search for her, surprised when he couldn’t spot her immediately. His gaze had always been drawn to her like a magnet, and because of her coloring and hair, she usually stood out.
Movement across the circle drew his attention from the audience. Glister was there whispering in Rumble’s ear. Ember had had the feeling that she was attempting to ingratiate herself with both brothers, hedging her bets to ensure that she found favor with whomever would be the next chieftain.
Still, whatever she told him made Rumble’s gaze zero in on Ember and harden. A chill went through him.
The match had already been brutal, but he got the sense his brother had been holding back. This was confirmed when Rumble spoke briefly to an assistant, who then retrieved a dagger.
In fights to the short death, the second round was when the stakes were raised. Weapons were not allowed in round one because longer matches kept the crowd more entertained. But now the blades would be drawn.
Ember sucked in a deep breath and searched for Mooriah again. Somehow, he’d expected her to be in the front row. But being unclanned, she’d probably been pushed to the back by someone eager for a better view.
As long as he won, he could ensure that she never had to face such indignities again. He palmed his own dagger, his resolve hardening as the gong sounded.
Back in the circle, they fought hard, both drawing from their long experience. Ember had been battling his brother all his life and knew his tricks. He managed to nick Rumble’s shoulder, which made the man growl and retreat.
“I hear you’ve been spending time with the little sorceress,” Rumble said as they circled one another, crouching low. “Wonder where she is now?”
Ember faked right but Rumble anticipated and was there to meet him, lashing out with the blade, but Ember was too quick and avoided the strike.
“After I win, I’ll make sure she’s never initiated,” Rumble continued. “She’ll be wandering the peaks with the nomads, reduced to eating guano before she’s ever a member of Night Snow.”
Ember grit his teeth, refusing to take the bait and lose focus. “You won’t touch her because you’ll never be chief. And she will be clan. She will be my wife.”
Rumble snorted. “Wife? She’s not good enough to even be our servant. When I’m chief there will be none of these unclanned parasites hanging around. They’ll all be kicked out, left to fend for themselves in the darklands or on the Outside.”
Ember shook his head and took advantage Rumble’s unguarded side. In a calculated move, he slashed out and retreated, but Rumble caught his leg and flipped him. As he fell, he reached out and embedded his blade in his brother’s side, just under the ribs.
His bones rattled as he hit the ground, hard, and Rumble howled in pain.
Blinking up at the ceiling high overhead, Ember’s jaw dropped. He’d landed a killing blow. He had won.
Rumble was on his knees, holding the knife sticking out of him. Ember sat up, beginning to rise, when Rumble attacked and struck his own blade into Ember’s belly. The move was illegal, the match was already over, but worse, the burning in his abdomen made it feel like the blade was made of pure fire.
He sputtered looking down at the blood pouring from him. It bubbled and frothed unnaturally.
Poison. He stared wide-eyed at his brother.
Ember’s ward against blades would do nothing against one with a poisoned tip.
He fell back to the ground in disbelief and stared at the ceiling until the darkness welcomed him.
~ 12 ~
Tempest of Enmity: Inflame tensions between opponents.
A fistful of ground blue ginger, two pinches star root, sweetened with rubia honey. Blood from five incisions corresponding to the Five Doorways of Breath.
—WISDOM OF THE FOLK
The sounds of the crowd rose and fell as the fight went on. Mooriah had tried everything she could think of to get herself out of this pit. She’d tried climbing, but the walls were smooth and slick. The maintainers used ropes and pulleys to get in and out, and she had none. She had beaten her hands against the rock walls until they were numb, to no avail.
She found no outlets from her dark prison. No holes to crawl through or other passages leading from where she was. Blood spells had not helped either. There was none she could think of that could make her fly or climb smooth walls. She tried to summon Oval or Murmur or one of Murmur’s