If you wish to exact a win, you must be exact in your control.
How many times had my father—the man who raised me—drilled that into me?
I was not exact. I was being ruled by emotion and disorganization.
This vampire was going to win because I wasn’texact.
I snapped back to myself and slammed his blade against the wall again. I needed one more moment to get myself completely under control.
Holding him there, I glanced at Roran and Rilen behind him. I shot a look at Dorian, who was starting to come around. I even took a quick glance at Aiko.
That was where I found myexact.
The scrape of metal on metal drew me back to my present situation.
Savion freed his sword from mine and swung again.
I parried. He swung, and I countered. Over and over again, back and forth.
Each and every blow was form perfect. High, low, parry, counter-parry—I had never met anyone with such perfect form.
And his perfection was his imperfection.
His weakness.
I put a hand to the slice he’d dealt me, starting to feel pain from it.
“You’re dead, girl. You’re dead. No crazy prophecy is going to determine my fate. I’ll kill you, and I’ll kill your demon lover, and I will take his crown andrule S’Kir forever!”
“Madman,” I whispered to him.
“I am not mad!”
“Only the insane never question their sanity.” I was apparently in the mood to poke the kraken today.
He didn’t answer, but instead, came at me again, still following all the rules of swordplay perfectly.
I sidestepped as he was about to try another perfect form, and slipped the blade between his ribs, and pushed through his body.
With a crunching tear that I would not forget for the rest of my life, I pulled the sword sideways, out under his arm.
Savion crumbled to his knees, staring at the gaping hole in his chest.
“No…” He looked up at me. “No…”
“You destroyed my mother. You’ve murdered thousands of people. You’ve ruined the vampires of S’Kir.”
“I am the… king…”
I leaned into him, holding my sword at my side. “I am the Princess Kimber Raven of the House Stormbreaker, Breaker of the Spine and the Bright Sword, Keeper of the Scar.”
His breath sawed in and out, and the blood gushed from the wound I had made. He grew pale and was sweating and shaking.
It didn’t mean he was dying, though.
It meant he needed blood to heal.
It meant I had to finish this.
