Page 61 of Nemesis Mine
And yet.
“I went to your lair first but you weren’t there,” Maximillian snapped.
Cyrus glared, suspicious. His fingers were freezing but his grip on Maximillian’s arms did not relent. “Why?”
Maximillian set his jaw. Haughty, for someone drenched to the bone with crystallising salt smeared across his cheekbone and a slimy tendril twisted into usually impeccable locks. “I wanted to see you.”
“You could have sent a raven.”
“You would have just destroyed a letter. And probably the raven too.” The response was immediate. “I know you.”
He was right. Cyrus probably would have tried to cook the bird in one of his pies.
“And I thought we should talk about this in person,” Maximillian added, pointedly, “considering what we di—”
“I told you,” Cyrus gritted out before Maximillian could finish that sentence. He couldn’t talk about that, not now. “Itoldyou, if you came here, it was a fight to the death.”
Maximillian locked eyes with him. He tipped his chin up, every inch the arrogant champion, heedless of his soaked hair and his sopping shirt and the wrongdoer pinning him to the shore.
“Kill me, then,” Maximillian said. “If you really want to. Go on. Do it.”
There were so many ways he could do it. His nemesis, caught under his hands, no longer fighting him.
Cyrus didn’t move. Waves surged around them, seabirdsshrieked overhead, his people stared agog from the harbour wall. His fury ebbed with the tide. None of it mattered, only Maximillian.
“You don’t want to hurt me,” Maximillian whispered. It didn’t sound triumphant; only tired and faintly wondering. “Cyrus, I don’t want to hurt you either.”
Gods of all the seasons, it was true. Cyrus squeezed his eyes closed. He felt Maximillian’s hand twitch under his grip as though he was suppressing the urge to touch his face.
They couldn’t, not here. But if he wasn’t going to kill Maximillian here on Ranragh’s shore, what was he going to do?
The dilemma must have been obvious on his face, because Maximillian spoke again in that soft urgent voice.
“Hit me,” he whispered. “I’ll pretend it hurt more than it did. And I—I’ll see you later. I’ll come to you.”
It wasn’t enough. Cyrus couldn’t just deliver a single punch and saunter away, letting his people believe he’d tolerated such encroachment onto his territory. He had to make them think that he was still the gamemaster here.
Driven by instinct, Cyrus kept his eyes closed. It was strange, reaching for his magic with water lapping insistently all around him, but he willed his power to extend further and reach deeper. There—a submerged meadow of seagrass, not too far away, sprouting thickly from the ocean floor. It would have to be enough.
He focused all his effort and his might upon the seagrass, pushing through the pulsing interference of the tide.Heave, he whispered.I need you to heave.
The seagrass twitched, distracted by feeding crabs.Cyrus pushed harder with his magic until he felt a frisson of understanding run through the plant. It did not twist its roots as deep as its cousins on land, but they were deep enough. The seagrass began jerking, then undulating, stirring sediment and chopping up the water.More, Cyrus insisted. The meadow was large enough for this to work; it had to be.Give me more.
A shudder ran along the beach. Pebbles spasmed. Up on the harbour wall, the people of Ranragh froze.
Cyrus opened his eyes. He could feel the heat of his magic in them, the wild purple glow that suffused his irises. Maximillian was staring up at him, transfixed, almost shocked. Purple fire reflected in the champion’s eyes. Cyrus could have stared forever.
“Earthshaker,” breathed Maximillian, as though there had never been any doubt. A shiver teased down Cyrus’s spine, hearing that name once more from those lips.
But he had to play his part. He sneered, letting go of the champion’s wrists to grab his soaked shirt. Cyrus reared back, dragging Maximillian with him, then thrust him back down, hard.
If he stilled before Maximillian’s head went under and hit the stones, letting the water catch him, nobody had to know.
Maximillian played his part, rolling sideways and clutching at his head like he’d been dealt a terrible blow. Cyrus climbed to his feet and walked slowly forward, raising his face to stare at his townsfolk. The beach shuddered under his feet, and his eyes still glowed with threat.
“Why so afraid?” he shouted. “Did you think that yourprecious Maximillian was here to save you? Do you not see how easily I best him?” Plausible. Probably. They hadn’t heard a word of it; for all they knew Cyrus had pinned him down to spit a very long insult in his face. “He is no match for me! It would be a waste of magic to destroy him. Yet I saw how you looked at him. Such hope.”
He came closer, savagely pleased when the crowd took a collective step back. Cyrus didn’t speak again until he had ascended the stone steps to their level, dripping salt water in a murky puddle as his gaze lingered over stricken faces.
