Page 35 of Nemesis Mine
“Your swordsmanship is good,” said Cyrus, flatly. “Which you’re clearly already aware of, since you made such a spectacle of showing it off.”
Something like disappointment flashed across Maximillian’s face. Cyrus ignored it.
Maximillian leaned back, putting more distance between them. “Good enough, I suppose.” He took a longsip, nearly finishing his drink in one. It stained his lips to plum. “That wasn’t so hard.”
“You say that,” Balthazar observed, “but why does he look like he just ingested poison?”
“Shut up, Balthazar,” said Maximillian, a frosty edge to his voice, just as Cyrus turned on him and said loudly, “Why are you here again?”
The sudden movement seemed to spook Balthazar a little; he tried and failed to hide a slight flinch at Cyrus’s abrupt turn. Or maybe it was in response to Maximillian addressing him in that tone? Either way, Balthazar recovered himself quickly with a scowl to rival a wrongdoer’s, fixing Cyrus with a prim glare.
“I’m here because I was informed I needed to be here,” he said stiffly. “Believe me when I say I would rather be anywhere else.”
“Yeah, we can all tell,” muttered Maximillian.
Cyrus jerked his head towards the champion. “He said you’re here because you know his diary, all the events he’ll be attending,” he said flatly. “So let’s get the next showdown planned and then you can fuck off.”
Balthazar’s lips pressed tightly together. His eyes found Maximillian, a plea for support. The champion hesitated.
When the awkward silence dragged on a beat too long, Balthazar took a breath and plastered on a neutral expression. He leaned over the side of the chair to sift through the contents of his small leather satchel. A scroll of parchment emerged, formidably thick. Cyrus caught a glimpse of Balthazar’s neat handwriting, listing event after event.
“Busy boy,” said Cyrus. He thought he saw Maximillian’s lip twitch.
“Go on, Bal,” said Maximillian. His tone had softened again, encouraging now.
“Maximillian wants a private meeting before the next scheduled event,” said Balthazar. He seemed to have decided that addressing the parchment was the best option. “To coordinate the physical elements.”
“The physical elements?” Cyrus echoed.
“Oh, yeah. I thought it would be better, next time, if we do choreograph the fight ahead of time.” Maximillian held up an appeasing hand, as though he expected an interruption. “Not all of it, but... more than we did last time. I think we’ve got room to go even bigger, as long as we’re both on the same page about what’s happening.”
Cyrus recalled his dagger at Maximillian’s throat, the rapid patter of his pulse. Ha. Perhaps he’d frightened the champion too, as well as all the onlookers. But if this was in the name of more drama, he wasn’t about to stand in the way. “If you insist.”
“Bal, a date—?”
“There’s some room next week,” Balthazar muttered. With clear reluctance, he tilted the parchment so that Cyrus could see. “A couple of evenings.”
Cyrus made a contemplative noise under his breath. In truth, he was free both evenings, and indeed every evening for the rest of the week. But he wasn’t about to admit that in the face of Maximillian’s busy social calendar.
“That one,” he said, tapping the closer date. “Suppose I can fit you in.”
Balthazar fished out a quill and bent his head over the parchment. The scratch of the nib filled the silence between them.
Maximillian leaned in. “So if we’re doing that next week, how about the week after for a fight—what have I got lined up?”
Balthazar set his quill down and adjusted the scroll. The length of it tumbled down from his knees. Cyrus eyed it, trying to imagine having so many social commitments, and didn’t bother to mask his shudder.
Maximillian caught him looking. When their eyes met, he grimaced too. Cyrus hid a flare of surprise. Did the champion not thrive on the adulation, no matter the source?
“You’re due to attend a public meeting regarding the proposal to increase the shipping lanes from Heliarth’s port to the northwest port below Eborre,” Balthazar said, squinting down at his own handwriting. “That’s next week—”
“Boring,” said Maximillian.
“—or there’s the annual city hall gathering, you’ll need to meet all the new guild masters in the city, there’ll be a handshake opportunity there—”
Maximillian made an impatient noise. “Even more boring.”
“It could be a good chance to show your people that you’re still very much present in your city,” Balthazar said pointedly.
