Page 133 of Junk Magic

There was nothing in her words that directly accused him of anything, but she somehow conveyed the impression that he’d been late on purpose. And the insult landed. The wolf eyes, already so disturbing in a human face, flashed and narrowed, and his lip curled.

But Sienna didn’t back down, or even act as if she’d noticed, and the room was trending her way. “Let him speak,” echoed from every corner—although less, I was pretty sure, in support of a vargulf or even a minor council member, and more about the drama. Cyrus had piqued their curiosity, and for the moment, it was enough.

“I was gone,” Cyrus repeated. “Exiled and disgraced, and you cleverly removed Lia by having her proclaimed vargulf, too, by lying to the entire Were community—”

“There was no lie!” Whirlwind snarled. “Your whore has Neuri, and now everyone knows it—”

“For that, I’m going to kill you slowly,” Cyrus promised, with a strange smile on his face.

“She has it!” Whirlwind looked around at the crowd. “Bring the bitch here and we’ll have her tested, in front of everyone!”

Some people seemed to like that idea, sending a cold chill up my spine. But Cyrus had the floor and he wasn’t ceding it. Nor did he look worried.

“Your delaying tactics won’t work, old man. You thought to discredit the Lady Accalia, Laurentia of Lobizon’s only daughter, and the adopted daughter of Sebastian of Arnou! Thought to besmirch her name and send the craven dogs of her old family chasing her, to make sure you did not have to face her again. You feared her—”

“I fear nothing!”

“She beat you—”

“She used magic—a trick—”

“She was out of magic, to the point of death. She used no trick. That was the gift of the Ulfheðnar, once the captains of our people. Long thought lost, but now reborn from a line known for it.”

At that, a murmur went around the room, because some people had clearly understood what he was talking about. Which was more than I did. But he ignored them, moving on.

“You thought that removing her would clear a path to victory. But you forgot—Sebastian has a brother. And now a champion!” Cyrus threw the badge of office onto the ground in front of Whirlwind, where it lay, gleaming under the lights. “You want it, old man? Then pick it up. But only after you’ve won it—the old-fashioned way. The Blood Path.”

A bigger murmur reacted to this, because the Blood Path was not merely a challenge. A regular challenge could end at any time, if either combatant chose to concede. Or if one was too badly injured for that, a family member could do it for him. It might come as a surprise to outsiders, but most Were challenges did not end in death.

Except for one.

The Blood Path was ancient, from a time far crueler than the present, and it was bound by different rules. Or to be more accurate, it was bound by none, save one: it only ended in death. Of one combatant, of both, it didn’t matter, but the fighting didn’t stop until someone had paid the ultimate price.

Whirlwind snarled, an echoing sound that reverberated around the room. But he didn’t bend down. He didn’t take it.

“You’re vargulf,” he scoffed. “You can’t challenge anyone, much less a member of council!”

“I am vargulf, it is true,” Cyrus said, looking around the room. “And I deserved it, if ever anyone has, for thinking that I could rule better than my brother. For casting family aside and challenging him for a position that I had no right to. Unbridled ambition made me determined to rule our clan, and possibly even all of you!

“I was wrong.

“I did not realize how much until afterward, at the sight of my family turning their backs on me. Then I felt true remorse, knew burning shame for what I had done. But there was no recourse. I accepted my fate, I left the family, and came out here to make my way however I could, thinking to trouble Sebastian no more.” His eyes slid back to Whirlwind. “But when I heard what had happened, when I understood that you had tried to fight him when he was half dead from protecting our people—”

“He was hurt protecting a thing, a filthy necromancer—”

“Dick,” I heard Jen whisper.

“—not one of ours—”

“That ‘filthy necromancer’ fought for us, as did a number of other powerful individuals—including my ‘whore’, as you called her. Where were you?”

“On my way,” Whirlwind snapped. “And had I been there, with the might of the great Clan Rand behind me, far fewer would have died! Your brother lost how many—”

“But you weren’t there,” Cyrus said, cutting him off with that simple truth. “You didn’t fight. They did—my brother, my mate, a handful of children, and a group of townspeople with only shotguns to help them against an army of well supplied mages. Yet they held out; they won. And you came in, conveniently late, to accuse them?”

Cyrus’s voice had been loud before, but now it had reached a crescendo that shook the rafters. Or, in this case, rattled the glass. For a second, I was afraid he’d break it, like an opera star going for a high note.

But then it went in the other direction, from a shout to a whisper, but one that carried. One that crawled up the spine and back down again, bringing shivers with it. Because he meant every word.

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