. You could have destroyed Arclee, but you didn’t. And I could have killed you twice over—I had you on the ropes. No, don’t deny it, I did. Once when I ordered you to yield, and once when you left. You were in bad shape, it was obvious. I could’ve followed you.”
“Nobody orders me to yield,” Cyrus muttered, but Maximillian ignored him.
“Neither of us did what we’re supposed to. What the Federation would have me do, what I imagine your Guild would insist on.” He leaned forward, suddenly in Cyrus’s space all over again. “Maybe that’s not a good enough reason to trust each other. But it tells me that we’re on the same page about something, at least. Neither of us are content with the way things are. And this is a way to shake things up.”
Silence. Cyrus wanted to contradict him, just for the sake of it. To tell him he was wrong, that his idea was dreadful. He doubted Maximillian heard that very often. Cyrus would enjoy being the one to humble him.
But... damn it, he could see the appeal. The idea wasn’t bad at all.
The incense had burned out, leaving a lingering musk of smoke. It was getting late, and a chill was creeping in around the edges of the lair. Conversely, Cyrus could sense the warmth radiating from Maximillian. It made him feel twitchy and on edge. This man was his enemy. Just daysago, they had been at each other’s throats. Cyrus should be lunging for his dagger, not tolerating his presence here on his own couch.
But he’d always been good at sniffing out an opportunity. And there it was, the question at the heart of everything. Cyrus was already beginning to picture what this deal would look like from his side, but he wanted to hear it directly from Maximillian.
“What do I get out of it?”
“You build your own reputation,” said Maximillian. Cyrus gave him a look. “You build itmore,” he amended hastily.
Cyrus leaned back, making himself comfortable. “Go on,” he said imperiously.
“We’d plan our confrontations together, make sure that we both get moments to shine. No serious injuries. Definitely no fatalities.” He paused, eyeing Cyrus, as though waiting for argument. Cyrus kept his expression blank. “You get to demonstrate your prowess, just as I demonstrate my own. Their fear of you will grow. And your standing will rise among wrongdoers and champions alike.” Maximillian’s mouth twisted, a petulant little moue. “I do have a strong reputation across the rest of Athaca, even if my own people need reminding of why exactly they should reelect me. And I don’t profess to know how a wrongdoer thinks, but I’d be willing to bet that they’d be impressed by someone who can repeatedly match me in a fight.”
He threw Cyrus a look, almost daring, like he expected correction. Cyrus allowed it, unexpectedly amused. He didn’t let it show on his face.
“As for the champions... they will get the chance to see your ferocity. Your skill. They would think twice before testing you.”
He was trying to flatter. It was obvious, and Cyrus was not fooled. Typical behaviour from one used to flashing a smile and getting whatever he wanted—apart from the respect of his own city, ironically.
Still, his words stayed with Cyrus. He leaned back, turning his head away so he could think it through without those eyes boring into his own. Maximillian himself had seen fit to plaster Ranragh with his smug face in anticipation of a visit. He had heard of Cyrus’s allegedly violent magic, but it had not deterred him. If Maximillian felt that he could do that, how long before another champion set their sights on Ranragh? How long before they started pushing at Cyrus’s control, grabbing for what was his?
If they did come, he would not be able to defend himself or punish them with magic in the way that they expected. So: He had to stop them coming. And embarking on this scheme with Maximillian—odious as he was—was likely the best opportunity he had to salvage his reputation.
He looked back at Maximillian. It was dark outside, only candlelight remaining. Shadows teased at Maximillian’s brow, lapped at his cheekbone. He watched Cyrus carefully, the blue of his eyes turned navy in the guttering candlelight. Cyrus took in the determined set of his jaw, the knot of his hands on his lap. He was tense all over,and not because he was in a wrongdoer’s lair. Because he wanted, more than anything, for Cyrus to say yes.
“You think you can trust me,” Cyrus murmured, almost wondering.
“You’ll have to trust me just as much,” Maximillian returned. It sounded like a challenge.
Cyrus smiled. He couldn’t help it; he found Maximillian intriguing. He was still a showboating fool, of course, but the knowledge that he would embark on a scheme like this—that he wouldsuggestit—made him so much more interesting. It was immoral, deceitful. What would happen to Maximillian if the Federation found out? There had been a story in the news years ago, when Cyrus was still a child, about a champion who betrayed her kin by stealing from the charity she was supposed to represent. The details were hazy, but he knewAthaca Newshad thrived on her public humiliation. There had been a trial, some kind of public service; penance until she made back the money she stole. The Federation came down hard to make an example out of her. Maximillian was risking a lot.
And not for any honourable reason. Cyrus was under no illusions: Maximillian feared losing his seat in Heliarth because he feared the loss of his status and riches and gifts. This wasn’t about helping people.
But Cyrus didn’t care about helping people either. Riches and gifts, on the other hand...
“I want a share in the goods from any brand deals you get as a result of this,” he announced.
Maximillian’s scowl was immediate. “That’s not what I—”
“Fifty percent. I don’t care what it is. Any freebies that come in whilst we’re doing this because people are oh-so-impressed by your standing up to the mean wrongdoer—half of them are mine.”
“I didn’t say that you could—”
Cyrus reached out with his magic. The honeysuckle outside the door twitched questioningly. He ignored it, more interested in the sudden reflection of purple in Maximillian’s own irises as the champion fell silent, glaring at him.
