"It's really him!" Indie says. "It's the-"

"Joe Vince," Jonathan says. He makes a move like he wants to block the man from my view with all three hundred pounds of himself.

I hold my hand up to stop him.

The man's lips part into a cheeky grin. He winks at Indie and then looks at me. "'Ello, Daphne," he says. "It's been a long time."

I let go of the balloon strings.

"Dad," I say.

"What are you doing here?" Jonathan demands.

"Didn't your mother tell you yet?" Joe says to me in his British accent, which must have once charmed my mom off her feet. "A judge granted me custody. I'm taking you to live with me in California."

A loud bang echoes above my head as one of the red balloons bobbing against the rough popcorn ceiling bursts.

chapter three.

haden

Rowan lies in wait for me in the antechamber beyond the throne room. I would not expect any less from him.

I slow to a halt and try to place my hand on the hilt of my sword to show him I am ready for any attack he has planned, but then I remember the weapon was taken from me by one of Ren's guards.

Never mind. Hand-to-hand combat suits me just fine. Several Underlords step around me, most gawking as they go, trying to get a good look at the king's disgraced son, who is now the lone Champion for our year.

The Lessers, who are not allowed to wear armor outside of the ceremony, stop to remove their bronze breastplates and leather wrist cuffs before returning to their labors. I am not surprised to see Lord Lex standing near Rowan and a couple of other Elites who've congregated near the exit. My hands grow hot, p.r.i.c.kling with energy, as I think of the things Lex suggested in the throne room.

Lex whispers something to the Elites that I cannot hear. Rowan nods and laughs, glancing in my direction. Fire rings gleam in his eyes.

I hope to the G.o.ds that Rowan issues a challenge now. It would be my duty to riposte.

Lex clasps his hands in the sleeves of his robe and takes his leave, presumably to join the other Heirs.

Only a handful of Underlords remain in the antechamber now, and I wonder if Rowan wants our fight to be a private affair, rather than the spectacle I predicted. I decide to push the issue by advancing toward Rowan-when someone collides into me.

At first, I think I am being attacked from the side, and I raise my hand to strike, but then I see that the clumsy fool who has gotten in my way is nothing but a scrawny boy. With a twist in the strap of the heavy, ill-fitting breastplate that drapes over his sagging shoulders. He's the Lesser who stood in front of me during the ceremony.

"Watch it!" I shout instead of striking him.

The boy glances at me and gives the smallest nod. Again, I feel as though I should know him. "My apologies, my lord," he says and scurries away as fast as he can toward the exit.

It is now that Rowan chooses to make his move. But it's not toward me. He signals two of his chimera-faced lackeys to follow his lead. They step in front of the doorway, and the Lesser boy, not paying attention, runs right into Rowan's chest.

"Where do you think you are going?" Rowan asks him.

The boy trembles. Rowan's menacing glower makes him take a step back. "Returning to my barracks, Lord Rowan," he says. "As I was instructed."

"And you were going to take your borrowed armor with you?" Rowan points at the stack of breastplates where the other Lessers have left theirs behind. "You know what we do to thieves."

"Yes," the boy says. " I mean, no. I wasn't stealing. I just forgot. I was distracted." He glances slightly back toward me.

My impulse is to look away, but I can't.

"Then let us help you get out of it." Rowan wraps his hand around the boy's left wrist cuff, and one of Rowan's friends clutches on to the twisted leather strap that lies across the boy's back.

Before the Lesser can even try to fight back, Rowan and his crony both yank viciously on the boy's armor, pulling him in opposite directions. The boy screams. The noise echoes off the walls and fills my ears, but I can still hear the sickening sound of his shoulder being dislocated from its socket.

I react before I even have a chance to think twice. I push my way through the bystanders who still remain in the antechamber. My hands clutch into fists. I can feel a current of electricity surging up my body.

Rowan lets go of the boy and pushes him away. The Lesser whimpers and sinks to the stone floor, his arm hanging at an unnatural angle. Rowan opens his mouth to laugh, but I smash my fist into his jaw before he can make a sound. He slams into the doorjamb, and I hit him with a bolt of lightning to the chest.

Rowan's two friends try to grab me from behind, but he waves them away. "He's mine," he sputters, and b.a.l.l.s his fists. He charges at me and returns my attack. He flings a bolt of lightning at me, which I dodge, but then he grabs me by the shoulders. We grapple, knocking into the stacks of discarded armor, sending them scattering. Rowan slams his ringed hand into my forehead. I feel the newly healing cut above my eyebrow break open. The sting of it makes me stronger, and I don't let Rowan get a chance to swing again. I spring at him and smash my throbbing forehead against his, slam him to the ground, and then pin him there with one of my knees on his chest.

