Free Full-Blood Half-Breed by Cleve Lamison Page A

and were out the door even before Alwin, Drud, and Hisa. Drud hung back and grabbed Paladin’s shoulder. His stout face was tight with earnest concern. “When thetime comes, if you’re still … able to compete, I will stand with you during the Melee—”
    Rebelde growled, “Drud—”
    Drud took off like an arrow. He called to Paladin as he bounded out the door. “Adiós,
vato
. And gods be with you.”

Chapter Eight
A Man Grown

    Paladin wanted to escape with Drud and the others. Rebelde’s ire was palpable, scorching the very ether in the room. It was suffocating.
    Walküre pleaded, “Be calm, Rebel.”
    Rebelde appeared not to have heard her. His words came at Paladin in a halting whisper, crisply enunciated, measured, and controlled. “You should not have done this, boy. You have betrayed all I have taught you.”
    In his sixteen years of life, Paladin had known fear often. When he was six years old, he and his best friend Ladrillo had gotten lost near the haunted wood, Fantasmaderas Forest, and been attacked by the bloodthirsty chupacabra, a thing of living shadow. The monster had killed Ladrillo and nearly ended Paladin as well, leaving an enduring stain of terror on his soul. But that was a little fear compared to what he felt at the smoldering wrath in his papá’s dark eyes.
    Rebelde had gone beyond anger. Anger was yelling. Anger was wild gesticulating, cursing and eye rolling. This was a rage Rebelde struggled to control, lest it break into violence he would regret.
    Paladin could think of only one way to stay his father’s temper. Rebelde might respond to cold reason, and reason was all Paladin had in his defense.
    Rebelde growled through clenched teeth, “You know how I feel about Torneo, do you not?”
    “Sí, Papá.” Paladin repeated the words Rebelde had spoken to him often. “ ‘Torneo mocks us all by making sport of war and games of killing. There are no winners or losers in war. Only killers and corpses.’ ”
    “Then why, in Muumba’s name, would you do such a thing? Why would you defy me in such a way?”
    “I—I did not do this to defy you. This has nothing to do with you. I want to prove myskill in the arena. You have said my martial system is superior to the others. Why can you not be proud of me? Even Drud’s parents encourage him to compete, and he—”
    Rebelde moved as if to lunge at Paladin, and Paladin stumbled backward, braced himself against the oak dining table, and then used it as a barrier between himself and his papá.
    Walküre grabbed Rebelde and pulled him toward the hearth. “Rebel! Mind your temper. You know how it is with the young. They are desperate to prove themselves.” She turned to Paladin. “Tell him you meant no disrespect. Tell him, niño …”
    “Please do not call me that, Mamá.” It was a silly thing to rebuke his mother for, and a stupid time to do it, but he was tired of being treated like a child. “I am no child. Today marks my sixteenth year. I’m almost a man grown.”
    A mocking, cruel sound rumbled in Rebelde’s throat, laughter’s bastard brother. “Men grown—if they are wise—do not risk their lives for the pleasure of bloodthirsty fools. Men do not seek honor in games of mock war. Men seek only the favor of the man in the looking glass. Torneo—”
    “Were you not a man when you competed, Papá?” Paladin knew the words were a mistake the moment they slipped past his lips.
    Rebelde’s eyes seemed ready to pop from his skull. He drew back from Paladin as if he were a serpent who had just spat at him.
    “
Perdóname
, Papá. I didn’t mean to—”
    Rebelde’s voice was like a thunderclap. “
Mpumbavu!
You would dare liken your lot in life to mine? You ungrateful fool!”
    Never had Rebelde spoken to him with such venom or volume. Paladin flinched as if slapped. Again he chastised himself for his outlaw tongue. But he could not sit silent and be accused of misdeeds when he knew in his heart he had done nothing