“Then, with Sai’s blessing, let the games begin!”
On Ronan’s final word, he raises his hand, and an enormous ball of light like a tiny sun flies out from it and into the sky above the arena. A hush comes over the crowd as it rises higher and higher, heading for the stars.
Then it bursts into a thousand smaller lights in every color in the rainbow, each of them flickering and falling into the crowd, vanishing before they touch the ground.
It’samazing, I hate to admit. I’ve never seen anything even remotely like it. The crowd gasps at the wonder of it. And then they cheer even louder than before.
Ronan locks eyes with me as I stare at him. I hope my face isn’t too filled with awe. It’s not like his ego needs the boost.
He looks so good up there, and he knows it. He’s everything a king is meant to be. Tall, handsome, proud. An effortless leader. To the eyes of the public, he’s perfect.
Only we know the truth. And we won’t let him forget it.
The tournament begins the day following the opening ceremony, but our qualifying events aren’t until the end of the week, leaving us a few days to practice.
Adria had been baffled to learn I joined the sword-fighting competition, but it has given her an opportunity to do what she loves to do best: look down on me for being worse than her at something.
She and I find a spot in a secluded cloister near one of the palace’s many courtyards with boundaries nearly the same size as those in the arena. The tournament will be scored in what I’m told is a typical fashion: points for each strike landed on the opponent and a loss of points for stepping outside of the boundaries.
I face Adria in our matching leathers. We’ve been given blunted swords to use for the entirety of the tournament, so we aren’t in danger of hurting each other too much, but a blunted blade can still leave a nasty bruise.
And we can’t have me looking black and blue if I’m meant to be seducing the king.
I’m coming around to the idea, I realize. It could be fun to get him hot and bothered, desperate to be with me, and then to drop him on his face.
To drop him to the ground. And theninthe ground.
Adria begins pacing in front of me, meaning we’ve begun.
The sword in my hand is different than the one I usually carry. That sword is long and thin, with a deadly point made for thrusting, but it’s fairly useless against someone wearing chainmail. This sword is a battlefield weapon: broader with a much longer handle meant for wielding it two-handed.
I’m able to parry Adria’s opening series of thrusts far better than I can with our own blades: left, right, and then a low cut that leaves us bound. My blunted steel meets hers with surprising accuracy. Adria’s moves are almost indetectable with her usual weapon, which is very similar to mine, but with this longsword, I can see her coming from a mile away.
She breaks the bind by charging forward, the strong part of her sword near the handle meeting the weak end of my blade near the point, sending my blade to my right and leaving my chest open for her to strike with a quick attack.
“Not bad,” she says as we break. She didn’t get me on the first attack, which is a pretty good performance for me. I beam at the weak praise. “Of course, this damned thing has all the liveliness of a child’s stick sword.”
Of course she would blame the sword.
It’s my turn to attack now. She’s had me on the defensive for so much of our lives, I’m not sure if I even can rememberhowto attack her. I try taking a high guard, but I move forward too early, and she parries my point and quickly comes around my back to strike while I’m still off-balance.
“Again,” she says after she makes contact.
I’m breathing heavier now. I may not be able to beat her, but at least I’m going to get in a good workout.
She comes at me with two quick cuts. I misjudge my parry, and as I dodge backwards from the blow she’s about to land on my stomach, I lose my footing and fall on my ass.
“Again,” says Adria, not bothering to see if I’m okay.
I hear footsteps approaching as I pick myself up.
“She always feints left, you know,” says a familiar voice.
Adria bows as King Ronan rounds the corner, and I do the same.
“Does she?” I ask. I wonder how long he’s been watching us.
“Do I,your majesty?” asks Adria, emphasizing the honorific that I’ve forgotten. She’s acting frightened again, and I wonder if Ronan can see through it, or if he’s just accustomed to this response from people because it doesn’t seem to faze him.
