"He fought well," Corvus Corax said coldly.
"Ha, of course I know that. A cripple beat one of your Scions in the ring—" Curze spread his hands. "—in fact, if you'll allow it, I'd say he fought extremely well."
"Will you allow it, Corvus Corax?"
Facing the Lord of the Night's smile, the lines of Corax's cheeks tightened a little. He offered no rebuttal. A win was a win, and points meant a loss. Anyone could see Jago Sevatarion had been in poor condition when he stepped into the ring. In fact, he had been swaying so badly it almost looked as if he was about to collapse. That he had won was a miracle.
Corax would not deny established fact, so he would admit it—"I allow it."
The Lord of the Ravens nodded to his self-satisfied brother. "On this matter, I have nothing to fault you for. You sent a half-crippled man into the ring to fight a chosen warrior of my Legion to the death. He won, and even held back, not killing him. That is why I came, Konrad Curze."
"Oh?"
Curze raised his brows in surprise. "So, you've come to thank me?"
"No."
Corax shifted his gaze away, so Curze would not discover too quickly the way his eyes had widened with anger. He stared at the sight beyond the viewport and spoke slowly.
"I will not thank you—even if I were to, it would be to the man lying inside."
"He is one of the Night Lords. My First Captain. His hands are covered in blood, Corax. Do I need to remind you what he has done to your Legion?"
"Do you imagine you're any better?" Corax shot back. "A few months ago, you were still just one of the shadows we needed to eradicate.