Luther's Pride Part 41

A collective gasp arose from the surrounding witnesses as Raoul’s ass hit the ground. A small puff of dusty dirt clouded around him. 

Luther didn’t restrain his punch, but leveled the blow of a professional brawler with every ounce of strength his body had without the aid of magic. The flex of his leg, the rotation of his hip, the surge of his shoulder, and the extension of his arm culminated in the crack of Raoul’s smiling teeth against Luther’s braced knuckles. 

“Luther!” Criella cried in rebuke and protest.

“Ah!” Raoul cried as he fell. He collected himself after the fall and propped himself up on one elbow, spitting blood onto the dirt beside him. Pieces of broken white teeth fell with his blood, clacking against a small stone in the ground. He held his hand over his mouth to protect it, wincing at the pain. He was not a man unaccustomed to pain; he was a fighter and a mercenary with his spouses, but so was Luther. 

Helena’s arm hooked through Luther’s and held him back, with Jo taking his other side. Criella slipped between him and Raoul, her back to Raoul as she pressed both hands against Luther’s chest and pushed. Eira and Rhosyn watched the scene from the side, while Emily shifted behind Luther and turned her eyes aside from the scene.

Raoul spat again, holding his hand over his mouth to stem the tide of blood. “I accept!” Raoul shouted, mangling the ‘t’ sound at the end of the word. 

Criella glared at Luther. 

Luther struggled against Helena and Jo as they restrained him. “Let me go!” 

“You need to calm yourself, my lord, and act according to your station,” Helena said, her voice low, sharp, and full of warning. 

“I need to teach a man a lesson,” Luther said. “Punish his theft, and decide whether or not I shall let him live.” 

Criella tried to object. “The law–”

“Damn your law,” Luther said, still struggling. “The man gloated over my father’s death, aided the theft of at least one of his journals, and now insults my guests in my home. I have every right to call him to account. Release me.” 

“Calm down first,” Helena said. “You can’t murder him.” 

“Why not?” Luther asked. “Do any of you gathered here care whether Raoul Feothe lives to see nightfall?”

Raoul’s arrogant sneer faded as the women around fell silent. None of them looked at him, much less met his eyes, offered him aid, or helped him to his feet. 

“That’s not how we do things in the Empire,” Criella said, her tail flicking angrily behind her. “Or did you spend too long outside of it to remember?” 

“The Empire and its law,” Luther spat. “Bring me my sword, or let me kill him with my bare hands; either way, he’ll answer for his insults with his life.” 

“That is not the law!” Criella said, pushing Luther again. 

“I accept his challenge,” Raoul said through broken teeth. The gaps mangled his words, but the others understood it well enough. Still, they ignored him, as if not yet decided amongst themselves whether they’d let Luther kill him. Only Criella seemed determined not to let it happen. 

Criella sighed, glared at Luther, and released him to Helena and Jo’s firm grasp on his arms and shoulders. She turned to face Raoul, her tail swishing in annoyance. 

“You may very well accept a challenge from the Le Fey clan, but only after you’ve settled the challenge you already leveled at me,” Criella said. “Unless you forfeit.” 

Raoul’s eyes narrowed as realization dawned on Luther’s face. 

The Feothe clan had issued their challenge to Criella, and although she hadn’t accepted, they’d still offered it. If she accepted their challenge instead of forfeiting, they’d have to fight her before they could fight the Le Fey clan. 

“No, Criella,” Luther said. “You can’t accept. You’re not a fighter; the only reason they issued a challenge to you was to hurt me.” 

“I’m aware, thank you, my Lord,” Criella said, annoyed. “I have enjoyed my post, and my duties under your father, and my brief reunion with you. It’s a pity that my life has come to this. All my years of study and toil have amounted to being nothing more than an instrument of spite against you. Though you’re not the one misusing me that way.” 

She kicked Raoul with her foot, knocking him to his back before she put her weight on his chest. He gripped her ankle, but the flow of blood in his mouth made him gag, so he had to twist and spit. “I accept your challenge, Lord Feothe. Please bring your union to the arena here at Le Fey Manor for our duel at dawn tomorrow. That should give the local healer time enough to fix your teeth, if you want to bother with such a thing. Fair warning, however, hide behind your magical illusions all you like. I’ll kill you first tomorrow.” 

Raoul looked surprised, and his expression shifted into uncertainty as he gained his feet. It could be nothing more than bravery in the face of certain death, but Criella seemed confident in her ability to kill him. 

“I’d suggest you leave before Lord Le Fey breaks free and murders you. I’m likely the only person here whose conscience would force me to speak honestly if and when someone launched an inquiry.” Criella explained. “And even I have disappointed my conscience on more than one occasion.” 

Raoul spat again, aiming for Criella but missing as the glob of blood and spit flew wide in the wind. 

Criella raised an eyebrow. “Go, Raoul, and be with your lovers for one last night. For tomorrow, even if they manage to kill me, you will die at dawn.” 

