The Iron-Jawed Boy and the Hand of the Moon (Book 2, Sky Guardian Chronicles) by Nikolas Lee Page A

head gently upon the floor and stood. He looked up at the Illyrians, who wore faces that couldn’t have been more dumbfounded.
    “She already lost,” said Ion. “I won’t kill her.”
    A smattering of whispers washed over the crowd. Then, a great gasp.
    Ion turned to see Vasheer limping towards the Witch. “Move aside, Guardian,” he hissed, shoving Ion away.
    The Illyrian knelt down to her, and grabbed her by the tentacles of her head.
    Vasheer raised his heated blade into the air.
    Ion turned away before he heard the sweeping of the sword, before the smell of cooked fish filled his nose.

CHAPTER TEN
    THE QUEEN
    As the Future Hands once again formed a line before the watching Illyrians, the Skylord stood and threw his arms out as if to embrace the competitors.
    Lady Borea grabbed his arm, wagged her bony finger at him, and said, “Have you forgotten what I said earlier?” Othum sat down with his arms crossed over the diamond in his chest, while Borea smiled and turned to the contestants. “Future Hands—you have put on a grand show for us today, and I thank you for that. Lord Vasheer, please step forward.”
    Vasheer nodded and did proudly as he was told, back straight, head held annoyingly high.
    “You have proven your worth today, Bright One,” said Lady Borea, “to the citizens of Illyria, to the gods you call family, to your mother, your father, and your grandmother. Congratulations, you are the winner of the Fight!”
    The arena rang with cheers and whistles of the crowd. Flowers soared through the air to crowd at Vasheer’s feet.
    “Thank you, Grandmother,” he said, bowing reverently. “I stand proud today as a god who—”
    “Yes, yes,” said Lady Borea, waving her hand about. “Proud, honored, etcetera, etcetera. Save the speeches for after you’ve been crowned. A word of caution for the other Future Hands: should Vasheer win another event, the Throne of the Moon will be his. Tomorrow, at this same time, we will gather at the edge of the Silken Vale to herald the second event in the Tournament. That is all for today.”
    Lady Borea stood, bowed to the Future Hands, then made her way for the exit, her staff preceding each step. The other gods followed, until one by one, each had disappeared from the arena. Othum nodded at Ion—as if to stand behind Ion’s decision—before disappearing up the stairs. Once they were the only ones remaining, Ion and Lillian left the body of the Sea Witch to meet with the other Guardians in the stands.
    “What were you doing out there, Ion?” Oceanus snapped quietly, the retreating crowd bustling behind her. “You had the Sea Witch right where you needed her!”
    “I couldn’t do it, Oceanus,” Ion said. “She didn’t deserve to die.”
    “Right, because she would’ve been so kind to spare you the same way,” said Oceanus, crossing her arms.
    “It doesn’t matter what she wanted to do to me!” said Ion, aware of the heat building in his jaw. “She didn’t deserve death! I mean, listen to what you’re saying! What about those cyclops holding up the roof to the Hall of Thrones? Do you think they deserved that, too?”
    “The gods know—”
    “Best, I know ,” said Ion. “But right now, I think we’d do better not to be so sure.”
    Oceanus’s freckles set on a background of red. Though her fists were so tight at her side, they nearly glowed white. She sneered at him, whirled around, and vanished amidst the throngs of exiting Illyrian citizens, who eyed Ion as they passed.
    “At least she didn’t try to drown you this time,” said Theo.
    “Her thoughts sang of a different story,” said Lillian, before joining the crowd.
    Father appeared next at Ion’s side, bearing down on him with a proud kind of smile only a father could wear. “My little gladiator!” he cried before hugging Ion, also like only a father could. “The way you threw all that lightning and wind—a Caller Father couldn’t be happier!”
    “Thanks,” Ion said,