Eithan’s smile was painfully bright. “Which would you prefer?”

“I don’t believe you.” Ziel turned away and kept moving. “And I don’t do favors on faith.”

“Ah, but what if you were paid up-front?”

Ziel stopped.

Eithan rolled out a hand-sized scroll. A contract. “I perform the Pure Storm Baptism, and only if it is successful to your expectations, you repay me with your services as an employee for one year. Standard conditions for a Blackflame Empire Arelius family worker, though scaled up to reflect your position as an Underlord.”

Ziel tried to parse out whether Eithan was insane, overly idealistic, or trying to scam him.

He was leaning toward the scam.

The conditions were too good. If Eithan could successfully perform the procedure, that was worth Ziel’s oath to House Arelius for life.

“No,” he said at last. He couldn’t see the trap here, but he was certain there was one.

Eithan shrugged. “Ah, well. Let me know if you change your mind.”

He tossed the scroll and Ziel caught it on reflex.

For a moment, Ziel considered tearing it up to demonstrate his commitment. He was still sure this was a deception of some kind.

In the end, he slipped the scroll into his pocket.

15

Mercy’s Uncle Fury had left the Dreadgod battlefield to come see her fight.

He had personally killed Sophara’s great-aunt, and had lost friends of his own in his personal crusade against the gold dragons. He had spent hundreds of years campaigning against them, and she had been raised on stories of the thousands of human settlements they had annihilated.

He lowered himself to look her in the eyes, smiling easily, his hair drifting like black seaweed. “Loosen up,” he said. “You’ll be fine. We know all their tricks. Just go kill her.”

All the elders in the Akura head family were up next, giving her last-minute advice or cheering her on. Even Yerin gave her a straightforward attempt at encouragement.

When the time came and Mercy was released by the crowd, Aunt Charity took her by the shoulder and transported her to the tunnels beneath the stadium. “Sophara has not advanced yet. We have a solid plan for the first fight. Keep a calm head and a cool heart, and you will do us proud.”

Calm head, Mercy reminded herself. Cool heart.

As long as she won, the previous few matches wouldn’t matter.

Lindon, Ziel, even Eithan—she could make up for their elimination. If she won, the Heralds would know that the Akura clan would continue to be stronger than the gold dragons, and would hold the dragons back from reinforcing Sky’s Edge.

If she won, the Eight-Man Empire would throw their support behind her mother.

She wanted to prove Charity’s faith in her justified, she wanted to show her pride in the Akura name, and she knew that her victory here would save lives. Possibly including her mother’s.

And although it was less important, she just…wanted to win.

Sophara had burned her side, scorching her face and her scalp. She had recovered, and Charity had even helped her soothe the mental trauma left behind, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten. It had been agonizing.

She didn’t need to get back at Sophara. She had never really seen the point of revenge. But that burn was a reminder of how much stronger Sophara had been than Mercy.

She had been weak for too long. This was her chance to be the strongest again.

Charity reminded her to stay focused and to control the fight, not to get swept up in Sophara’s pace, and that they would reevaluate after the battle was over. But when the door to the waiting room opened, Charity didn’t enter.

Mercy’s mother was already inside.

Mercy couldn’t help it; she brightened and rushed up when she saw Malice. Though she still bowed in the presence of the Monarch.

Malice’s black lips turned up into a fond smile. “You’re not as excited as I thought you might be.”

“It’s hard to enjoy,” Mercy admitted, taking her void key from around her neck and putting it into a cabinet prepared for that purpose. She had Suu in her hand and the Moon’s Eye lens in her soulspace.

“You have been tasked with a burden far beyond what an Underlady should be responsible for. The lives of Monarchs are in your hands.” Malice leaned forward, and her smile showed teeth. “Isn’t that a rush?”

Mercy echoed her mother’s smile, but less confidently. She didn’t particularly like having dominion over the fates of others, but she knew Malice felt differently.

Malice tapped her on the forehead. “That tells me no. But you understand my meaning.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s me.”

Malice lifted her eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “Isn’t that up to you? I can tell you this much: it’s easier to love ruling than it is to love being ruled.”

Mercy limbered up, cycling her madra, tapping her bloodline armor for a moment so that her eyes started turning to amethyst before she released them. She was ready. She was in peak condition, and now she was about to unleash her full power against an opponent who could push her to her limits.

It had been years since she’d really let herself loose. At least if you didn’t count sparring against opponents like Fury or Charity, who could flatten her if they actually tried.

She didn’t know if she could enjoy wielding control over Monarchs, but channeling overwhelming power…that was fun.

Malice patted her on the arm. “That’s it. Now, remind them what my daughter can do.”

Sophara touched the guardian’s helmet and wished her sister good-bye.

They had covered Ekeri’s Remnant in plates of golden armor, so that her serpentine dragon form was more beautiful than ever, and had planned to use her as a guardian of her homeland. She could protect her home territory forever, or at least until she was finally destroyed in battle.

Instead, Sophara kept her sister’s Remnant in her own void key. The storage was now filled with beneficial natural treasures to create an aura-rich environment, and Sophara fed Ekeri scales whenever possible.

The dragon-spirit nuzzled against Sophara’s hand before the void key closed. A Remnant would never become the living person again, but it could eventually develop its own awareness. When it did, Sophara intended to treat the spirit as family.

As the space closed, it revealed that she wasn’t alone in her waiting room.

She panicked, dropping to her knees and pressing her forehead to the ground so that she wouldn’t look too long on the face of her ancestor.

Seshethkunaaz commanded her to rise, so she did, though she continued to avert her eyes. She was taller than he was, which made her too tall.

“Are you prepared?” the Monarch asked.

“I am.”

Sophara’s spirit was still cracked, but it hadn’t gotten worse. The longer she remained at the Underlord stage, the better.

But she could advance whenever she wished. Even if she ended up stuck as an Overlady, it would be worthwhile if she could eliminate the Akura family heir.

“Fight with the pride of the dragons,” the King said, “and I will be satisfied. Win or lose.”

Sophara was so shocked that she almost looked at his face. He was merciless toward weakness.