Raoul huffed through his nose and moved away, toward his horse. He took the reins in one hand, covering his mouth again with his other. He glanced at the ground where his broken teeth remained, but no one moved to help him gather them, and Luther was still struggling in Helena and Jo’s grip. His disheveled suit worked free in his constant twisting, and the arm Jo held came loose.

Luther knocked Jo aside, pushing her to the ground in a sudden shove that sent Raoul onto his horse and galloping away at full speed toward the gate. He was wise to put more faith in Luther’s rage than in the protection of the law. 

Criella exhaled with the group as Raoul left. They each released their breath, though Luther made a different noise. He cried out in pain as Helena gut-punched him, folding him in half and sending him to the ground before she moved to help Jo to her feet. The others stared at Criella as Luther regained his feet. 

She stood solitary and still in the late afternoon air. Her doom settled about the gathering like nightfall.

“I can’t believe Branan challenged you,” Emily said, approaching Criella. “Isn’t there anything we can do? We could claim he’s overcome with grief and bar them from dueling for a few days?” 

“The period of grief only prevents others from challenging them. It’s to prevent capitalizing on emotional weakness. If someone is to prove their might, they should be mentally stable as well as physical,” Criella said, reciting one of the many passages they’d all learned many times.

“Don’t you fall under a period of grief for Cerebrion?” Emily asked. 

Criella shook her head. “He was the only father I knew, but there was never a formal adoption, nor was I his blood. The law does not provide for such grief.” 

“Forfeit,” Luther said, desperate to grab onto something, anything that would keep Criella alive. “Let Branan have whatever it is you own. You can live here, with us, spend your days in peace and leisure.” 

“It’s true I don’t have much,” Criella said. “But what I have is mine. I toiled for it, and I refuse to surrender it to anyone else without a fight. Besides, you’d be outcast for harboring me,” Criella said. “No.”

“My offer to you is still open,” Luther said. “Let me–” 

“It’s too late!” Criella said, losing her temper at Luther. “The challenge has been issued. Even if I wanted to marry someone before the fight, the law forbids it once the challenge is laid.” 

“Damn the law, Criella!” Luther cried. “The law says this, the law says that, I care about you more than I care about any law. Every time I suggest something, you produce another law, and another. Are there really so many laws governing every possible circumstance like this?” 

“Yes, Luther. That’s how civilization works.” Criella’s sarcasm bit him on the nose. “And you might not care for the law, but I’ve dedicated my life to it, so damn you for belittling it!” 

Eira, Rhosyn, Helena, Jo, and Luther searched each other’s expressions. Each looked for answers in faces that held none. There was no solution. Criella would fight the entire Feothe clan tomorrow at dawn, and there was nothing any of them could do to stop the slaughter.

Luther refused to quit. He regained his feet, but Criella stopped him with a raise of her hand and a swish of her tail. “I have two options: I can fight the Feothe clan, and who knows? Maybe I’ll even win.” She didn’t sound as if she believed it. “Or I can forfeit, and go into exile.” 

“Choose exile, then, if you must,” Luther said. “But live. Or let Raoul accept my challenge first.” 

“We both know you’re not ready,” Criella said, her tone angry. “I bought you time, Luther, and I’m paying for it with my life. Do not waste my sacrifice.” 

“No,” Luther said, shaking his head. “Gods above, Criella, let’s both go into exile. Let me show you the world outside the Empire. We can travel, live, and be happy, as friends and nothing more if that is what you wish.” He grabbed for her hands, but she pulled away from him. 

“I’d go,” Eira said. Her tiny voice cut through the din, stilling Criella and Luther. 

Criella looked as though she were on the verge of tears as she met Eira’s gaze. 

“I’d go too,” Rhosyn said, taking Eira’s hand. 

Helena and Jo both looked uncomfortable at the sudden direction the conversation had taken. Neither of them spoke up, but neither seemed as though they were going to contradict the idea of going into exile with Criella - if that proved necessary. Was it a fair thing to ask of any of them? No, but life was never fair. 

Criella smiled softly. “I won’t go into exile. I refuse. I am not a fighter, I’m a lawyer, and I might not be mighty, but I am not a coward. My adoptive father raised me to stand up to bullies, to do what is right, and never embrace cowardice, the way others sometimes do.” Her eyes fell on Luther, and he clenched his jaw at the insult. He took it and didn’t even try to defend himself.

“It is a pity I’ll never see the lands beyond the mountains, or go exploring for the Fey Lord’s Tomb with you, like I promised,” Criella said, her voice suddenly sad, as if a great weight had settled onto her heart. “Forgive me?” 

The frightened question broke Luther’s fury, knocking it aside and replacing it with a welt of pain. “Let’s not fight,” Luther said, shaking his head. “Not tonight.” He swallowed, holding back tears as Criella folded her hands in front of her and bowed her head to keep from looking at him. 

