I lunge.
Lyra
The shock on his face is immediate. Genuine, startled, almostoffended. As if he didn’t actually expect me to fight.
Then, his training takes over. He pivots, blade sweeping up to meet mine. Light slams into light with a sound like glass breaking as sparks of luminth scatter between us, burning tiny holes into the ground where they land.
Twisting my wrist, I try to slide under his guard and slice at his side. He steps back smoothly, using his height to his advantage, and his blade flicks in a precise arc aimed at my shoulder.
I drop low, feeling the wind of it graze my hair. The blade would have cut through armor, through bone, through everything. There’s no restraint to his movements, no hesitation.
He’s trying to kill me.
Rolling across the dirt, I come up on one knee and fling my left hand out. Luminth bursts from my palm in a wide, flat shield.Vaelion's blade hits it before skidding away, knocked off course. My father drives forward with relentless precision. His blade thrusting, cutting, forcing me back, step by step. Every strike is a lesson he taught me, turned on me as he attempts to wear me down.
My boots slip against the mud, and I barely manage to catch myself. My forearms ache from blocking. The luminth shield flickers, my concentration straining.
He doesn’t even look winded. “You were always such a disappointment,” he says as we circle. “Cindral agreed with me.”
My blade clashes with his. I’m panting. “I’m aware. He wasparticularlydisappointed when I killed him in the Veilspire.”
He didn't know. My father stumbles, his eyes widening for the barest moment, and I use the opening to slash toward his throat. Blocking me with a minimal movement, he counters with a brutal kick to my knee. Pain explodes in my right leg, and it buckles. Gritting my teeth, I use the fall to spin and avoid the blade that whips toward my ribs.
I come up breathing hard, blades held tight. And all the while, he watches me like a craftsman, assessing for flaws. “It’s a pity. You could have been my heir, you know. If you weren’t the by-blow of a lowborn whore.”
The words detonate something in me. My luminth surges so violently it makes my palms burn. “She had a name,” I hiss. “What was it?”
He shrugs, almost indifferent. “I can’t remember now.”
“That’s alie.”
His mouth stretches into a smirk. “You’re never going to know. Almost the same thing.”
The scream that tears out of me is not articulate. It’s wordless, and shrill, and it burns my throat as I thrust both hands forward and release luminth in a concentrated blast.
A beam of pure light slams into his chest. He staggers, his boot sliding back, and I don’t let up. Sprinting, I grip my blades in my hand and close the distance before he can fully recover. I slash left, right, low, then feint high and pivot to strike at his weapon arm.
He manages to block me, but it costs him more movement now. His guard is tighter, and I watch as his stance shifts. He started out almost amused, but any humor has vanished from his face now as we circle.
“You dare?” he snarls at me. “After what I’ve given you?”
I’d love to list all of the things he's given me, but I'm finished with speaking. Slamming my shoulder into him, I use the armor’s weight as leverage and he grunts. For a heartbeat, we’re chest to chest, blades pressed against each other.
There are no flames in my father's eyes. Only the faintest glow, as if the fire is going out.
“You weremadefor this.” He almost sounds out of breath. “To end the war, Lyra.”
I swallow. “I am ending it.”
He shoves me back with a burst of luminth from his palm. I fly back and hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs as I roll over. Mud fills my mouth. Coughing, I spit it out, and scramble up as his luminth blade forms again. Longer now, far longer than my own blades, and heavier.
He’s counting on my tiredness. And I feel it, feel my energy slipping and my body beginning to ache.
He advances with a ruthless rhythm, his blade slicing patterns in the air that corral me. I block each one, my blades sparking. Each impact sends a jolt up my arms, pulls a little more from me. When I push back, putting every inch I have into it, he takes a few steps, giving me a moment to breathe.
He’s older. Stronger. More practiced. He’s fought this war for thirtyyears, and I didn’t leave the Sunspire until a few weeks ago. If I keep meeting him head-on, he’ll wear me down.
I need something else. In the distance, over the crush of bodies, I catch a flicker of shadow. Kaelen’s erevas is unmistakable. Figures rise amongst the battlefield like living sculptures, dark voids of shadow that twist and move, easily doubling the Darkwielder headcount.
