Page 27 of Nemesis Mine
“Fifty percent,” Cyrus repeated.
“Fine,” Maximillian muttered. “But you’re not doing that every time you want to win an argument.”
Cyrus released his magic. “Of course not,” he said amicably.
Maximillian shook his head. “Anything else you’d like to demand?” It came out waspish, sarcastic. Not a question he expected an answer to.
But Cyrus had one all the same. “Yes,” he said, tipping his chin up. His tone was firm; there would be no give here. “You’re to cancel your visit to Ranragh.”
Maximillian frowned. “But that’s not part of—”
“If you come to Ranragh—to my town—it doesn’t matter what agreements we make together,” Cyrus interrupted. He held Maximillian’s gaze, unblinking. “We can’t plan a confrontation with no fatalities and put on a show for these people. It’s my territory. If you walk away from that fight, it looks like weakness.” Maximillian had opened his mouth to object, but he stopped at that, his frown deepening. Perhaps he realised the sense of Cyrus’s words. “So. That’s my condition. You come to Ranragh, and the deal’s off. We fight to the death.”
A handful of seconds crawled by before Maximillian inclined his head. “I understand,” he said. The tone was stiff—he didn’t like being told what to do, that much was clear. But he’d given ground. Good. Cyrus would be sure to keep pushing. “I’ll cancel the appearance. Just that one, though.”
“I truly could not care less about any of the others,” said Cyrus indifferently.
After a beat, Maximillian ventured, “You saidthe deal. I take it that means you’re agreeing to this?”
Cyrus wasn’t fond of being deemed agreeable in any sense, but he couldn’t exactly deny it. He made do with picking at a fingernail, feigning indifference. “Suppose so.”
Maximillian’s shoulders slumped. Such relief. How much did he need this?
“It remains between us, of course,” added Cyrus. “Otherwise I will have to murder you, and I know lots of inventive ways toreallydrag it out. Just so you know.”
A glance from under those long lashes. Maximillian looked shifty. Why did he look shifty? Cyrus narrowed his eyes, then stilled as the answer presented itself to him.
“Your personal assistant already knows, doesn’t he?”
“Well, he’s practically an extension of me—”
Cyrus’s temper prickled. He shouldn’t be surprised. Arrogant, obnoxious champion with expectations that everyone around him would fall into line. “YouassumedI would agree?”
“No,” said Maximillian hurriedly, “no, I didn’t. Honestly.” As though that word meant anything to Cyrus—or to the champion, it seemed. “But he does know that I’m here now, and he knows I’m putting the suggestion to you. I had to tell him where I was going, so he’d know where to look in case something went wrong.”
“In case I killed you.”
Maximillian threw him an arch look. “In case I killedyoubut you got in a lucky hit as you went down, more like.” Quickly, before Cyrus could put him right, he added, “Look, Balthazar’s clever, and he’s completely dedicated to me. He can keep a secret. He’s nosy too. If I kept it from him he’d only go digging. He handles my calendar. He can take responsibility for identifying any opportunities, picking out the places and events that would be best for us to target. We can focus on... you know. The fun bits.”
Cyrus eyed him in silence. He wanted to keep objecting on instinct, his temper half mollified but unwilling to settle entirely. He wasn’t accustomed to working with anyone. A secret deal with Maximillian was one thing, but putting up with some simpering little PA as well? It was far too much teamwork for Cyrus’s taste.
But Maximillian was looking at him imploringly. He even had his head slightly tilted to one side. As tempting as it was to extinguish the hope in those big blue eyes, fun had always appealed to Cyrus more than any kind of responsibility.
“Ugh. Fine.”
Maximillian smiled at him. Cyrus looked away, annoyed in a way he couldn’t put his finger on.
“I assume you have a place in mind to try this out,” he muttered. “Unless you need to run it by your dogsbody first.”
Maximillian ignored the barb. “I’m attending an awards ceremony next week. They’re celebrating some local kids getting into the Federation. There’ll be a decent audience. I thought we could use that as a trial, see how it goes. You can ambush me onstage, we can fight it out. Let the people ooh and aah.”
“Where’s the ceremony?”
“Cepha.” Not too far away, maybe a day and a half on horseback. It was sunnier further down on the west coast. Soulripper would be pleased. “I can speak to Balthazar, have him meet you beforehand.”
“How will I know what he looks like?”
For some reason, Maximillian looked like he was swallowing a laugh. “Oh, you’ll—he’ll make himself known, I’m sure. I’ll tell him to introduce himself. Discreetly.”
