Mistel was already reaching into the crate for another.
Drustan sprang toward her. Cole seized the opportunity and aimed a quick strike at Drustan’s thigh. The blade sliced a shallow line through his trousers. Drustan hissed and swung wildly, forcing Cole to leap back.
A third pot caught Drustan squarely in the chest. He stumbled and coughed as shards and dust rained around him.
“You little wretch.” He jabbed his sword at Cole, who shifted to block.
Drustan had been feinting, though, and while Cole overextended the reach of his block, Drustan spun toward Mistel.
“Get back!” Cole shouted, but it was too late.
Drustan drove his elbow against Mistel’s temple, and she crumpled to the floor. A fourth clay pot slipped from her fingers and rolled toward her feet.
“Mistel!” Cole yelled.
Drustan chuckled as he stalked toward Cole, sword gripped at his side. “Don’t worry, Coley. She’ll wake up—eventually. Once I’ve cut you to pieces.”
The sight of Mistel’s crumpled body ignited a fire in Cole’s chest. “You’re not taking anyone else from me.”
He charged, swinging his sword in a relentless barrage, each strike fueled by a mix of rage and desperation. Drustan barely managed to parry the onslaught, his grin faltering as Cole drove him back step by step. He was no longer a towering monster. He was a man who could bleed. And Cole would make him.
He gripped the sword with both hands and drove forward hard, jabbing at Drustan’s chest, swiping for his feet. The clashing blades rang through the warehouse as their fight raged on, each blow louder than the last. Cole’s muscles burned, but he refused to falter, repeating Kurtz’s training in his mind.
Hold your ground. Don’t retreat.
Drustan’s sword flew from his hand and skidded behind a crate. He bolted toward it. Cole climbed over the crate and leaped down on the other side, landing between Drustan and his weapon.
“Yield,” Cole said.
Drustan drew a dagger from his belt. “I’d rather not.” He sprinted toward Mistel—who was now stirring—and slid on his knees beside her, dragging her up against him and pressing the blade to her throat.
She yelped, her hands flying to Drustan’s forearm.
“Drop the sword, or I’ll cut her,” Drustan said.
Cole froze. Memories crashed over him. A small boy, powerless, watching as Drustan and his brother, Fen, pinned down Peat. Hearing the helpless puppy yelp as the knife did its work.
Worse, Cole recalled Kurtz saying, “If a blade is at your skin, you’re dead.”
“Maybe I’ll give her scars to match the king.” Drustan mimed a slash down Mistel’s cheek. “Or I’ll start with her ears, like I did with that mutt of yours.” He shifted the dagger to hover over Mistel’s ear.
Something inside Cole snapped. “If that blade so much as touches her, you will die.”
“Ooh.” Drustan chuckled darkly. “Threats don’t sound much like threats coming from you, Coley.”
Yet if Drustan had wanted to kill Mistel, he would have done so already. Thusk needed her alive, and while Cole didn’t want to make the wrong choice when her life was at stake, all he could do was try and talk Drustan down.
“What’s the matter, brother?” Cole asked. “Using the girl to sneak in a rest? If you’re tired, just say so.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Then I guess you’re just a coward if you need to hide behind Mistel. You’ve always been a coward, Drustan. Hurting anything smaller than you to try and prove you’re strong. You want to fight me? Fight me like a man.”
Drustan growled and shoved Mistel away so hard, she fell to the floor. Cole seized that moment to rush in and attack. His blade struck Drustan’s dagger, then he swung around and thrust toward Drustan’s belly. Drustan dodged, but not fast enough. Cole’s sword nicked him. Teeth bared, Drustan jabbed his dagger at Cole, who parried easily, pushing Drustan back until his heels met the top edge of the stairs going down.
Drustan swung wildly. Cole blocked, and the force of his heavier blade against the smaller one broke the dagger in two. The tip clanged to the floor.
“Yield,” Cole said.
