Mercy stood over him, veil lifted, her staff in the form of a bow.
“...test yourself against me ,” Mercy was saying, with more anger in her voice than Lindon had ever heard. “If you're too much of a coward for that, then go cry to Mother.”
Pride looked to the side, past his sister. “Uncle Fury, do you want this representing the Akura family?”
A man walked into Lindon's view, laughing sheepishly, as though he felt guilty about something and was trying to laugh it off. He wore a loose black sacred artist's robe, but only one layer, with a bare chest revealed beneath. He looked to be perhaps thirty-five or forty, with hair made of living shadow. It rose and drifted and shifted like sea-grass in the currents. Unlike the others present, his eyes were bright red.
“Hmmm, I don't know.” Fury’s voice was bright, reminding Lindon more of Mercy than of anyone else he'd met in the family. “He looked pretty weak, but you did attack him before he was ready.”
“Talk to Aunt Charity,” Pride insisted. “He doesn't deserve her nomination.”
Lindon’s hope rose as his Blackflame madra faded away. Akura Fury evidently had the power to decide the competitors for the Uncrowned King team. He could send Lindon home.
“Eeehhhh...I taught Charity myself, when she was a girl. She's always had good eyes.”
Lindon pushed himself to his feet. The ache in his body was dull, but the pain in his spirit was sharp.
With effort, he pushed his fists together to salute the man he suspected was a Herald.
“Forgiveness, but I was not raised with the training of the Akura clan. I do not see how I could be worthy to compete beside Mercy or Pride.”
Pride’s head jerked back as though Lindon had struck him, but Mercy sighed. She knew what he was doing.
Akura Fury turned red eyes to him and gave him a pitying look, hands in his pockets. “I don't see much in him either, but Charity knows him better than I do. But hey, there’s still a slot left! I'll have my selection fights in a few months, and then you can show me what you've got.”
Pride gestured angrily to Lindon. “Haven't I already?”
“I’m afraid I’m not his opponent,” Lindon said, as though it were a painful admission.
[Orthos would have ruined your ruse by now,] Dross said. [‘Grr, a dragon doesn’t pretend to be weak. Throw fire at him!’ It’s a good thing I’m here to help.]
Fury let out another embarrassed laugh, but spread his hands. “Sorry, boys! It's not up to me.”
Pride glared again, mostly at Lindon, but sparing some for Mercy as well. Finally, he bowed to Fury and stomped away.
Lindon searched his mind for a new line of attack. The rest of the young Lords and Ladies were still watching, and if he presented himself as too weak, they might really try to kill him.
Fury scratched the back of his head. “He's pretty mad. Even more than usual.”
Mercy's bow shifted back to a staff, and she leaned on it. “It's my fault. I'll go talk to him.”
“Nah. It's training time!”
Mercy ran to hide behind Lindon, which put him in the awkward position of standing between a Herald and his niece. “Sorry, Uncle Fury, but I have to get Lindon settled in. And I really should speak with Pride. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be ready.”
“Or better yet,” Lindon said hastily, “you could send me home! Wouldn’t that solve everything?”
Red eyes moved to the rest of the crowd, and Fury jabbed a finger at Lindon. “Someone take care of him, okay?” Then he grabbed Mercy around the waist, picking her up with one arm. “Now, training!”
Mercy protested, but Fury had already leaped.
Through the clouds.
Lindon and the others stared up to where they had vanished, but they never came down.
Leaving Lindon weak and lost, surrounded by hostile strangers.
His hopes of leaving came crashing down around him, but he might have won another small consolation. Did you get it? he asked silently.
[That’s a lot of pressure when you put it that way, you know that? If Pride’s Path is the same as Mercy’s, he should only have four techniques available, and he used four. So I have a reasonable model, but not what I’d call a perfect one.]
Lindon looked through the hole in the crowd where Pride had left. That’s good enough to start.
~~~
One of the young Underladies finally agreed to lead Lindon to a guest room where he could recover from his wounds. She said nothing as they leaped over black ponds filled with glowing white fish, trees that scraped at the sky, trying to grab them, and statues with amethysts for eyes. They jumped from one tall, black building to another, and she showed no consideration for his wounds.
Lindon had fought for his life while in worse condition than this, though even the Soul Cloak felt painful running through his strained madra channels. As a Truegold, he would have had to exhaust himself to keep up with her and may have injured his madra channels doing so. But his Underlord body picked up the slack, and he followed her to their destination.
She looked him up and down as they landed as though surprised that he was still on his feet, but she said nothing. In fact, his Bloodforged Iron body had already begun repairing his physical injuries, straining his spirit even further while doing so.
They stood before a three-story home with black tiles on the roof and a smooth gray wall surrounding the property. Trees and bushes poked over the top of the wall, so he assumed a garden surrounded the house. Upon close inspection, Lindon took it for an inn. The Akura clan would have plenty of traffic from the outside; he only had to hope that they would pay for his stay.
A servant in black-and-white layered robes and a cap stood next to the plated iron gates, bowing when she saw the Akura Underlady.
“He's a guest,” the Underlady said, speaking for the first time. “Get him registered.”
“I will see to it at once, Underlady,” the servant said into the ground.
Without another word, the young Akura woman took off again, leaping away.
The servant bowed to him. “Greetings, Underlord. Please allow me to provide you with a key and, if this residence is suitable for you, I will enter your name into the clan registry as a guest at this location.”
She held both her palms out flat, a black card resting on them. A script gleamed in its center like moonlight.
“Gratitude,” Lindon said, taking the card that he assumed was the key. “If you don't mind, would you show me the way to my room?”
He tried to find the place he could touch the card that would cause the gate to open, but as soon as he ran his pure madra through the script, the iron plates rose soundlessly up. They hung overhead, suspended on wind aura, waiting for him to pass beneath.
The servant woman spoke hesitantly. “I apologize for correcting the Underlord, but I was obviously unclear. The house is yours.”
The statement sent equal parts excitement and alarm rushing through him. He didn’t want a house here; he wanted to leave. On the other hand, it was a house.
The Wei clan had spoiled him for space, but all the houses of the Shi family added together would have made up only one story of this building. And there were three stories.
From the inside of the wall, he realized the yard was much bigger than he had imagined; it stretched all the way around the house, and he couldn't see the far end. It was covered by bushes that flowered a glowing blue, and trees with fruits like red glass. The aura was as thick here as anywhere in Moongrave, and somehow the house gave off a calming feel.
“I am...grateful,” Lindon said, “so pardon me for my ignorance. This house is mine? No other guests will stay here?”
The servant looked offended. “No, sir! My staff and I will maintain the house and grounds and provide meals upon request, unless you require isolation for your training. There is a sound-proof, spiritually contained basement for meditation, and the garden is at your disposal. If you require anything for your training or daily needs at any time, please let me or any of the servants know.”