So what about her other champions? She would want Mercy to have an easy match, but the other Monarchs would try to stop that if they could.
“You have always been willing to set aside your personal ambitions when necessary, Northstrider,” Emriss said heavily. “But I am concerned about the goals of the Abidan. Which of us are they here to recruit?”
A look of anger slowly clouded Northstrider’s face. “They play with us like toys in their box, and I am as powerless as the rest of you. The messenger was clear. The competition will continue as planned next week. I could not restart the fourth round if I wanted to, nor even withdraw competitors who are grossly overqualified.”
He made an obvious gesture to Sha Leiala—or Miara, or whoever was under that light—and the woman gave a tinkling laugh.
Reigan Shen gave a slow, thoughtful purr. “Quite aside from the Abidan’s intentions, the arrowhead will certainly resolve disputes among us, don’t you agree? Who would dare to deny a proposal from one with the power of absolute execution?”
He spoke casually, but the attention of the room shifted to Malice. The dragon Monarch, leaning against the wall, gave her a cold smile.
The Queen of Shadows lowered one hand to the arm of her throne, no longer looking as content as she had before. “Whatever weapons you have, if you take one step onto my land, you will be forced to use them.”
Charity’s words drifted through Lindon’s mind, from before his training in the Akura family: “They want the Blackflame Empire.”
And Fury’s, from not so long ago: “The cat has a key to crack open the western labyrinth.”
Blood drained from Lindon’s face.
The Monarchs wouldn’t think of it in these terms, but they were deciding the fate of Sacred Valley. Right here, right now.
“Demonstrating our strength to earn support is no longer necessary,” Shen continued. “Whoever wins will decide.”
Seshethkunaaz smiled like a serpent. “The will of the victor be done.”
A cold vice settled around Lindon’s heart. The winner of the Uncrowned King tournament would decide what happened to the Blackflame Empire…and Lindon had been eliminated.
In fact, he was the only one of the top sixteen to have been removed so far.
Had Northstrider intended that? Or was it the heavens? Had Suriel sent Kiuran to remove her resurrected mortal from contention?
He reached into his pocket and held the warm glass marble, letting it calm him.
Shadows boiled behind Malice, but Northstrider didn’t react. He was supposed to be the greatest enemy of the dragons, and Lindon had been told that it was only his support of Malice that had prevented Reigan Shen from invading as he wished.
Was Northstrider just that outwardly calm, or was he really not worried?
Emriss Silentborn extended her diamond-flower staff, which exuded a peaceful blue-and-pink light. It suffused everything, and Lindon found his thoughts and his madra growing calm as she began to speak.
“Our cooperation was already strained, and now with this…I do not see any peaceful resolution. Whatever restrictions the Abidan put on us, I see no outcome to this competition but war.”
At the end of her sentence, her light was drowned out by a brighter, more powerful blue coming from the ceiling.
For the second time that night, a white-armored man drifted down from above.
None of the Monarchs expressed any surprise at seeing the Abidan descending here, as though they’d sensed him coming, but Lindon certainly hadn’t. Neither had Dross, judging by the shock Lindon felt from him.
The Hound, Kiuran, was a rat-like man with a thin beard and dark, beady eyes. Lindon could picture him as a petty thief more than a heavenly messenger, except for his attire.
He wore the smooth eggshell armor of the Abidan, and a purple eye the size of his head drifted on his shoulder.
[Doesn’t that look like me?] Dross asked. [I think so.]
“Do you think the eyes of heaven are blind?” Kiuran asked, and though he spoke at normal volume, Lindon had no trouble hearing him. “Any outcome you see, we saw long ago. Do not worry over the future, for that is my province.”
He steepled white-armored hands together. “In that capacity, I have come to give you further instructions. Before I do, let me remind you once again to play your game fairly. Any coercion or intimidation or violence or bending of the rules to influence the tournament will be resolved immediately. By me.”
He said it with the smug tone of someone who had complete confidence in his ability to handle a roomful of Monarchs, but none of them reacted in fear. Northstrider glowered, Reigan Shen rolled his eyes, and Malice sneered.
“We no longer need to waste time on your festivities,” Kiuran continued. “Events have outpaced you. The next fight of the fourth round will take place tomorrow, with one fight per day until the fourth round is concluded. That is all the time I will allow you.”
Lindon was grateful for Northstrider’s protection, because the Monarchs did not take the Abidan’s words well.
The very world twisted and rippled under their sudden anger, the walls and floor cracking, spirits fleeing and chandeliers melting like wax.
“Ludicrous,” Malice spat. “This will ruin everything. The news will have no time to spread.”
Though Northstrider’s expression was no different from usual, Lindon imagined he was an inch from trying to tear the Abidan apart. “If I had known the timeline would be altered, I would have changed the structure of the entire round. Am I the arbiter of this tournament, or are you?”
The rainbow-shrouded Ninecloud Monarch shifted uncomfortably. “We can’t prepare the arena so quickly. The effort and expense...”
“Have we run out of time so soon?” Emriss asked softly.
Kiuran tilted his head to her. “At least one of you understands. You are the ones who have no time for a lengthy tournament. If you still wish for time between rounds to train your students, then the length of the rounds themselves must be condensed. Unless you would prefer your competition to be interrupted by a Dreadgod.”
Lightning shot through Lindon’s spine.
Malice waved a hand dismissively. “We are prepared for the Titan’s awakening.”
The Abidan gave an ugly laugh. “You are so proud of your dim sight. I tell you now, you have less than three months before the Wandering Titan rises. If the tournament is not resolved by that time, your squabbling will bring on this world a disaster worse than the Dreadgod. I have saved you from yourselves.”
None of the Monarchs looked pleased, but none protested either. They looked worried, pensive, each deep in their thoughts.
Lindon couldn’t begin to guess what changes would come from this information, but great wheels had begun to turn in the machinery of the world.
What would this mean for him?
“Now that I have removed your distractions, you can focus on the tournament,” Kiuran continued. “If you want to win, then push your children to improve. Of course, if you can persuade your opponents to throw a match without using intimidation or threats, I will accept that result as well.”
Lindon’s mind whirled. Yerin was still in the competition, but she was unlikely to be able to beat Sophara or Sha Miara, even discounting the other fighters.
If persuasion was allowed, that meant bribery. Maybe she could walk away from this with treasures worth more than the prizes.