Titus smiles as I back away from him. “You are fearless.”
He’s right. Knowing he won’t hurt me, knowing he can’t hurt me, not with Ronan watching, frees me to enjoy what I’m doing.
I’m having fun now, but I wish it had happened earlier because I’m also exhausted. My arms feel like jelly as I try to get back into position. This fight has gone on for far longer than usual, and I’m apparently the only one feeling it. Titus looks as fresh as when we started.
Titus takes a middle, point-first guard this time—a first for him—another stance that will force an attack from me. It’s a strong position, one where attacks from above or below can be easily parried to the side or to the ground. I can bind him easily enough, but he’ll have the reach and strength advantage, and I can’t count on my last move working again.
I haven’t paid much attention to my stance until now, the desperate fight to remain in the match drawing most of my attention, but I decide to take a moment and recenter myself before attacking. I do exactly as Ronan showed me: I stick out my chest and my ass, tightening my core and flexing my sword arm, testing different guards.
Titus loosens his guard a bit, distracted by…well, me, by the looks of it.
It’s my opening. I lunge to his left, but he sees me coming and blocks me by grabbing his sword with his free hand. It’s a very strong parry, and I reel back and off balance upon impact. He reaches out for the grapple, and I almost manage to bring my point back down in time, but there’s too much backwards momentum.
He takes hold of my sword arm, and I have no choice but to do the same. But this is a disastrous position for me. He’s at least a foot taller, and though he’s trying to be gentle, he overpowers me easily, forcing me to drop my sword.
He doesn’t pull me to him as Ronan did when he grappled me. Instead, he backs away and taps his blade lightly on my shoulder. It’s very gentlemanly. “Well fought,” he says.
“Not quite as well as you,” I say with a bow.
“Victory! Victor: Titus of House Faber!”
The roar is deafening; the entire arena has moved over here to watch us. Adria comes over to help me after I shake Titus’s hand and exit the ring. Larus has gone with Felix to the Enez Islands, and part of me is glad he wasn’t here to watch me fail.
“You know, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” says Adria. High praise from her. “And you exposed a lot of his weaknesses.” Which will help her when she fights him in two days’ time.
“Happy to be of service.” A servant hands me a canteen of water, and I gulp it down gratefully. Then they refill it from the air with their magic. Arnan bless the water-born.
We head into the section of the stands reserved for the Great Houses to watch the shadow-born trial, which I’m grateful I didn’t participate in, given the timing. At the center of the arena, an elaborate set of metallic hoops has been constructed. Each hoop holds a lens or a mirror; their purpose is to concentrate the sunlight to levels of increasing brightness. The shadow-born succeeds if they can darken the area enough that the judges can’t read a word displayed on a slate.
I don’t recognize any of the participants, nor did I expect to. The only other shadow-born I know are Ronan’s spies, and of those, only Nico could have participated. I’m clapping for a young woman who’s doing remarkably well with only a couple of lenses to go when someone clears their throat beside me.
It's Taran. “He wishes—”
“To see me,” I finish with him. I don’t argue with him. There’s no point with much of the rest of the court around. “Lead the way.”
Taran takes me through a tunnel and up a stairway to the entrance to the royal box. It’s guarded by four of Ronan’s guards, and there are an additional two stationed at the door into the arena.
Inside, Ronan sits with Grand Vizier Cyrus, Typhon, and Quinn. Quinn, who won her own fight earlier, smirks as she sees me, but she keeps her mouth shut in front of the king.
“A valiant effort,” says Typhon. “And Larus told me it’s not even your best event. I’m looking forward to the archery final in a few days.”
“As am I,” I say, bowing to him. Archery has gone much more smoothly than sword-fighting, that’s for sure. It’s been clear since the first couple of rounds who the finalists would be: the woman I met during qualifying, a man from House Santori, and myself. The others are a bit better than me in most of the trials, but only just. Any of us could win.
Typhon shifts in his seat, rubbing his bald head and trying to act casual. “When will Larus return, do you know?”
I’ll have to tell Larus he was missed. I wonder what he’ll think of Typhon’s interest. Will he think it’s merely polite conversation, or is the Grand Vizier’s son harboring certain suspicions about the absence of our Guardian? “In a few weeks, we’re hoping. Assuming his mother is well.” We’ve explained Larus’s time away from court as being due to his mother’s illness, which is close enough to the truth that no one has questioned it.
Until now.
“Of course. If you hear from him, send her my best wishes.”
Ronan has been watching this entire exchange with immense curiosity. He rises from his seat—cushioned, the only one to be so in the entire arena—and gestures for me to head back into the hallway.
It’s dark here in this private area near the royal box; only a single candle burns in a sconce on the wall. It gives me a moment to look at Ronan before he can see me clearly.
He looks as rough as I’ve ever seen him. His eyes are hollow and rimmed with fatigue, his shoulders slumped but filled with tension. Even his hair is a mess.
He’s exhausted.
