Twilight's Dawn

Mon now had a tight Gray shield around himself and wouldn’t sustain an injury more serious than a bruise while fighting against a man who wore Sapphire.
    Chaosti was working hard, but Falonar was working harder to maintain the pace he’d set. As the match continued, it became apparent that Falonar was an excellent fighter—and Chaosti was so much more than an excellent fighter.
    Lucivar glanced at the hourglass floating on air next to Hallevar. Only a minute left. Then he could drag Falonar away from the others and find out what in the name of Hell was wrong with the man.
    The sparring match would end in a draw. He didn’t think any man in the room would feel a bite to his pride that an Eyrien couldn’t defeat this particular opponent.
    Except, apparently, Falonar.
    One moment there was the clash of sparring sticks. The next moment, there was a flash of sunlight on metal and Falonar was holding his bladed stick.
    Chaosti raised his sparring stick to block a chest-high blow. The blade on Falonar’s stick sliced cleanly through the wood—and the next move should have sliced through Chaosti’s waist.
    Eyriens fought in the air or on open fields—places that suited a race with wings who needed room to maneuver. But the Children of the Wood were a more intimate kind of fighter.
    Lucivar expected it, but even he didn’t see the transition from a broken sparring stick to Dea al Mon fighting knives. Moments after Falonar made that first aggressive move, he was lying on the floor, bleeding from a handful of wounds while Chaosti stood over him, one knife ready to slice his throat while the other knife was in position to rip through the Eyrien’s belly.
    Every Eyrien in that room now understood why the Dea al Mon were feared.
    “Chaosti,” Lucivar said quietly. “It’s done. Step back.”
    “Is it done?” Chaosti asked just as quietly.
    “Yes.” If he makes a move against you now, I will string him up with his own intestines and leave him for the carrion eaters.
    Chaosti stepped back, but he didn’t vanish those long, elegant knives until he was out of the circle.
    The Eyriens stared at him. Finally Hallevar said, “Thank you for the demonstration, Prince. It was . . . educational.”
    Chaosti tipped his head. “Yaslana is family. It was a pleasure to oblige him.”
    No one mentioned that it hadn’t been his idea, but Lucivar figured the warriors knew the obliging had nothing to do with the match and everything to do with not killing Falonar.
    The Dea al Mon walked out of the communal eyrie.
    No longer concerned about provoking Chaosti into more of a fight, Lucivar felt his temper slip the leash, turning hot and jagged as he walked up to Falonar. “That’s the second time you’ve used a sparring match to strike at a man. I guarantee you won’t survive if you try it a third time.”
    He motioned to Zaranar and Rothvar. “Get Prince Falonar back to his eyrie and summon the Healer. The rest of you are dismissed—except you, Hallevar.”
    The two men hauled Falonar upright, ignoring his snarled protest, and carried him out. The other men departed as quickly as they could.
    When he was alone with the arms master, Lucivar said, “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”
    Hallevar shook his head. “But I’m guessing he’s finding it harder than the others to accept that when it comes to fighting, we might be second best in this Realm. Not you, of course.” He hesitated, then added, “We’re an arrogant race, Lucivar. You know that as well as I do.”
    “We are, and I do. But we’re not stupid, and when a man wears the Sapphire, attacking a Gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince during a friendly sparring match is plain stupid, no matter what race the Gray comes from.”
    “Something has been chewing at him lately, that’s for sure, but I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I can tell you that, even as boys, you and Falonar lived by different shades of honor.”
    “Honor is honor,” Lucivar snapped. “It doesn’t come in shades.”
    “Yeah.” Hallevar smiled. “As boy or man, that line was always clear to you. I don’t think it was ever that clear for Falonar, which is probably why the two of you can’t get along any better now than you did back then. And there’s the other thing.” He frowned, then shook his head.
    “Say it.”
    “You’ve fought your battles, and you’ve got nothing to prove. So you’re content to rule a territory that isn’t churned up all the time with power struggles