“As you wish, my Lord,” Criella said. 

“What will you allow us to do to help?” Luther asked. “Whatever you ask of me, it’s yours. I have magical items, rings, weapons, you can use–” 

“Whatever I own becomes theirs when I die,” Criella said, shaking her head. “Keep your gifts, my Lord, they will serve you better in your own hands.” 

“Stop calling me ‘My Lord!’” Luther cried. “I’m not your lord, Cree! I’m Luther.” 

Criella flinched at his use of the name Cree, and a tear welled in the corner of her eye as she struggled to hold it back. “You may offer me hospitality, my–” She swallowed. “If it pleases you. I want to dine with you tonight, to say goodbye to our–to your father’s ashes, and the library. May I sleep in the library tonight?” 

“Of course,” Luther said, doing less well than Criella at restraining his tears. “Cree, I–Please tell me you’ll at least consider forfeiting? Even if you feel it means exile, you don’t have to worry about the outside world. I’ll go with you. If you want me to choose between my father’s wealth and you, I choose you, Cree. There’s nothing that I would choose over you.” 

Criella sniffled. “Nothing, huh?” She chuckled, a jarring noise coming from her throat in that moment. “You made that choice once before, Luther. You had a choice between me and the world beyond the valley, and you made your choice.” 

Luther paled, staring at Criella as if she’d stabbed him through the heart. “I was young, I’ve regretted it ever since, Criella, I–” 

“Lucky for me, I don’t have to live with your choices much longer. I’ve chosen my destiny, and I choose to buy you what little time I can, to lighten the Feothe union as much as I can, and to stand or fall among the mighty on my own two feet.” 

Luther swallowed, ignoring protocol, and hugging Criella fiercely in his arms. His wives made no move to stop him. The sorrow had rippled through everyone gathered there. Even Emily wept and dabbed at her tears with a small handkerchief. The pain of their new reality overwhelmed propriety. Criella returned the embrace, wrapping her arms and her tail around Luther. 

Helena, Jo, Eira, and Rhosyn placed their hands on his back, closing their eyes and offering their sympathy for the impending loss of someone who was not his blood, but might as well have been. Someone he’d loved since childhood, lost when he came of age, reunited with when he lost his father, and now faced losing again - forever. 

Luther sobbed, and Criella joined him. 

They stood like that for far too long, until the servants came looking for them to announce they’d prepared dinner. Word of what happened rippled through the manor, and by the time Raoul had returned to tell his spouses the news, a somber and solemn attitude had settled over everyone in the manor. 

Wulfric sent the servants back inside as he announced that dinner waited for them. His voice broke in the first attempt, but the second managed a clear and steady summoning to the dining hall. 

The walk into the manor became a funeral march, with Criella in the center, surrounded by Luther and his wives. She kept her head low and bowed, and several of the servants nodded or bowed to her as she passed. 

“Only the finest tonight, Wulfric,” Luther said, his voice breaking as he stood behind the chair at the head of the table and gestured for Criella to sit in it. 

For once, she didn’t fight him and took the seat at the head of the table. He sat beside her on one side, and Helena took the seat opposite Luther. 

Dinner passed silently, and Criella excused herself from the table before dessert. She wandered the manor, lingering in each room, and in the office she’d worked so diligently in for so many years. 

“Miss Criella,” Wulfric said, as she stood in the parlor staring at the paintings. “I’ve prepared a bed for you in the library.” 

“Oh, thank you, Wulfric. That wasn’t necessary. There’s an old chair in there that’s quite comfortable enough for me.” Criella said, and Luther watched her smile as if it might be her last. Now he knew how she’d felt watching him all these last few days, fearing that any moment the challenge might come that would doom him to die. 

She’d spent so much time preparing him for an inevitable battle, marrying him to the others, even training him, and yet she’d refused to protect herself. Now it was too late. Her mistake was fatal, and Luther had let her make it. 

He might have a power that held its place in obscure myths, an unbelievable rarity among the gems of arcanas, but he had no power here. There was no power he held that could separate Criella from her doom. She turned down every advantage he offered her, for fear that it would fall into Branan’s hands at her death. She would face her foes with her own might, and if she couldn’t defeat them, she would at least make them pay the price of her death with their blood.

“I have one request, if you’ll grant it,” Criella said, looking at Helena, Jo, Eira, and Rhosyn. “When Luther and I were young, we would read to each other by the fireplace, sometimes late into the evening. We’d fall asleep in opposite chairs, and wake when Cerebrion came to rouse us in the morning.”  

The others could tell where this was going. 

“If this is my last night, would you be willing to spare your husband to read to me until I fall asleep?” Criella asked. 

The women looked at each other to verify, but all of them nodded, and Luther appreciated their trust and their sympathy. He had no intention of leaving Criella’s side that night. He wanted to spend every minute with her that he could, even if they couldn’t spend it doing what he might wish they could. 

“Come then,” Criella said. “Let me see the library one last time.”