THE FIVE THRONES

THE POISONER'S TALE

Sunny grabbed Francisco by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

"You poisoned someone," Sunny said. "Who?"

Francisco didn't resist. He just looked at Sunny with those pale blue eyes, calm and unreadable.

"Let go of me, boy."

"Not until you tell me the truth."

"The truth is complicated." Francisco's voice was steady. "The vial wasn't poison. It was medicine. For a friend."

"Yasma is not your friend."

"She's not." Francisco paused. "But her mother was."

Sunny's grip loosened. "What?"

Francisco pushed him away and straightened his shirt. "Yasma's mother was my sister. That makes Yasma my niece."

Sunny stared at him. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of what he had just heard.

"Your sister," he repeated.

"Her name was Lian. She was executed for treason when Yasma was twelve." Francisco's jaw tightened. "I've been trying to protect Yasma ever since. Even when she doesn't want my protection."

"So the vial..."

"Medicine. For her headaches. She gets them when she's stressed." Francisco smiled bitterly. "Being a manipulative snake takes a toll."

Sunny didn't know what to say. He had been so sure Francisco was betraying him. But this—this changed everything.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sunny asked.

"Because it wasn't your business. And because I didn't know if I could trust you." Francisco studied him. "Now I do."

---

Kaycee was waiting outside.

"Well?" he asked.

"He's not a traitor." Sunny ran a hand through his hair. "He's Yasma's uncle."

Kaycee blinked. "What?"

"Her mother was his sister. He's been protecting her since she was a child."

Kaycee was silent for a moment. Then he laughed. "This city is insane."

"You're telling me."

"So what now?"

Sunny thought about it. Francisco wasn't a traitor—at least not to him. But that didn't mean Yasma could be trusted. She was still manipulating him, still playing her own game.

"We keep going," Sunny said. "We win the tournament. And then we figure out who's really on our side."

---

The third match was against a fighter named Soren.

He was quick and precise, a master of the Crane family's fighting style. His movements were elegant, almost beautiful, and deadly.

Sunny watched him from across the arena. Soren was calm, controlled. He didn't taunt or threaten. He just waited.

The bell rang.

Soren attacked first. His strikes were fast and accurate, aimed at pressure points and joints. Sunny blocked what he could, but Soren was too skilled. A strike to his elbow made his arm go numb. A kick to his knee nearly buckled his leg.

Sunny stumbled back, gasping.

"Yield," Soren said. "I don't want to hurt you."

Sunny laughed. "You're not hurting me."

He charged. Soren sidestepped, but Sunny was ready. He feinted left and struck right, catching Soren on the jaw. The Crane fighter stumbled, and Sunny pressed the advantage.

He drove his fist into Soren's chest, then his stomach, then his throat. Soren blocked some, but not all. He was fast, but Sunny was relentless.

Soren went down.

The crowd roared.

Sunny stood over him, breathing hard. "Yield."

Soren looked up at him. His eyes were calm, accepting. "I yield."

The announcer's voice boomed. "Winner! Sunny of the Lower Quarter!"

Three matches. Three victories. Sunny was one step closer to the throne.

But as he walked out of the arena, he saw something that made his blood run cold.

Evado was waiting for him.

---

The assassin stood in the shadows, his bone mask gleaming in the torchlight.

"You've done well," Evado said. His voice was soft, almost gentle. "Better than expected."

Sunny tensed. "What do you want?"

"To talk." Evado stepped closer. "You're the rightful heir to the Tiger throne. I'm the Tiger family's champion. That makes us enemies."

"I know."

"But it also makes us something else." Evado tilted his head. "It makes us family."

Sunny stared at him. "What?"

"Your father was my uncle. Which means we're cousins." Evado laughed softly. "Funny how these things work out."

Sunny's mind was reeling. Evado was his cousin. The man who had been sent to kill him was his blood.

"You're lying," Sunny said.

"I'm not. Your father and my mother were siblings. When the coup happened, my mother chose to serve the new rulers. Your father chose to run." Evado paused. "I was raised to hate him. To hate you. But now..."

"Now what?"

Evado was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "Now I'm not so sure."

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.

Sunny stood there, frozen, trying to process what he had just learned.

---

Kaycee found him an hour later, still standing in the same spot.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Kaycee said.

"Worse." Sunny looked at him. "Evado is my cousin."

Kaycee's jaw dropped. "What?"

"He's my father's nephew. His mother was my father's sister."

Kaycee was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "This city is insane."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true." Kaycee paused. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." Sunny ran a hand through his hair. "He said he's not sure anymore. Not sure about what."

"About killing you?"

"Maybe."

Kaycee studied him. "You can't trust him."

"I know."

"But you want to."

Sunny didn't answer. Because Kaycee was right. He wanted to trust Evado. He wanted to believe that there was still family left in the world. That he wasn't alone.

But he couldn't afford to be naive. Not now. Not ever.

---

That night, Sunny dreamed of his father.

They were in the old training yard, the one behind their house in the Lower Quarter. His father was demonstrating a form, his movements slow and deliberate.

"Watch carefully," his father said. "This is the Iron Fist technique. It's been passed down through our family for generations."

Sunny watched. He tried to copy the movements, but his body was clumsy, uncoordinated.

His father laughed. "You'll get it. You just need practice."

"I don't want to practice. I want to fight."

"You're too young to fight."

"I'm not too young. I'm ten."

His father smiled. "You're ten. That means you have years to learn. Years to grow. Don't rush it."

Sunny woke up with tears on his face.

He sat up, wiping his eyes. The basement was dark and quiet. Kaycee was asleep in the corner, snoring softly.

Sunny got up and walked outside. The night air was cool, the smog thinner than usual. He could see stars.

He thought about his father. About the lessons he had taught. About the love he had given.

And he thought about the throne. The one that had been stolen from his family. The one he was fighting to reclaim.

He would win. He would take back what was his. And he would make his father proud.

---

The fourth match was the semifinal.

Sunny's opponent was a woman named Vera—a former champion of the Crane family. She was older, experienced, and deadly.

"You're the gutter rat everyone's talking about," she said.

"I'm more than that."

"We'll see."

The fight was brutal. Vera was faster than anyone Sunny had faced. Her strikes were precise, aimed at vital points. She hit him again and again, wearing him down.

But Sunny didn't fall.

He took the hits. He absorbed the pain. And he waited.

Vera made a mistake. She overextended on a kick, and Sunny caught her leg. He twisted hard, and she crashed to the ground.

He was on her before she could recover. His fists rained down, each blow harder than the last.

Vera went limp.

The crowd was silent.

Sunny stood up, breathing hard. His body was covered in bruises and cuts. But he was standing.

"Winner!" the announcer shouted. "Sunny of the Lower Quarter!"

The crowd erupted.

Sunny walked out of the arena. He had won. He was in the final.

But as he walked, he saw something that made his blood run cold.

Yasma was standing with a man he didn't recognize. A tall man with cold eyes and a cruel smile.

And they were looking at him.