Page 48 of Nemesis Mine
But the shove had given someone in the crowd an idea. Cyrus didn’t hear the shout at first, too concerned with backing away from Maximillian’s blade as he rounded on Cyrus again, sword in hand. But then the voice rose again, fierce over the tumult, and Cyrus recognised its owner in the exact moment that he saw him standing there on the other side of the crowd.
Balthazar. Half visible over Maximillian’s shoulder, his expression grim. Their eyes locked, but Cyrus didn’t catch what he’d shouted—not until somebody else picked it up, and another, and another again, until a great bellow swelled around him, two dozen voices yelling out in excitement and fear.
“Grab him! Grab on to him!Hold him!”
Hands at his back again—but this time scrabbling to secure him, knotting into the fabric of his cloak and dragging him backwards. Cyrus wheezed as the knot suddenly tightened around his throat, his free hand coming up to claw at his neck. More hands appeared, the bravest citizens of Heliarth lunging to seize whatever they could and pin him in place. The circle in which they had been fightingseemed to have shrunk three times over, hemming them in, bringing Maximillian closer, and closer—
Closer, because he was advancing towards Cyrus, sword in hand. There was something strange in his eyes, almost panic, and yet his feet did not drag in the dust.
Too late, Cyrus remembered the night in his lair, the start of all this, smoke from his incense coiling lazily above their heads and Maximillian close enough to touch. He had told Maximillian that the champion could not come to Ranragh, to Cyrus’s territory, and walk away from the fight. That it looked like weakness. And if he did...
We fight to the death.
And now here they were in Heliarth. Maximillian’s home. Maximillian’s people all around.
His sword, glinting in the air.
The noise that erupted from behind Cyrus’s teeth was all instinct, a choked-off gasp of shocked pain. Molten fire where the blade bit into his side, burning in his veins. But it was Maximillian’s face that was seared into his vision. Maximillian, his eyes anguished, never leaving Cyrus.
Could anybody else see that emotion? Did anybody else recognise it?
No. They didn’t care enough to notice, too delighted that their champion had won. The crowd burst into cheering, buoyed into stepping closer as one, tightening the circle once again.
Cyrus lowered a trembling hand to the wound, sitting low to the left of his abdomen. His fingers brushed Maximillian’s blade. It seemed to jar Maximillian into action, hiseyes following the movement. Cyrus’s breath heaved. His fingers were already wet.
Then Maximillian’s eyes snapped back to his, and Cyrus saw reality rush in.
There was only one thing he could do. Cyrus saw it coming, tried to steel himself for the rush of pain, but even so he was unable to bite back a howl as Maximillian stepped back and yanked his blade from Cyrus’s flesh. Cyrus fell to his knees, no longer supported by grasping hands. Distantly he was aware of the uproar around him, the spatter of his own blood painting Heliarth’s dust a deeper red. He was aware of something else too, familiar heat rushing down his arms and into his fingertips. His magic, erupting in response to his pain. Cyrus had no control over it. He only knew that it was surging through him somewhere, somehow.
Someone touched his face, trembling fingers grasping his chin and tilting his face up. Maximillian. Cyrus would know his touch anywhere.
Maximillian stared down at him. Cyrus’s own eyes ached. Were they glowing purple? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t think past the fire in his side. Couldn’t see anything but Maximillian, drawing every part of him in.
A voice, oblivious and shrill, breaking through the crowd’s jubilance.
“You did it! Maximillian, you saved us!”
Maximillian let go of Cyrus and stepped back. He looked disorientated, blinking hard. Despite everything, Cyrus wanted to tell him to pull himself together. He needed to keep up the act. He had Cyrus kneeling in thedust at his feet. He should be triumphant. He should be celebrating.
The crowd had started to chant his name.Max-i-mill-ian, Max-i-mill-ian.They stamped on the ground. It reverberated beneath Cyrus, like they had called their own quake. A sea of faces stared down at Cyrus, mouths twisted into grins of delight, eyes hard and cruel and pleased. But they all morphed into one, into nothing. Blood pulsed insistently against his hand. He pressed tighter, trying to stem it. His arm felt heavy as rock, like he’d been hewn from Heliarth’s russet stone.
The people around him were beginning to spin, undulating and writhing in a sickening loop. Exhaustion crept like ice through his limbs. Cyrus blinked laboriously. His head threatened to droop and he fought to keep it up, only half aware of the way Maximillian’s gaze snapped to his face.
It must have triggered something within him, for in the next moment Maximillian raised his head and shouted in that champion’s voice that silenced all others.
“This is not how our feud shall end!”
The crowd quietened. Cyrus breathed shallowly, forcing himself to stay awake and watching through half-lidded eyes. Maximillian was looking not at him but at the crowd, turning in place to ensure he had everyone’s attention. He was back in control, self-assured and smiling, his sword loose by his side. Cyrus’s blood gleamed on the blade.
“Earthshaker has haunted my steps too closely over the past months. He has caused too much chaos and fear toearn such a simple end. I do not find it within myself to provide a quick death here. Alas, I cannot find the mercy.”
The crowd broke into cheering again. They liked the sound of that.
“And so I suggest that we make an example of him,” Maximillian continued. His powerful voice rose above the crowd. “We will imprison Earthshaker and have him stand trial for his sins. And then, people of Heliarth, we can decide upon an ending befitting of his crimes!”
The cheering reached new heights, loud enough to batter at Cyrus’s eardrums. Maximillian turned back towards him. His expression was that of the sneering champion, but his eyes seemed to be saying something else, boring into Cyrus like he was willing him to pick up on something unspoken.
Like he was urging Cyrus to go along with whatever he had planned. Like he wanted Cyrus to trust him.
