Chapter Forty-Nine

"What do you think, Aux?" Zellion said, walking calmly toward the Cinder King. "Do you spot snipers?"

No response. Damnation. It hurt anew when he remembered.

He stopped within shouting distance of the Cinder King, feeling strangely exposed without his armor. A short time back in it, and already he felt reliant?

"I'm here to give you that fight you offered!" Zellion called to the man. "Do you still want it?"

"Indeed!" the Cinder King shouted back. "Hand to hand. You and me. No interference by others! Isn't that a tradition among your people? A trial of honor, one on one?"

It was more of an Alethi thing actually, not an Azish one. His people preferred to settle differences with extended court battles and flowery legal speeches. But that distinction was irrelevant, because he doubted the Cinder King intended to play fair—no matter what he said.

So Zellion was ready for the snipers even without Auxiliary to spot them. He dodged toward the wall of a building as the shots hit behind him. Not Invested shots, though. They'd switched to regular slug throwers? Why?

He neared the wall he intended to use as cover, but a dozen officers in white coats broke through nearby windows and doors, then opened fire at him with pellets that hurt, but didn't pierce. They battered him, weakened him, as Charred surrounded him and came in swinging with clubs. Zellion struggled, pushed, fought back—until one of them wrapped something around his wrist.

Ice flooded his veins. His heat leeched away. He wavered, but didn't fall—because the bracer shut off a second later. They hadn't wanted to knock him out, just leave him weakened. They affixed something else on his leg. The Charred retreated, and the officers vanished.

Zellion stumbled, barely able to stand upright. Then an announcement rang through the city. "People of Union!" The Cinder King's voice. Recorded previously? "You have heard of this offworlder, the one some are whispering is the Sunlit Man. He is here. I offer you a chance to watch him. See him fall."

The Cinder King walked slowly up to Zellion. Security cameras ringed the area, all tracking the Cinder King's every movement, filming as he dramatically unlocked the bracer on Zellion's wrist, took it off, then held it up, showing everyone that he'd freed his enemy. He tossed the bracer aside, then kicked away Zellion's fallen machete.

"Now then," the Cinder King said, raising his fists. "That duel of honor. You and me. Shall we?"

Zellion shook himself, attempting to recover his strength. Maybe this would actually be fair. He raised his fists, but found them sluggish. In fact, his entire body felt heavy, like he was tied with weights. He could barely get his fists into a fighting stance.

"What have you done to me?" he growled.

"A gift from our friends in the hidden ship," the Cinder King said. "The freezing bracers are fine, but they tend to knock out my subjects—and sometimes I want them alert. Just…a little bit disadvantaged."

"A little bit?" Zellion growled, shifting his stance, though even that took an uncomfortable amount of effort. "It's one of those Scadrian weight devices, isn't it? That's what you locked onto my ankle?" He'd seen people wear them on low-gravity planets to move more naturally. Here, though, it had been turned up an extreme amount—making his entire body think it was working under three or four times the standard gravity.

The Cinder King smiled, then punched Zellion in the face. He tried to get his fists up to block, but was too slow, and then took a shot right in the gut. He stumbled back.

"Coward," Zellion growled.

"There is no cowardice in victory," the Cinder King said, striding forward.

Zellion got one good punch against the man, splitting his lip. Which healed immediately. Storms, how Invested was he?

Zellion came in again, but too slow, too sluggish. The Cinder King decked him across the face, sending him tumbling to the ground. Zellion took a kick in the stomach, then barely managed to roll away from the next.

He stumbled to his feet, straining, struggling.

"This is power," the Cinder King whispered, stepping closer to him, pulling off his gloves to expose his bare fists. A bad idea in a regular fight, as you were likely to do as much damage to your hands as you did to your enemy, but the Cinder King's Investiture would heal him from those surface wounds. "This is what it means to be strong."

"Then why hide what you're doing from your people?" Zellion hissed. "You want to be able to beat me, but you don't want them to know how? That's not strength. It's fabrication."

"The condemned man always sees unfairness in the world around him," the Cinder King said, punching him again.

Damnation. That hurt. Blood began to flow from Zellion's nose as he stumbled back farther along the street. He didn't have Auxiliary to count his Investiture for him any longer, but he could feel it waning, fluttering. His endurance running out, his strength beginning to fail.

"In reality," the Cinder King said, "all I'm doing is using my advantages like you use yours." He laughed, punching Zellion in the stomach. "Come on, now. Let's make a good show of it, Sunlit. People will want to see you die with flair!"

He advanced, relentless, driving Zellion back. Once again, straight toward the rising sun.