Chapter 17

P eople moved from the room quicker than Naya Blacksteel ushered them out, leaving only the prime, Emara, and his brothers. Torin stood in the centre of the room, watching his father's face turn from bright burgundy to a ghastly colour of grey.

The summit was over.

Torin seethed as he looked upon the face of his punisher.

His father was an arrogant prick who beat his children into submission and often raised a hand to his wife. He was sly, devious, and the biggest hypocrite Torin had ever known. He was an ill-tempered hunter and still a threat to Emara.

Torin had taken a gamble on challenging him in front of everyone. His father could have told the world about Emara's blood just to spite him. But in the early hours of the morning, he had realised that Viktir didn't want to reveal Emara's blood or who her father was to anyone. He wanted her alliance. He wanted her power, her status. And he knew that he hadn't informed the chief commander of her heritage, which was a punishable offence. Why hadn't he made that move?

He was keeping it up his sleeve for something bigger. And Torin had to make sure that Viktir's influence in the clan was minimal. They had come to blows many times before now, but this…

This was it.

This was the war he had declared six moons ago.

As the final person left the room, silence fell over them like a hot blanket, and it threatened to suffocate the life in the space. Naya closed the door and Torin could hear her walking back to the centre of the chaos.

"Well, there we have it." Viktir's lip pulled back over his teeth. "I was wondering when this would happen. I thought over it many times, thinking it would be over something of meaning. But over a girl?" Viktir sneered and his mother flinched. "You are challenging my commandership over a witch? You are certainly no son of mine. Pathetic doesn't run in our blood."

Torin only let out a snarl.

"Torin, I urge you to think this through," the chief hunter announced, leaning over the prime's table in disbelief. "What you are saying cannot be undone."

"My decision is final," Torin said in the same way Viktir had spoken to him. "If the commander of the Blacksteel Hunting Clan does not wish to amend the treaty, then I challenge him to a duel. Whoever survives will be commander. It solves the dispute."

"No," his mother cried. He heard Kellan trying to calm her. "Torin, please, my love."

"Dispute." Viktir sneered, a growling laugh radiating from his chest.

"This is not Shifter's business, nor is it any other faction's," Murk Baxgroll said, rising from his chair. "We will take leave and you can sort this out between your clan. We will not be involved in hunter politics if it does not involve us."

"I second that motion," Oberon agreed. "I have no appropriate input for a case like this. After all, it comes down to the oath of Thorin."

The King of the Fae and Murk moved to take their leave, but the Minister of Coin still stood by his chair.

"I did not realise you'd taken the Oath of Huntership under Thorin." Torin glared at the elite, his fist clenching tight. "I don't think your nose fits into this jurisdiction either."

The minister grinned, every bit of him enjoying the turmoil of this. He stopped just before Torin, fixing his white undershirt before he looked up into his eyes. "Enjoy bleeding out at your duel. I will make sure your father has the best odds to win. Death always makes so much coin."

The pretentious dick was lucky Torin was saving all his energy for Viktir. He wanted to lash out and show him who could really bleed out. Oh, how many ways he could make that elite bastard suffer.

A small hand found its way into his, and he calmed as Emara sent waves of energy through him. Her earth magic had certainly improved since he had been gone, and a soothing vibration settled almost every violent thought. Almost.

"Have a great day, minister." Emara smiled at the elite faction member as she gestured to the door. He took his leave, dragging his beady little eyes from her face before walking as slowly as he could.

"Torin," the chief commander almost pleaded when the door closed again. "This is your last chance to back out of the challenge. Tensions always boil over in clans, but we work it out. Are you absolutely positive that you are unable to bend the knee to your father, your commander?"

Torin swallowed and looked down at the woman leaning into his arm. Her eyes were black with concern and her face was scrunched with fear. When neither of the Blacksteel men even flinched and no words came to evade the duel, the chief said, "Okay, Blacksteels, should you require a duel with weapons or bare fists?"

Torin wasn't surprised when both he and his father served the same answer, "Weapons."

It was easier to kill with a weapon. If they chose fists, it could mean hours of fighting, and he wasn't in the pits anymore. He wanted this over with as soon as he could make the killing blow.

The chief commander stood in between both Viktir and Torin, taking a glance at them both. "So it shall be done. The prime will see you both tomorrow at the first light of dawn. The duel for commandership in the Blacksteel Clan shall be fought for. May the best warrior win."