A second bolt of electricity shudders through my body. The energy bursts into my arms and explodes from my fingertips.

Rowan screams as I direct the crackling streaks of blue lightning into his rib cage a second time. His body writhes in agony and I imagine the electricity clenching his heart like a taloned paw, squeezing the life from it.

The energy dissipates so quickly, it nearly knocks me back. Rowan tries to roll away. I grab him by the throat with one hand and lift my other over his heart, preparing to blast him again.

Rowan and I both know a third jolt of lightning will stop his heart completely.

"No," he croaks through cracked lips.

"Then say it." I keep my voice cold like King Ren's, not giving away the anger that boils behind my words.

Rowan shakes his head. I can smell the singed hair on his skin.

"Never," he says.

A gasp ripples through the small crowd of Underlords who've circled around us. I tighten my grip on his throat. I can feel his pulse hammering against my hand. Energy that has been building up inside of me courses through my free arm, and I flex my fingers as wisps of blue light lace between them like webbing.

Rowan flinches.

I do not.

"Say it," I demand. "Say it, or you're done."

Another sound of shock escapes the crowd of Underlords. They know the rules of a proper challenge.

The loser must invoke elios-a cry for mercy-or face death at the hands of the victor. The others wonder if I mean what I threaten. Their doubt gives me more strength to accomplish the deed.

"Lord Haden, don't," I hear Dax say. I don't remember him being in the antechamber before now, but I know it must be him without taking my eyes off Rowan's face. Dax is the only one whose standing is low enough among this group to feel free to show concern. "Rowan has had enough. Let him go." By the sound of his voice, he's moving closer. "What would your father think?" I know exactly what Ren would think. Only a coward wouldn't finish off an opponent who doesn't properly relent.

I've never lost a fight. I've never backed down. But I've also never been in a brawl that has escalated quite this far. I've never had to kill another Underlord before. Would my own brother be the first?

Rowan smiles mockingly. His teeth are stained with blood, but I can read the scorn in his expression.

I'm stronger than Rowan. He knows that. I clearly have the upper hand, so why would he choose this moment of all times to taunt me?

The energy I hold in my hand-the energy I created-swirls itself into an angry ball of white-hot lightning. It's almost too hot to bear. I must throw it soon, or it will incinerate my fingers. "He has to say it." I shake Rowan by the throat. "Say. It." I keep my voice cold and steady even though I want to scream at him. I want to force the word out of his mouth. I'd reach my hand down his throat and claw it out of him if I could.

But of course he will not make it that easy.

"Then what would your mother have said?" Dax says.

His words cut as deep as a dagger to the back.

"Don't bring her into this," I say.

"Yes, little prince, what would Mother have said?" Rowan says with a mocking gleam in his eyes.

We must show mercy and kindness to all, my young prince. No matter their lot in this world . . .

I take my sight off Rowan's sickening smile and look up at the huddled throng that has grown larger since the fight broke out. Blood from the gash in my forehead has matted in my eyebrows and drips into my eyes, marring my vision, but I find who I'm looking for: the Lesser boy. He stands a little apart from the others, holding his arm in a way that makes it look like he's trying to push it back into its socket.

The boy looks away from my stare. As he turns his head, I register the thin scar across his cheek. I do know him: Garrick.

The boy is not just any Lesser. He is my and Rowan's younger half brother. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d Lesser son of one of the many concubines our father had taken up with before my mother was even on her deathbed.

Garrick used to follow Rowan and me everywhere when we were children, trying to make friends with us even though he was no better than a servant. He was the Lesser who was there when my mother died. He was the one who witnessed what I did to earn the disdain of the Court. . . .

I haven't seen him since he was rea.s.signed to work in the Pits eight years ago.

Rowan groans and the crowd shifts closer, cutting Garrick off from my view as it closes in on us. All wanting to see what I'll do next. The ball of lightning surges, blinding everyone else out of my vision.

All I can see are the slits of Rowan's fiery eyes as he glares up at me.

Was Rowan really ready to die to prove some point? No. His point is that I'd let him live. . . .

He wants to prove that I'm a coward so he can try to get the Court to override the Oracle's decree.

I flex my fingers and the ball of lightning morphs into a bladelike shape in my hand that I can slam into his heart like it's an electrified stake. "I will kill you," I tell him. "Unless you say it." And I mean it.

Something changes in Rowan's eyes as I hitch my arm back to spike the lightning blade into his heart.

