"AAAAARGH!"
The scream tore out of him and rang off the high walls of the court. He staggered back, staring down at the ruined sleeve where his forearm should have been, at the blood pouring out across the cloth. His right hand reached across for his left arm and closed on nothing.
His face twisted.
His legs gave out.
Thud!
His knees struck the stone hard. He doubled over and clutched the stump with his remaining hand, trying to squeeze the bleeding shut, and blood ran out between his fingers and spread across the pale stone in front of him.
"Hah— hah— hahh—"
His breathing had gone wild, high and broken, his cries coming apart into ragged gasps. Whatever Scarlet Frenzy had done to keep the pain away earlier, it had nothing left to give him now. His whole body was shaking, and his head kept dipping forward as though he were about to lose consciousness.
Owen stood over him with the sword in his hand and looked at what he had done.
The East Martial Court had gone completely silent.
Then, somewhere in the benches, a woman cried out.
"Physicians!" Voss’s voice cut through the court like a whip. "Now!"
The command broke the stillness. Attendants who had been frozen at the edge of the court ran toward the entrance, shouting for the medical team. Others hurried to push the nearest spectators back and clear a path.
Alaric reached his brother first.
He dropped to his knees beside Lucien and caught him by the shoulders before he could fall forward onto the stone. Every trace of his composure was gone. His hands were steady, but his face had gone white as he looked at the wound.
"Don’t move," he said. "Lucien. Lucien, look at me. Keep still. They’re coming."
The physicians arrived at a run. There were four of them, carrying their bags and a stretcher between them, and they went straight to work without a word to anyone else. One knelt and pressed a thick pad hard against the stump. Another pulled a strap from his bag and wound it tight around Lucien’s upper arm, above the wound, and twisted it until the bleeding began to slow.
Lucien screamed again when they touched him.
"Hold him," one of the physicians said to Alaric. "He has to stay still."
Alaric held him.
Owen stepped back to give them room. He watched for a moment longer as they worked. Then he dismissed his sword.
He didn’t say anything to Lucien. There was nothing left that needed saying. They had agreed on a price, and he had collected it.
Around the court, nobody seemed to know where to look.
A few of the young nobles who had laughed when Lucien fell earlier were standing very still now, their faces uncomfortable. One of them had turned away from the fighting ground altogether.
"He’d already surrendered," someone said quietly. "He was already beaten."
"He agreed to it. You heard him agree."
"That doesn’t mean—"
"It means exactly that. He wanted a year of the boy’s life. What did he think would happen if he lost?"
"I didn’t think anyone would actually..."
The voice trailed off.
Some of the spectators had stopped watching Lucien entirely. They were watching Owen instead.
Owen looked toward the Ferrers benches.
Gareth hadn’t moved. He was still sitting forward, but the faint smile from earlier was gone, and his face had turned serious, more serious than Owen had seen it that morning. He was looking at Owen as though he were working something out. He didn’t get up, and he didn’t call out.
Beside him, Clara had gone pale. She was looking at the blood on the stone and at Lucien shaking in his brother’s arms, and she looked as though she wanted to look away and couldn’t quite manage it.
Elise wasn’t looking at Lucien. She was looking around the benches, at the nobles whispering behind their hands, and then back at Owen. Her face was very thoughtful.
Agnes sat with her good hand resting on her knee and her expression completely calm. Behind her, Hugh had folded his arms.
Beneath the awning, Princess Adelaide had beckoned one of the court attendants over. Owen saw her speak to him briefly, her eyes never leaving the physicians, and the attendant hurried off toward them. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, entirely composed, and watched.
It took some time before the physicians were satisfied.
When they finally lifted Lucien onto the stretcher, the bleeding had been brought under control, and the stump was bound tightly in layers of white cloth. Lucien’s face was grey. His breathing was still uneven, and his remaining hand kept clenching and unclenching around the edge of the bandage.
He didn’t look at anyone.
Alaric rose to go with them. Before he followed the stretcher, he turned and looked at Owen.
There was anger in his face. Owen could see it in the set of his mouth. But there was something else underneath it, something that looked a lot like worry. He had stood there and watched his brother lose, and he had watched Owen refuse every way out that he had offered.
He didn’t say anything. After a moment, he turned and followed the physicians out of the court.
Owen walked back toward the Ferrers benches.
That morning, the nobles had talked about him openly as he passed, arguing about whether he was as good as his brother. Now the conversations died as he came near. A young man standing in the aisle stepped quickly aside to let him through. A pair of women stopped talking altogether and watched him go by without a word.
Gareth stood up as he reached them.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
"No," Owen said. "My ribs are complaining, but that’s all."
Gareth looked at him for a moment longer.
"Well," he said quietly. "You certainly made sure nobody here will forget it."
"I suppose I did."
Gareth didn’t say anything else. Owen didn’t expect him to, not here. But he could feel the eyes of the benches around them, and he knew that, for some of the people here, he would be the Ferrers who took a man’s arm after he had already surrendered.
Princess Adelaide stood once more.
"The matter between Lord Owen Ferrers and Lord Lucien de Clare is concluded," she said. "I ask that our guests now return to the gathering."
People began to move, slowly at first.
Owen turned toward the awning and bowed to the Princess. Adelaide inclined her head in return.
Then he left the court with Gareth and the others.
Behind him, servants were already moving out onto the fighting ground with buckets and cloths to deal with the blood on the stone. The nobles were filing toward the exits in small groups, and every one of them seemed to be speaking in a low voice.
For Owen, the duel and the wager were finally settled.
House de Clare, though, wouldn’t forget Lucien’s arm.