Stepping to Cyan, I feigned a strike at his left, and when he countered, I swiped at his feet. But he predicted my move, not to my surprise. Our training, skills, and the very nature of our movements were shared and ingrained. A part of who we were since we joined the guard as boys, since our first bloodings.He stepped back, avoiding my gaze, and the counter leveled us. Each taking a step back, we circled, eyes intent.
Searching for a way to draw information from the guard, I considered my own blooding. The face of the man I killed, the cruel twist of his smile. He and Cyan were the same. Both arrogant, perverse, twisted men drawn to girls too young to be taken.The girls at the festival.“The night of the festival, I lostsight of you,” I said with a step to my right. “What came of those girls you had your sights on?”
“There is no place for the claiming of honor among King killers, Bastard,” he sneered.
King killer. I allowed myself only a moment to process his choice of words, the narrowing of his eyes, and the posturing of his stance. His body language spoke of a man who believed his own words. He likely knew nothing of the true events that had transpired the night of Kaius’s death. It was a hunch, an instinct, but very rarely did my intuitions lead me astray.
To keep the brute distracted, off my trail of thoughts, I tugged the corners of my lips up in a mocking smile. “So, your intentions did not come to fruition, then,” I stated flatly. “With those girls?”
Cyan opened his mouth to speak, but I intercepted his words, whatever they would have been.
“You’ve always been an easy read, Cyan. Had you taken one of the girls from the festival, you’d have boasted about it, not deflected with a quip about my honor.”
His chest puffed. “What do you play at?”
Dipping my head faintly in a pose of ease, I discreetly adjusted my hold on my sword. Better he believe I did not see him as a threat in the slightest. “It pleases me to know they escaped your forced presence,” I said. “That is all.”
“Of what importance does this hold?” The guard stopped circling, and I mimicked him. It was clear his patience was wavering, but he’d yet to reveal any information of use—I needed to know about Rion’s involvement in Kaius’s death.
“Did your father catch you again, Cyan? Did he step in before you took what you thought was owed to you?”
The brute’s nose scrunched, and he bared his teeth beneath the curl of his upper lip.
If Rion’s night had been occupied with keeping his son in line, it was unlikely he’d killed my father. The time I’d spent with Evera in the tower, the window of opportunity, was not substantial.
“I suppose you were incorrect, then.” I laughed, low and dismissive. “Perhaps you can’t wet your cock where you like, not as long as your father is there to scour over your every move.”
Eyes widening, Cyan lunged, lashing out with the effects of his emotion.
I countered, dodging, and he withdrew with a fine red line on his cheek. He raised his hand to the fresh cut, and blood smeared the side of his face. He snarled.
“You’ve told me all I need to know,” I stated, voice low.
Cyan’s eyes narrowed, the flicker of a thought crossing his face. He’d been outsmarted, and he knew it. Even as the draw of his brows suggested he was unsure of the manner of information I’d gained from him.
“You will die on this night.” I lowered my chin. “And your death will be a mark of the life you lived, of your predilections.”
The time for conversing had ended. Even Cyan, in his boisterousness, knew when to hold his tongue and when to fight. This was the time for fighting.
Beneath the moon, in the small clearing of the wood behind the inn, our movements mimicked the sway of the branches. Our breaths became an extension of the wind that moved around and through our lungs. Despite the impulse that had led me to draw Cyan out into the night, I realized that I had always known, in some part of my mind, that he and I were meant to wage this battle. We’d circled one another always, and taking his life seemed like my fate. My first blooding had set me on this path, and my honor demanded I see this through.
With precise movements and quick reactions, we parried until everything beyond the pressed circle of grass and clayearth we flattened ceased to exist. The glint of metal sparked as swords clashed. The strikes that narrowly missed their mark sent blood pounding in my ears, reminding me that I was alive in this moment, and that any breath could be my last. Whether moments or hours had passed, I could not say. The passage of time eluded me, as I suspected it did for Cyan as well. This was how we were trained—to be present in the moment of battle. Honed attention and a stillness of mind.
Though I was tiring, hatred urged me on. Disgust for who he was and for the things he’d done gave me purpose. I lashed out and, sides heaving, Cyan responded too slowly. The blade ripped through leather and cloth, eliciting a curse from him as he hugged his side.
Breathing fogging, we held each other’s eyes.
Though he was wounded, I was as well. We both bore marks to show our exchanges, and we grew weaker from loss of blood and drain of energy.I withdrew several steps, and a wicked grin twisted Cyan’s face.
If he believed me to be surrendering, he was about to be disappointed.
I sheathed my sword, but before Cyan could advance, I withdrew a metal rod from behind my back where it stuck out of a mound of dirt in the garden. Some unfinished project of Maerel’s.It wasn’t the honed spear used in bloodings at the capital, but it would suffice and would communicate the same message.
Cyan blanched, eyes widening as he saw my new weapon. Re-centering himself, he set his jaw and adjusted his grip on his sword.
I moved to him. This would need to be finished quickly. Even if my swordsmanship outmatched his, I was at a great disadvantage with nothing but an old rod to mark the shame of his actions.
I lunged, aiming for the dip beneath his ribs. When I did, Cyan leaned back and to the side. In my eagerness to end the fight, I misjudged his next move. The rod missed its mark, and Cyan slashed at my exposed torso.
