“Bastard,” Jarek groans, shoving off his brother.
Garrick raises a hand. “I can’t feel my ass.”
“Because you landed on it,” I point out.
“Youmademe land on it.”
I shrug. “Cause and effect.”
Rian, still standing, just exhales and says, “You could at least pretend to struggle.”
“Iamstruggling,” I say mildly. “To stay entertained.”
We reset, breathing hard. I flash a grin.
Jarek aims for my head. I duck. Garrick swings upward toward my jaw. I lean back, but the end of his staff grazes my cheek, stinging hot. I taste blood.
I twist and drive my staff into his side—he stumbles, cursing. Then Rian tries to sweep me. His staff clips my ankle, nearly taking me down.
I recover fast, thrusting forward. My staff crashes into his shoulder with a satisfyingcrackthat echoes off the stone. Jarek sees his chance and charges. He feints high—then slams the staff into my ribs again. Same spot.
I grunt—pain flashing through me—but I turn into it, grabbing his staff with mine, locking it down, and yanking hard.
He loses his grip.
I shove him back. A wave of whistles and whoops rises from outside the ring.
“Still unfair?” I ask.
He glares. “You’re bleeding.”
“So are you.”
They start to find rhythm. And I start to feel it.
My left side aches. My thigh throbs. My jaw stings. But I don’t stop.
Rian comes at me from the right, silent and fast. I deflect, jab, step in. He’s smarter than the others—he doesn’t linger, doesn’t overextend. He fades back, letting Jarek take the brunt again.
I drive my staff into Jarek’s ribs—controlled, but firm. He gasps and drops back. The crowd winces with him.
“Still breathing,” he coughs. “Barely.”
Around us, soldiers clap, boots stomping the dirt in approval.
We reset. The midday sun gleams off the ends of our quarterstaffs like firelight as my brothers eye me up and down, looking for any opening or weakness.
This time, they attack together—Fire Clan fury and Water Clan flow—and they don’t hold back.
Jarek drives me back with fast, disciplined strikes. Garrick follows, wild and grinning even through exhaustion. Rian waits, watching, reading the gaps.
I absorb another blow from Garrick—this one to my upper arm—then spin low, knocking his legs from under him. He hits the ground with a wheeze.
Jarek’s on me before I rise. We lock staffs—wood straining between us, arms shaking with the strain.
I smile through gritted teeth. “Stronger than last time.”
“Training with you’ll do that,” he growls.
