Page 80 of Nemesis Mine
Applause met her words, a few calling out in agreement. Forwick inclined her head, waiting for the noise to subside.
“As you know, the polls closed yesterday and our team has been hard at work overnight counting each vote. The process has been verified twice over.” She raised her voice, looking towards the castle door. “The results, please.”
A young man scuttled out, wearing a crimson tunic that clashed unpleasantly with his pink complexion. He blinked at the sunshine and cast a nervous look towards the crowd as he hurried up to the podium, holding out a parchment scroll sealed with the Federation’s wax. Forwick took it from him, breaking the seal and smoothing it out on the podium.
“Here and now, we present your new champions to you. We begin with the town of Beksgard. Please join me in congratulating Beksgard’s steward for the next three years—your reigning champion, Z’graf!”
Z’graf stepped out onto the castle steps, as intimidating as her depictions, formidably tall and clad in a glinting breastplate, a spear strapped to her back. The applause was thunderous. Journalists scribbled frantically. Z’graf joined Forwick on the podium for a confident handshake and a speech, but Cyrus only half listened, too busy wondering what Max was doing behind that door.
Z’graf was quickly shepherded out of the courtyard to yet more applause. There would be more journalists waiting, keen to interview the reigning champion.Athaca Newswould be full of it for the next week, all the fine promises made by so many fine champions.
Forwick announced another, and another. Cyrus shifted his weight from foot to foot with an increasing sense of agitation. The apprehension in the air was almost tangible, a hush falling over the crowd before every name.
Cepha, Dorre, Durov itself, Eborre. Heliarth’s turn came—
—and went. Cyrus blinked as Forwick moved on to others, Kalkamarsh and Marinhold and Patterwood. Champions appeared to cheers, shook hands with Forwick, delivered their speeches, and moved on. Cyrus watched, perplexed, as they left the courtyard and disappeared through the metal gate for their interviews.
Time tiptoed on with no mention of Heliarth, until every other town and city had been named. Cyrus’s nerves were roiling by the time the shout came.
“And lastly, for the city of Heliarth!”Finally.“We thank you for your patience as we confirmed our votes.”
Cyrus’s stomach clenched tight. Confirming votes. That meant it had been close. He stared at Forwick unblinkingly, holding his breath. She seemed to drag the moment out, her gaze sweeping the crowd like she was playing up to the drama of Heliarth’s delayed result.
Forwick looked back down at the parchment. She cleared her throat, conjured a winning smile. At last, she called, “For Heliarth, I give you your champion... Maximillian!”
Cyrus’s breath left him in a whoosh, the vice of his stomach unclamping. A storm of clapping rose, raucous. There were some surprised mutters too. He hardly heard them, too focused on the castle steps.
Max stepped out.
Cyrus’s eardrums ached from the noise. Everyone else became distant to him, irrelevant. There was only Max, standing there in the sunlight, more beautiful than ever,because now he knew how Max thought, how he dreamed, how he laughed when there was nobody but Cyrus around to hear. He knew the way the muscles moved in his shoulders, his thighs, his arms, the feeling of each scar and bone and pore. He knew how Max looked when he was asleep and vulnerable, how he felt on him and under him and in him.
Max paused on the steps, taking in the crowd, and smiled. Cyrus had tasted that smile. He had touched it, felt it widen in amusement as the pads of Cyrus’s fingers traced out every part of him.
It almost made Cyrus want to sit down on the ground just to breathe through the enormity of the feelings that hit him. All his life, he’d forced emotions to the back of his mind, pushed them away with everything he had.
But he didn’t want to push this away. When it came down to it, after Cyrus peeled back the defensive layers and the prickling resistance from a lifetime of wrongdoing, there was simply a quiet, sincere adoration at the very core of him.
“You did it, Maximillian!” someone cried out from nearby.
Max heard her as he walked towards the platform. He turned, red cloak billowing out behind him. He must’ve borrowed that; Cyrus had rummaged through his wardrobe at length, and he’d never seen it before. Perhaps he thought it better to dress like the Federation’s man through and through.
As Max searched for the woman who had spoken, Cyrus pushed his hood back just enough to let Max catch a glimpse of his face. Their eyes locked.
Surprise.
He was half expecting Max to frown at him—though really, had he honestly thought Cyrus would be content to stay behind? Either that or he’d grin, election nerves abandoned and eager to flirt with danger now that he didn’t have to worry that his position was about to be yanked from under him.
Instead Max’s mouth twisted like he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do with his face. He looked away. Whoops. Cyrus hadn’t meant to throw him off in front of all these people. Still, he could always come up with an inventive almost-apology later.
“Maximillian,” said Forwick, beckoning. “Come, join us.” She stepped aside to make more room. Max jogged up, his movements light and easy. As he reached Forwick, she embraced him and said something. Max nodded. Forwick turned back to the crowd, holding up a hand to quieten them.
“Yes, I know. I know,” she said. This too was different. With every other champion she had stood back to let them deliver their speech, then moved on to the next. “Believe it or not, this is the sixth election that Maximillian has won in Heliarth. That marks fifteen years of service so far, with three more to come.” She clapped his shoulder. “Maximillian, we thank you. You have done so much for us over the years. Athaca and its people are eternally grateful.”
Was she trying to steal Max’s thunder? Cyrus frowned, but Max only inclined his head with a gracious smile.
“And hehasdone so very much,” Forwick continued, turning her gaze back to the assembled listeners. “More,I imagine, than many of us know. The life of a champion can often seem glamorous to those on the outside, full of prizes and the cheers of adoring crowds; but for the champions themselves, it is a job—and a difficult one, at that. Maximillian, I believe your many years of stewardship over Heliarth can provide much in the way of learning for the younger champions among our flock.”
“It is an honour,” Max said smoothly. “Equally, there is much I could probably learn from them.”
