While Jules struggled to believe the king had turned on him, and in a sense his suspicion was correct but I will return to that matter, Lucius gave his attention over to Ashlynn. The theater was so loud he could have a quiet conversation with her and not worry of being overheard. None could believe what had happened.

“Was it money?” he asked. Despite the slight rise to her heels that her armor gave her, she was of modest stature and he could loom over her. “I know you’ve fought for the Feugards before, but the reason you joined the king was because you quit their forces. You must not have liked the way they put down dissent. So, money?”

She refused to look at him, but answered none the less. “Yes.”

“Next time, choose a master with actual power. Now, a gift!” His voice rose, the incongruity drawing attention. Even Jules looked up, thinking the second duel but a ploy and Lucius was then revealing his intentions. “The duel was exhilarating, the links of which I haven’t felt since I was at war for our kingdom. In pure skill with the blade, I have met few better but, as at the Wallows last year, skill is never enough on its own. My gift to you, Lady Ashlynn, is a lesson earned with but a drop of blood.” He held out his scarred hand. When she tentatively accepted and squeezed the calloused mass of flesh that had made her lose the fight, he said, “May you not forget the value of it.” In a voice only for her, he added, “Or who has real power.”

Lynnfield’s blade rang out from its sheathe, sweeping up and cleaving through his forearm. Lucius did not even grunt in pain and Ashlynn was left holding his severed hand. She shrieked and jumped back, dropping it to the ground.

Lucius grinned and held out his stump. Sammy had already rushed back to the stage and wasted no time in applying a tourniquet. “Calm down. It had to be cut off regardless. Forgive me for my showmanship. You get up on this stage and you just want to make a scene.”

“You’ve lost your mind, Solhart!” Theo Montem roared as he clambered onto the stage.

“This?” Lucius asked, holding up his arm. “You see much worse than this at war, even at riots. Much, much worse. This is nothing compared to the Bureaucrat's Coup. At least my hand will come back in time. Besides, my opponent needs an advantage. He has few enough of his own,” he said as he turned to face Jules Feugard.

Ashlynn recovered herself, she had seen far worse. The heat of battle had merely waned and surprise seized her. The women in the audience did not compose themselves as well. Indeed, the seating area was a mess of people attempting to excuse themselves from the impending duel. The idea that Jules Feugard might win the fight was in nobody’s mind.

Not even his own.

“Take up your sword, Feugard! Defend your family’s honor, your own honor. I’m down one arm and already tired from a fight. You’ll never get a better chance. This is the king’s order!” Lucius roared as the others cleared the stage and left the nobleman alone. Theo put a hand to his own blade, anger brimming up through his feigned stoicism.

Jules had not the strength to move.

Lucius pressed him. “This whole duel was your idea, you trembling coward. Giorno! Are you going to just stand there? Officiating is your job, isn’t it? Come now. We two are to fight!”

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The commoner was every bit as surprised by the affair as anyone. Rather than feeling the danger to his own life, he acutely sensed that he had just been made party to the downfall and disgrace of one of the heirs to the second most powerful noble family in the realm. “Yes, of course…” he said, edging closer.

“Theo!” Lucius snapped, setting his gaze on him. “Perhaps you’ll offer Jules your blade? Since you seem about to draw it regardless. I don’t think he brought one for himself. If you don’t, perhaps I’ll give him my own sword. Two advantages for him! That would almost make it a fair fight.”

“I surrender,” Jules said.

All upon the stage turned to him, though he had said it too quietly for the audience to hear. They could see the dead stare in his eyes though.

“Come again, Master Feugard?” Giorno said, yearning to hear those words again.

Jules reached to his breast and pulled off the golden broach bearing his family’s sigil. He dropped it on the ground. Lucius put down his arms. Theo relaxed. Giorno nearly leapt for glee as he turned to the crowd and announced, “Jules Feugard has forfeited the match. Thank you all for coming. Bets will be paid out in the west exit hall.”

The former Feugard walked solemnly out the back of the stage. Some among the crowd had been so enraged by the terms of the duel they might have charged the stage had Lucius killed him, but his soft surrender quenched the fires. No applause filled the Quartz Bowl, but some lingered in their seats longer than others.

Lucius was able to retire to one of the actor’s rooms. The theater’s director was supposed to be there, but excused himself citing the stress was too much for him to handle. While Sammy was complimenting his lover’s ability to cut off an arm, the whole household piled into the relatively small room.

Leomund took one look at the wound and shrugged. “You could have just grappled.”

“I would have looked like a brute,” Lucius said as he drank down a glass of wine laced with laudenum to help with the pain.

“You looked like a brute regardless,” Aisha said, cradling their sleeping child to her chest.

Lucius grinned. “When I was to fight Jules. Being a brute to an oaf is acceptable, but not to a lady.”

“You’re insane, and…” Felicia said as she squeezed around the edge of the group.

“And?” Lucius responded.

She sighed. “And I’m far wealthier because of it. What is Austin going to say about this?”

“Nothing at all. You think the king isn’t having discussions about what the future of this kingdom is? There’s two women to every man at this academy, but Jules could never be married off safely. To any woman in the kingdom with a mote of power, he wouldn’t make an alliance, he would inevitably make an enemy. I doubt I’ll be getting any public appreciation from them, but I don’t expect any problems.”

Lucius was correct in his assessment of the Feugards, but his life would hardly have been worth writing about if there were no problems. That night there were none however.

Lupa asked if he needed help regenerating, but Leomund didn’t let her. “Don’t let his blood get your nice dress,” he said before wrapping an arm around the boy’s throat. Aisha turned away and encouraged Felicia to do so as well, but she insisted on watching as the blood was cut from Lucius’ head. He thrashed as Sammy quickly undid the tourniquet and the raw flesh soon rippled and bulged. Fat was sucked off his body as his stump regrew into a thin hand. The process took a good deal of time even after he was set back in the chair, half-conscious while the pain-killer was expelled from his body.

When it was done, he looked as if he had spent weeks marching on half-rations and he once again looked around the room. “Where’s Aria?”

“With your mother,” Felicia answered. “I think she fainted when you were screaming at Jules.”

“Lovely. Well, I say it’s time for some food and some drink,” Lucius declared, and led them out of the theater.

When they were out on the street he turned back, seeking the eyes of Theo Montem. He knew the man was furious with the night’s events, but no eyes glared back at him. Not that he saw.