Page 58 of An Empress of Earth & Darkness

Torin kneed his father in the gut and then delivered an elbow to Viktir’s jaw. It bought him enough time to free his sword and disarm one of Viktir’s. The weapon fell to the ground with a heavy thump and Torin kicked it aside, then corrected his stance.

Naya gasped behind her hand, and Breighly let out a sharp curse.

“Evenly matched again.” Viktir sneered.

“This isn’t an even match, old man.” Torin’s cocky grin pulled across mouth as both men circled each other. “It hasn’t been an even match since I returned from the Selection, bigger and better than you, and you know it.”

“Always talking yourself up, Torin.” Viktir sniggered as his fingers gripped the hilt of his only sword. “But do I need to remind you in front of everyone that I was always the one who beat that stupid smirk from your face?”

Viktir lunged forward, going for Torin’s throat. Leaning back as his father’s sword almost severed his head, Torin twisted and kicked out into Viktir’s stomach. The commander stumbled back, losing his balance. Torin was on him again, and he swung his sword with a roar, every muscle in his body engaged as he propelled Viktir’s final weapon from his hands.

Viktir wasted no time, and stuck his boot in Torin’s knee. He wobbled, hissing as his body tensed in pain. Viktir seized the moment and tackled Torin to the ground.

Emara let out a squeal and covered her eyes. Air lodged in her throat. All she knew was that Viktir had landed on top of Torin. She could feel his brothers both taking a step forward.

It was then that Naya let out a desperate cry, “Not my boy. Please, Rhiannon, not my son.”

The scream rolling up Emara’s throat was hideous, full of fear, rage, and darkness. But she couldn’t scream, not when Torin was fighting. He would know it was her.

Finding courage from deep within, Emara peered at the fight again.

Viktir’s harsh hands began pummelling into Torin’s face. “Does this bring back any memories?” he spat venomously. “Putting you back in your place.”

The only answer Torin gave back was a grunt as the blood spilled from his mouth, his head snapping from side to side by the force of his fists.

“Come on, Torin,” Gideon shouted. His entire body was now jolting with anxiety. “Get the fuck up!”

All the hairs rose on Emara’s arms and neck as she took another step forward. She had never heard Gideon’s tone so brutal, and it added to the fear that was now vibrating up and down her spine. “Get up, Torin,” she whispered. “Get up. Please.”

Out of nowhere, Torin’s huge fist broke through the air, and he took a swing at the man on top of him.

Viktir’s head snapped to the side as Torin’s fist battered his cheek. Torin was quick to roll onto his side as the commander fell on his back. He straddled his father as the blood ran down his head and into his eyes, and it was then that Emara could see how bloody his face was. His mouth was split open, ruby-red blood running down his chin, and his left eye was almost closing over.

Artem Stryker’s booming clap pounded through the space in support of his violent comeback, and Emara considered it to be one of the loudest sounds she had ever heard. “That’s it, Tori-boy. On your feet, sunshine. Get up. Come on.”

She could feel the nerves waving from Artem too. The inked warrior always wore some sort of cheeky grin, but not right now. In any other circumstances, his nickname for Torin would have made her smile.

Torin forced himself up and onto his feet, but Viktir’s arm shot out, grabbing his ankle and pulling. The crowd broke into a frenzy as Torin tumbled back down on top of the commander.

Torin used the extra force of gravity to his advantage and whacked his head into Viktir’s face.

There was a horrific crunching sound, and blood burst from Viktir’s nose. The crowd sucked in a breath. A rumbling groan broke from Viktir’s throat, but Torin had stunned him enough to allow himself to land another punch. And another, and then another. He hit him again and again, his fists bursting skin, beating bones…

Emara could feel the sick in her stomach swirl again, around and around like a portal.

“Finish him, Torin,” someone roared from the crowd, and suddenly, Emara felt like she was back in the pits.

Torin leaned over his father’s limp body, gripping one of the swords that lay glistening in the morning sun. The twinkle of the blade shone lethally as he got to his feet and pointed the steel at his father’s heart.

Everyone who watched took a step forward, even the chief commander.

Emara took a moment to consider that this awful tradition could be over soon if Torin drove the sword through Viktir’s heart. But he hadn’t moved. Torin’s face looked tortured, his brows pulling into a scowl as his burst eyebrow bled all down his face.

Emara wanted to go to him, but she rooted her feet to the ground, her magic urging her to heal him. The sword in Torin’s hand began to shake. He roared and jabbed at the man lying in a pool of blood again.

But the blade did not enter flesh or bone.

“Fucking do it, you coward. Stick your sword through my heart.” Viktir’s cruel voice breached the morning air. “Go on then, do it.”

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