“Weapons or hand-to-hand?” Doryan called from the rack.
“Ladies’ choice,” Shayde answered.
I laughed once. “You just fucked up.” To Doryan: “Swords.”
He grabbed the practice blade he knew I favored and tossed it over. I caught it by the hilt with a snap. The matching sword sailed to Shayde, who caught it just as easily.
Doryan stepped into the center, raising a fist to quiet the murmuring crowd. “No elements,” he said. “Fight until one yields or can’t continue.”
The instant his fist dropped, I lunged.
My boots splashed through mud as I charged, sword high. I slashed for Shayde’s left shoulder—he parried cleanly. Steel rang, sharp and crisp. The vibration snaked up my arms.
I spun low for his side—caught again. He dropped his stance and shoved me back. But he didn’t strike.
We circled, blades raised in mirrored grips. I lunged to bait him—nothing. Not even a blink.
I came harder, faster. A wide arc for his ribs—blocked. He twisted us sharply, sending me stumbling.
Grunting, breath flaring with frustration, I pressed the attack. Every feint, slice, jab—caught with ease. His eyes stayed calm and steady. Studying me. Not fighting me.
It only pissed me off more.
I drove into him with a flurry of strikes, fast and relentless. He caught each one, still not breaking a sweat. Rage blurred my form. I overextended—he blocked, swept my leg, and sent me crashing into the mud in one fluid motion.
A wet slap echoed through the ring. The crowd hushed.
Ineverget knocked down.
Chest heaving, I glared up at Shayde Wylder. The moon burned silver behind him, turning his features into something carved from light and shadow. His breathing was heavier now—but not strained. Not tired.
He didn’t offer a hand. Just reset his stance.
Rain fell again; I couldn’t tell if it was my doing, my sister’s, or the sky’s. Mud slid down my arms as I pushed to my feet. I rolled my shoulders, gripped my sword, raised it once more.
Be whathe won’t.
Doryan’s words echoed through my skull. I shifted, switching to a left-handed grip. Shayde mirrored me without hesitation.
Mud spattered as I leapt, blade slicing down in a sharp diagonal. He sidestepped, parrying like he was brushing away a leaf. I growled, feinted left, cut right—he was already there. Steel cracked against steel.
We were inches apart, breaths mingling, blades locked.
“Fucking fight me!” I screamed, voice tearing my throat.
He shoved me back with his sword and reset, unreadable as stone.
We circled. My heartbeat hammered like a caged animal. Rain lashed my skin; sweat stung my eyes.
I lunged. Low strike to the hip—
He twisted, caught the flat of my blade, and knocked me off balance. This time he pressed the advantage. I stumbled—caught myself—then we clashed again. Dodge. Pivot. Parry.
The crowd roared.
Mud streaked us, soaking our hair. His strikes sharpened, each one driving me toward the railing. Wood pressed into my spine. I couldn’t catch my breath.
Then his blade swept mine clean from my hands. It hit the mud with a hollow plunk.
