“Uncle Fury!” she called.

There was a long pause as no one responded.

Unveiling herself and spewing madra while trying to attract Fury’s spiritual attention was similar to screaming and waving her arms in the middle of a silent theater audience. Everyone around her would be bothered, including most likely Fury himself.

Lindon slid up to Yerin’s side. “Pardon,” he muttered, “I’m sure she knows best, but isn’t there a more…polite…way to contact a Herald?”

“Bleed me if I know.”

“Uncle Fury!” Mercy shouted again. “Please! We have a—”

A gust of wind blew in from the suddenly open window. The tree’s leaves whipped, an empty chair tumbled across the floor, and Yerin’s hair was blown into Lindon’s eyes.

Akura Fury stood in the center of the room.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, muscled like a heroic statue, and his black robe hung open to reveal several inches of bare chest. His liquid-shadow hair drifted up as though caught by a current, and his red eyes shone from the shadows.

He raised one hand. “Hey, Mercy! Sorry, but this isn’t a great time. We’re pretty busy right now.”

“Is Sha Miara a Monarch in disguise?”

Red eyes crawled away from Mercy.

Fury shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He licked his lips. He looked up to the ceiling as though hoping heaven would give him the answer. Finally, he raised a hand to scratch at the back of his head.

“Noooo…?”

It was the least convincing cover-up Lindon had ever heard.

The Herald could tell, because he made a frustrated sound. “I guess that secret is coming out already. No one’s going to keep quiet now that Monarch lives are on the line. Still don’t…talk about it too much, okay?”

Yerin threw up her hands. “How are we supposed to fight a Monarch?”

“She’s limited to Underlord,” Fury explained. “The rest of you have the possibility of advancing, but she can’t. She had to give up her prizes, all the other Ninecloud competitors on her team were weaker than usual, and the Court paid a fortune in compensation to the rest of us. Plus, it was supposed to be a way to avoid paying out on the grand prize, but now…”

He ran both hands through his hair as though he was about to pull it out. “Listen, I really don’t have time for this. I’m leaving in the morning, and I’m taking most of the family fighters with me.”

Mercy’s face fell, and she leaned more heavily on her staff. “We haven’t even gotten to the Uncrowned yet.”

“I know.” Fury looked more disappointed than Mercy. “Our timeline’s been moved up, and we want to get in position before the dragons or anybody else. But hey!” He perked up. “At least it should be fun. There’s a Dreadgod!”

Mercy and Yerin exclaimed at that, but Fury was already dangling out the window. He poked his head back in and looked from Lindon to Yerin. “Oh, right! Great fight, kids! Great fight! We should spar sometime!”

He smiled brightly and vanished in another mighty gust of wind.

“Don’t fight him,” Mercy advised. “He doesn’t hold back as well as he thinks he does.”

“What’s he saying about the Dreadgods?” Yerin asked, and Mercy shrugged.

Eithan sighed, and Lindon realized he hadn’t said a word while Fury was around. “There’s been buzz for quite a while now about the Wandering Titan stirring. But I think I may not be the most informed on the subject. Lindon?”

Lindon had gone so far astray from the message he had originally intended to relay that it took him a few seconds to reorganize his thoughts.

“The judge of the Uncrowned King tournament took me aside tonight.” He waited to make sure they understood who he was talking about, and Mercy and Yerin both looked at him in obvious shock. Eithan leaned forward, toying with a pair of scissors.

Lindon recounted the evening, trying to avoid naming as many Monarchs as possible. He didn’t know that was necessary—he hadn’t been instructed not to tell anyone—but it was better to be safe.

When he finished, Eithan looked off into the distance, uncharacteristically serious.

Sword madra flashed around Yerin’s fingertips as she thought. Lindon felt blood madra surge within her spirit, so her Blood Shadow was mulling it over too.

“Mother won’t want too much out of you,” Mercy assured him. “You’ve done our family proud. I’m afraid it might be my fault that you two had to fight each other; she would have made whatever deal necessary to get me an easy match.”

She bobbed her head in apology, but Yerin waved her off. “If she paved you an easy road, then that’s one sure win. Two, if you count me and Lindon. She had to give something up.”

As one, they all turned to Eithan.

He was still staring off into the distance and fiddling with his scissors. “Yes, it would seem that I have been thrown to the proverbial wolves. Our situation has grown overly complicated. You two might have to fight for the fate of the Empire on your own.”

“I’m so sorry, Eithan,” Mercy said. “When are you fighting?”

“I have been instructed to prepare to fight tomorrow morning,” Eithan said, “but I’m certain you have as well.”

She nodded.

“Most of us remaining in the fourth round have, I would suspect, though regrettably I haven’t been able to check everyone. They wish to keep us unsure about our opponents. But now that we can be sure it isn’t randomly chosen…”

He snapped his scissors open and closed.

Lindon took over his line of thought. “Who is a guaranteed loss for you?”

“I just want to see somebody mess up your hair,” Yerin put in.

Eithan slipped his scissors away and pressed his fingertips together. “There are six people remaining in the competition who I would prefer not to fight. But there are only three, I believe, that the Monarchs would consider a definite loss for me.”

“Sophara,” Yerin suggested.

“She is the first. The second is in this very room with us.”

Mercy winced.

“And the third is the young woman we were just discussing.”

They were talking about Sha Miara as a competitor in the tournament, not as a Monarch, so surely this wouldn’t attract her attention. Also, she was restricted down to Underlord. But Lindon didn’t want to be the one to say her name.

“You tossing your sword away?” Yerin asked.

Eithan had spent much of his life in the Blackflame Empire, as Lindon understood it. Surely he would feel enough attachment to it to try to defend the Empire when its safety was on the line.

“To tell you the truth, I had intended to withdraw myself from this competition before taking an Uncrowned title. Too much notoriety would tie my hands. However, now…now I believe we might have an opportunity.”

Hours after returning to his room, Lindon was snapped awake by Dross’ voice.

[Hey. Lindon, hey. You should stop being asleep.]

Lindon shot up and conjured Blackflame before he realized he was in his own bed. His spirit was calm, and he sensed no threat. Little Blue mumbled sleepily from the flowerpot where she slept.