Page 45 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

King Athanas nodded his head, and for the first time in a long time, his father looked proud.

As he entered the ring, unsheathing his sword from behind his back, Ember stood silently on the other side. They would only be like this for a few moments, until the sun reached its peak and the shadows disappeared. Whispering to Ember, Ajax covered his mouth so Kohl could not make out the words. She still wore the same navy fighting leathers embossed with the symbol of Alentus. Ember grasped her lithe hands in Ajax’s, looking him straight in the eyes. Thank you, Kohl could see her say before also stepping into the ring.

Her hair was pinned back even tighter than before, to keep the long blonde strands from blocking her line of sight. She unsheathed a thin bronze sword with a delicate turquoise leather wrap as a grip, a matching bronze and turquoise shield was attached to the forearm of her left arm, her wrist cuffs still prominent, protecting a fragile area. The simple crown of the Prytan of the Spartanis sat upon her golden locks, shimmering in the high sun.

As the sun inched closer and closer to its peak, the crowd around began to hush. The tradition was simple, fight until first blood. It was then common for the person who was struck to yield. No vote would occur after. The Wrecking of the Throne was binding.

Again the commander spoke, his voice much warier than earlier in the day. “Through the blood that is spilled on the sands of our people, so shall our leader rise.” He raised his hand over the center of the ring, letting sand from the shores of Alentus trickle down. “May the Grechi give their blessing.” He bowed to each challenger as was tradition before exiting the ring.

Kohl locked eyes with Ember, bowing to each other as well. His shadow inched its way back to his body.

“Begin!” Ajax’s voice rang clear throughout the courtyard. No one dared to murmur as the Wrecking commenced.

Kohl stared Ember down as she took a fighting stance, one foot slightly back from the other, knees bent, shield up protecting her chest, sword gripped tightly in her right hand. He began to circle the ring, dragging his sword in a line through the sand. He felt bad for taunting her, but he would need to put on a bit of a show. Not only for himself, but to convince the crowd that Ember possessed some skill, some fighting chance to one day lead the Spartanis. She followed his movements closely, weaving her steps in the same manner, her breathing calm and still.

Beads of sweat began to creep down Kohl’s neck before either of them had even taken a blow, neither wanting to be the first to strike. Ember’s eyes faltered to her feet just once, for only a moment, and Kohl took the opportunity to lunge. Metal clashed against metal as Ember planted firm through her legs, blocking his blow with her sword. Again he struck, this time she took the force with the shield, his edge slicing into the leather strip that went across the bronze circlet.

Ember pivoted, lunging the tip of her sword toward his bad shoulder. The same one Katrin had injured. The one that had miraculously recovered in a matter of days. Kohl’s eyes narrowed, thinking back to that day, to Katrin and how she had lied to him. Ember had taken advantage of that, of his emotions when she struck. He spun quickly, avoiding the blade, and sliced across her left arm, drawing blood. The warm red liquid trickled down, glistening on the cuffs she wore.

“Yield!” Kohl yelled.

For a second, Ember clutched the cut along her upper arm, wincing from pain. Sweat dripped from her brow and along her lip, her breathing labored. She lunged at him, screaming, sword connecting with sword once more. She struck one, two, three times, inching him toward the corner of the ring. It was enough of a display of skill that the people of the isles would be impressed.

Kohl blocked her fourth strike, but missed as the blade quickly came back toward his face, a thin cut sliced across his cheek. That was the last time a Drakos woman would get him. He swung his blade out behind her, cutting the back of her thigh. Ember staggered back.

“Yield, Ember!” He did not want to hurt her, but he had to fight until she yielded. It was the way of the Wrecking. If he just stood there he would look weak, which would only entice Nexos to attack, or try again to steal what would soon be his position of power. His thoughts were dizzying as he followed the princess in front of him.

“I will not!” Ember’s hair was now matted against her skin, the golden hue streaked with red from each attempt to brush loose strands from her face.

He struck again with more force, hitting against her shield and knocking her from her feet. “Don’t do this, Ember. It’s over.”

She stood up, limping toward him as she raised her blade in a fighting stance, even with the pain of the two blows still lingering on her face.

It was embarrassing. A warrior of many years battling a young princess. Kohl could see his father’s distaste as he mouthed the words, End it.

He swung once more, knocking the sword from her bloody palm. “Yield!” he repeated.

“I. Will. Not. Yield.” Her voice was raspy through her gritted teeth.

Dust and sand swirled around her on the ground. Her wounded arm trying with all its might to hold the shield above her as Kohl’s sword came down.

He glanced sideways at his father again, his ebony eyes darkening to an emotionless abyss. He kicked her shield and it went flying out of the ring. “If I have to repeat myself again, Ember, you will not like what happens next. Now, yield!” Kohl yelled, his voice ricocheting off the stone walls of the courtyard.

Her chest heaved, tears starting to well in the base of her amber eyes. She clenched her hands into fists, ready to go punch for punch with him. “For Katrin, I will not yield.”

That was it. His undoing.

“This is for Katrin,” he seethed.

Kohl lifted his sword driving the hilt into the side of her head.

All in the crowd went silent. All but Ajax, whose blood-curdling scream could be heard across the Mykandrian Sea. Kohl stepped from the ring, leaving a motionless Ember lying behind him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Katrin

The wind had picked up aboard The Nostos, sending the ship swiftly toward its first port. While they continued on their journey to the isle Lesathos, the seas began to turn. The usual calm and crystal waters around Alentus churned, turning a deep green hue. Waves peaked with white foam crashed against the sides of the ship.

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