Page 31 of Nemesis Mine
The last time Cyrus saw him had been that night at his lair. He had intended to close the door as soon as Maximillian stepped outside, their deal made. But something had made him linger, a curiosity he could not deny about this champion with less-than-noble plans. He’d watched as Maximillian paused in the doorway, framed by the night sky and slanting moonlight. He looked like he was fighting with himself over something. Cyrus had wondered what was going on in his head. Whether he hated himself for working with his enemy.
But with Maximillian here in front of him again, flesh and blood, it was easy to forget that they were working together at all. All the apprehension building up to this moment had given way to the adrenaline of confrontation and the desire to put on a show.
Thankfully, Cyrus was good at that.
“It’s me you want.” Maximillian’s voice rang out, strong and true. “Leave these people alone.”
Cyrus delivered his best sneer, turning his face to give the crowd a good view. His eyes swept across their faces, gratified by the alarm he saw there and even more gratified by the whispers on the breeze.Earthshaker. He is Earthshaker.
It made his blood burn hot. Yes, let them keep saying his name. Let them whisper it in fear and revelation. Let the taste of it sour upon their worthless tongues.
He looked back at Maximillian. The sneer had faded, leaving a small smile in its wake that Cyrus knew full well was worse than any fearsome expression he could produce.
“Why should I?” Cyrus kept his tone light, almost teasing. He liked the way it made Maximillian frown. “They come to cheer for their champion... surely they would like the opportunity to defend him too?”
Maximillian’s expression shifted, wary. That night in his lair, they had decided against planning out this altercation in too much detail. They both knew the broad strokes and what they wanted to get out of it; a set script might sound forced, and they each already knew how the other fought. Better to test it out spontaneously. Was Maximillian regretting that now? Did he fear that he had made a mistake, that he had no real idea of how far Cyrus might take this?
It wasfun, toying with him. Cyrus took in the new tension around Maximillian’s eyes, the way his hand had tightened on the sword. He held Maximillian’s gaze for a moment longer than was necessary, his smile widening.Easy. We’re only playing.
And giving Maximillian an opportunity to strike. Cyrus was keen to get on with the action. He turned to face the crowd, raising his voice so that the last cowering peasant could hear him. “What do you say? Would you like the chance to fight me? To die for your champion?”
Scraping steel as Maximillian drew his sword. Cyrus whipped around just in time to see Maximillian leap for him. It was well done—the slash was close enough to make it appear that he had been trying to slice Cyrus’s head clean from his body, and yet with a sidestep Cyrus evadedhim without a scratch. Behind Maximillian, the governor squawked and dived into the safety of his guards, leaving the youngsters to scramble to find safety of their own.
Cyrus rolled back onto his heels, grinning, as Maximillian righted himself and turned to face him. A fierce hero, attacking a quick-footed villain in defence of innocents. Exactly as they sought to portray. He imagined Balthazar scratching away at an analysis from his vantage point. 10/10, no notes.
Cyrus clucked his tongue. “Now, now. If you’re going to be like that—”
“Leave the people alone,” snarled Maximillian, “or I will cut your head from your worthless body.”
The delivery couldn’t be faulted, the vicious edge almost enough to make Cyrus believe he meant it. But a thought popped suddenly into Cyrus’s head; an unspoken response to Maximillian’s words.Oh, but I’m worth quite a lot to you, aren’t I? Your little secret.Cyrus imagined how he would say it, almost a murmur, as he stepped into Maximillian’s space. Maybe he would even trace the shape of that snarl, just to rile him more. How Maximillian would bristle.
Why was he imagining that? Cyrus frowned, giving his head a minute shake to dispel the thought from his mind. A flicker of anger replaced it, as though Maximillian had deliberately planted that image to distract him.
Enough time-wasting. He wanted tofight.
Cyrus bared his teeth in the unfriendliest grin he could summon. “So do it, champion,” he said coldly, no trace of playfulness left in his tone. “Come and get me.” He tosseda careless glance over one shoulder at their wide-eyed audience. “Before I getthem.”
A split second of silence in the wake of his threat—and then Maximillian was on him. Cyrus was prepared, or at least as prepared as he could be, because prior experience or not, Maximillian was formidable. A flick of his thumbs had Cyrus’s daggers sliding free, and then he was meeting Maximillian’s attack head-on, metal clanging against metal, almost drowning out the gasps from the crowd.
Maximillian drove him back across the stage. Cyrus allowed it, biding his time and waiting for an opening. He got a slash in on Maximillian’s arm. The champion swore, ducking the other dagger as it sliced towards him. He punched Cyrus sharply in the shoulder, sending him reeling backwards. There he went again, fighting dirty.
Their dance continued with Cyrus on the attack this time. Someone in the crowd screamed as a shove sent Maximillian crashing down to the floor, Cyrus on him in an instant—and if this had been a real fight, he probably would have had enough time to get his dagger up against the delicate skin of Maximillian’s throat.
It crossed his mind, ever so briefly, that he could still do that if he wanted.
He could slice with the sharp edge of the blade rather than the flat for show. He could drench his hands in Maximillian’s lifeblood, kill him publicly here and now, secure his reputation once and for all. He could leave this place awash with tears and sorrow and grief, his name on everyone’s lips. He could leave Balthazar to weep over Maximillian’s corpseand wail about how they never should have got involved with a wrongdoer in the first place.
His thoughts must have been slightly too visible on his face, because Maximillian suddenly scowled at him. The expression looked out of place on the face of the man pinned below him, bordering on petulant.
“Don’t be a dick,” rasped Maximillian.
The words were unexpected, pushing back against the irrational anger that had swamped Cyrus. It left him in a rush, replaced by sudden awareness of the ridiculousness of their situation. He found himself biting back a startled snicker of laughter—only it wasn’t laughter that burst out of him, but an undignified yelp as the pommel of Maximillian’s sword bashed into the back of his head.
“Ow!Fuck!”
Cyrus rolled, one hand clutching at his crown as a litany of curses fell from his mouth. One of the governor’s guards made an abrupt movement as Cyrus rolled closer and climbed shakily to his knees, blinking back the stars that had begun to swirl in front of his eyes. Another weapon was raised towards him, an overexcited face beyond as a young guardsman saw his opportunity.
A familiar blade met the sword before it could fall on Cyrus’s neck, the clash enough to shake the stars from Cyrus’s eyes. He looked up sharply.