A sickly, sweet scent, like rotting pomegranates, wafts up from his body.

It's the smell of fear.

At the last second, I shift my aim. The lightning spike explodes against the stone floor, leaving a blackened crater next to Rowan's head, and nearly takes off his ear. c.h.i.n.ks of marble go flying, sending the crowd scattering.

I let go of Rowan and climb to my feet. The hand I held the lightning in throbs but I refuse to look at it.

I keep my eyes on Rowan. He clutches his chest while his friends help him to his feet. As soon as he is standing, he pushes their hands away. Like he hadn't needed them in the first place.

Rowan squares his shoulders and walks toward the great golden doors leading out of the antechamber. The remaining crowd follows him-ever on his side. He lets the others pa.s.s by him into the corridor, and just before leaving, he turns back. His eyes land on me as I tuck my burned hand behind my back. I'd held the lightning for a moment too long, and it hurts like Tartarus, but I won't show any sign of pain with Rowan-or anyone else-watching me.

The crowd follows his glare.

Rowan is the one who lost the fight. He's the one who was at my mercy-but he looks at me like I'm the one who should feel ashamed. They all look at me like that. His mocking smile returns. His lower lip cracks and bleeds, but he only licks the blood away.

"Defending a Lesser? Sparing an opponent?" Rowan says. "How adorably predictable, nursling. Did Mother teach you such useless manners?"

"Shut up," I say and raise my uninjured hand.

Rowan makes a scoffing noise. "Your impulsiveness is so predictable. Ironic, I know. That's why I know you'll fail. Even if by some miracle Father goes through with his decision and actually allows you to pa.s.s through the gate tomorrow, you're still going to lose. Because you're weak."

"I'm stronger than you. I just proved that."

"Brute strength and good aim aren't going to get you anywhere on this quest of yours, Haden. You lack the proper training. You're a simple foot soldier, not a Champion. That takes brains, not brawn.

Do you have any idea how to convince this Boon to return to the Underrealm with you? Do you know how to manipulate someone into doing and saying exactly what it is you want from them? Because all this little fight proved is that I do. You played your part so well, little nursling." I open my mouth, ready with a comeback, but all I can think is that no matter what I say, it'll be exactly what Rowan expects.

"And when you do fail in this quest," he says, "I'll be the one the Court turns to, to clean up your mess." His smile widens. "No matter what you do, I'm still going to be the one who wins." He sweeps through the doorway.

I can't help it. A great, raging burst of lightning escapes my hand. I fling it at Rowan. The electricity explodes against the heavy golden doors just as they bang shut between us. The force of the lightning ricochets off the gold and takes out the two alabaster statues that stand guard at the exit. I throw my hands over my head to shield myself from the flying stone bits.

Only Dax and Garrick remain in the corridor with me-the only witnesses to my losing control. But I can feel Rowan's smugness seeping under the doorway as he walks away with his adorers.

I think I even hear laughter.

The blood from my head wound drips off my chin and pools in the hollow of my collarbone. My hand is black and singed. Sweat p.r.i.c.kles up from my pores as my body tries to cool the hot electrical currents that swirl inside my chest.

Garrick steps close to me. Too close. I smell the stench of Keres on him. I think he is about to bow down in front of me and thank me like I'm some sort of Hercules for saving him. Instead, he uses his uninjured arm to push against my chest as hard as he can. His weak shove has no effect on me, but the rage on his face does. "You stupid brute," he practically spits.

I blink at him in surprise. "That's no way to show grat.i.tude, Lesser," I say, pushing him away from me.

"Grat.i.tude? Do you know what you've done?" He tries to take a swing at me with his good arm, but I block it, forgetting about my burned hand until pain reminds me. "You tried to make Rowan invoke elios on my behalf." Garrick gingerly clasps his dislocated shoulder. "This is nothing compared to what he'll do to me now. And then he'll take his accusations of theft to the Court. I'll be dead by the end of the week."

I take a step back. Garrick had been sentenced to work in the Pits-a life of hard labor: caring for the monstrous Keres, which were banished to the depths of Tartarus centuries ago-after he was accused of stealing from the palace. A second strike against him-if the Court believed Rowan's accusations of trying to steal the armor of an Underlord-and the punishment could possibly be even worse than death.

Garrick charges at me, swinging his good arm. I grab him by his fist. His fingers are stained green from working in the Pits, and he's so underfed, from years of fighting for sc.r.a.ps with the other Lessers, I could crush his hand if only I squeezed.

A buried memory flits through my brain, and I remember how Garrick had tried to help me when my mother collapsed. . . .