The South Wind uncoils, quick as an asp. I lift my dagger in retaliation, for this maneuver is familiar. Metal clangs as the blades collide. I’m out of reach less than a heartbeat later.
He doesn’t follow, merely begins to circle, forcing me into motion if I want to protect my back. The first strike was a test, an attempt to measure my strength, reflexes, agility. The next blow rattles my teeth. I hold steady, our blades locked above the hilts, his scimitar overshadowing my much smaller dagger. My muscles strain, unwilling to give ground. His arms flex beneath his robe, and the veins pull taut in his neck.
Down he pushes, forcing pressure into my wrists. They twinge painfully. Though I stand a few inches taller, the South Wind possesses wide, powerful shoulders. Sweat slicks my hand, fusing my glove to the leather-banded hilt. I cannot break.
But I do not anticipate the sun, nor the well-timed angle of his blade. A starburst hits the shining metal of his scimitar, and the reflected light whitens my vision. I leap backward, the sharpened edge nicking me in the arm, a bright sting.
“Careful!” Zephyrus snarls.
The air stirs to my right. I whirl, tracking the crunch of grit over rock, my skin prickled with perspiration. Through slitted eyes, I pursue my opponent’s blurred outline until the blindness recedes.
He lunges then, and we collide. The speed of his assault forces my focus to narrow. Block, strike, duck, parry. My opponent is always one step ahead. By the time I aim for his abdomen, he is already gone, flicking the sword tip across my upper arm. I hiss at the bite of metal slicing flesh.
“Enough.” Zephyrus climbs to his feet, one hand braced against the curved trunk. “Let this duel be done.”
I ignore him. What is a duel without a little blood? I will not make the same mistake twice.
In the next blink, the South Wind slips his blade beneath my guard. I dodge, knocking the sword aside. The time for defense has passed. What is here in this moment? A god and a mortal. My blade and his. The scream of metal, its ringing clarity.
I am a blade.
I move through the exercises fluently, utilizing every piece of knowledge at my disposal. When the South Wind reveals an opening, I lunge. My dagger swipes low, across the heavily muscled thigh, parting cloth and flesh with the ease of a vessel gliding through water.
He withdraws, dark eyes flat with irritation. I draw him in with an opening, force him back with a series of brutal stabs. Now that I’m better acquainted with his fighting style, I adapt to it. Strikes lead to retreat, reevaluation. He favors jabs and unexpected deflections. The man is too quick.
I give it my best, and I give it my all, but who am I to think I can best a god? It is hardly a match. In the next heartbeat, his blade flicks upward, kissing my throat.
The South Wind examines me with cool detachment, the blacks of his eyes brightened by the bout. He has not broken a sweat. Was it even an effort for him?
“In my realm,” he murmurs, “he who wins a duel, takes a life.”
“Excuse me?” Zephyrus lurches forward. “Since when do our duels end in bloodshed? Or have you learned nothing from our upbringing? The Council of Gods allows for bloodshed only in the event of a serious grievance. Brielle has done nothing. She is innocent.”
I swallow, feeling the scrape of the metal tip. I made a promise, and I will not cower. If I am to die, let it be on my feet rather than my knees.
“Zephyrus,” Notus says with utter stillness, “we have not inhabited the City of Gods in millennia. This is my realm. Its rules are not the same.”
“She is mortal.” The words emerge as a snarl.
“I am aware.”
His eyes flash with frightening ire. “Touch one hair on her head,” Zephyrus spits, “and you will not live beyond your next breath.”
The South Wind regards his brother calmly. “You would deny me my prize?”
Zephyrus flinches. “Not her,” he whispers. “Please.”
“The deal must be upheld.”
“What do I have to do in order for you to spare her?” Zephyrus grinds out.
He lowers his blade a hair. “Would you give up your life in her stead?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
“No,” I snap. Stupid man. What is the point of having gone through all this trouble to seek healing from the venom, only for Zephyrus to give up his life? If I am killed, I lose a few decades of mundane mortal life, but Zephyrus has an eternity ahead of him, and all of Under relying on his blood for its existence. “I accepted the bargain. Let it be fulfilled.”
“Brielle.” He stumbles forward with a plea. “Don’t give up your life for one so undeserving.”
