He drives in close once more, and we exchange parries and ripostes. One of his blows comes down hard against my knife, jarring the bones of my hand so that my fingers uncurl. The knife drops, and I curse, sticking my stinging knuckles in my mouth.
“Pick it up,” Valtar snarls.
“Grouchy,” I mutter, and bend to retrieve my weapon. But Valtar moves too quickly. Taking a single long stride, he kicks it out of reach. The next instant, his knife is poised at my throat again, the blade tilting my chin up so that I’m forced to meet his gaze.
My breath catches. The muscles in my jaw constrict. Deep down in my belly, heat roars to life. Is this the same fiery buildup I experienced when I lay helpless in Joro’s grasp? The rising burn in my veins, ignited from the very pit of my soul? Or is it something else entirely? Something equally hot, equally dangerous. Something pleasurable.
I let out a small huff of air. “All right,” I snap, rolling my eyes. “You’ve made your point: I’m inept at weaponry. It’s not like it ever came up in the apothecary’s shop!” I move to knock his hand aside. For just a moment, I feel resistance…and in that moment, I realize how very vulnerable I would be were he truly intent on my harm. Were he my enemy.
But he’s not. He’s Valtar. He withdraws his arm, lets his knife drop to his side, and stands there, all silent and brooding as I get back to my feet. I look around for my own blade, spot it some yards away. It’s got to be so battered and dulled by now with all this poor handling.
“Of course the scarf doesn’t mean anything,” I say, stomping over to the knife and swiping it up. I turn to Valtar again, glaring. “I told you, I don’t intend to marry any of the champions. But,” I add, shaking the tip of the blade his way, “if Iwereto change my mind, what does it matter to you anyway?”
His teeth flash in a grimace. “So youdomean to change your mind.”
I snort. “That’s not what I said, now is it?” My eyes narrow with growing suspicion. “You were there, weren’t you. In the gardens this morning. When I was out with Lord Elis.”
He turns his head to one side, silent.
“I knew it!” I cry, throwing up my hands. “You are, beyond a doubt, the worst of snoops! What business is it of yours to spy on me while I’m with one of my champions? Well? Have you anything to say for yourself?”
A long, slow breath eases from his lungs. Then he stands a little straighter and almost meets my eye. “So long as you are here, you are not safe, Princess.”
“Oh, is that your excuse? That you wereprotectingme?” I shake my head, raw fury boiling in my breast. “I have a whole palaceful of guards, don’t I?”
“And what good did they do you when Joro made his attempt on your life?”
“They’ve improved since then. They’re quite lively and alert these days, blast them.”
“And where are they now?”
As his words roll across the empty, open space, they seem somehow to emphasize the loneliness of our situation, the solitude positively echoing around us. I feel again that sudden sense of vulnerability which I too often ignore. I’d worked so hard to escape my guards tonight and am grateful for the reprieve fromtheir watchful eyes. But without them, what sort of chance would I have if set upon by an enemy?
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, with more confidence than I feel, “sinceyouare here.”
His teeth flash again in a snarl before he turns away from me. His growling voice floats over his shoulder to my ear. “And where will I be once you’ve escaped this place and fled into the wilds? When all Mhoryga’s dracori are hunting you down, and you haven’t a friend in the world?”
I cross my arms, standing with my weight on one foot. “Sounds to me like you think I ought to take a champion for protection after all.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but you might as well. And you don’t approve of Lord Elis, do you? You think he can’t protect me. Well, maybe I think he can! He’s the only one who managed to kill any of those votyr last night, isn’t he?”
Valtar scoffs. “Elis got lucky.”
“Maybe Ineeda bit of luck.” I widen my stance again. “Or maybe you’re a dragon-eaten idiot who’s got himself bent out of shape over nothing. Maybe I’m better equipped to handle myself than you imagine.”
He rounds on me, mouth open as though to speak. I don’t give him the chance. I lunge, moving faster than he expects judging by the slight flare of his eyes. My muscles are already beginning to adapt to the drills, moving with more fluidity and grace than they did last night. He wards off my blow, but I move into the next maneuver, then the third, fourth, fifth. He hasn’t taught me beyond that, but I let instinct guide me and make another lunge. He parries that, but I don’t let the slight opportunity I see go to waste. I lift my arm, blade flashing, and suddenly, I’mpressed up against him, torso to torso, and my blade lies against his jaw, glinting in the moonlight.
Valtar’s black eyes stare into mine. He does not breathe, though my breath comes in little gasping pants. He merely stands there, frozen. A statue of fire-hewn marble.
“I won,” I breathe, my lips twisting in a deadly smile.
“No,” he answers. His eyes flick downward. I draw back an inch, looking for myself, and find he’s got the tip of his knife pressed against my abdomen. “Until you’ve taken your enemy’s last breath from his lungs,” he says, his voice a rumble of distant thunder, “you’ve won nothing.”
“Oh.” I stare at that knife for three labored breaths. My blood pulses, my heart races. “Is that so?”
Then, before I can think better of it, I slip my arm around the back of his neck, haul his head down, stand up on my toes, and press my mouth to his.
