The response to them is surprisingly even, considering Adria’s past. I’m fairly certain it’s my coattails she’s riding.
The judges pull both of them into the center to chat. Adria is wearing her typical leathers, her blonde hair pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head. She looks like a lion ready to pounce as she takes her place in the circle.
Quinn, who’s dressed mostly in black, has borrowed the pauldrons of the Royal Guard to protect her shoulders. She lacks some of Adria’s confidence, but in its place, she wields some of that righteous fury Ronan was talking about.
I can’t believe it, but now I’m hoping she can pull this off. I still don’t know if I trust her, but it would be such a treat to watch Adria lose.
“Talk about fighting fire with fire,” Ronan says with a wink as they begin, taking his seat beside me.
Because they’re both fire-born.
I shake my head at him. “Who told you that you’re funny?”
“What do you mean? I’m hilarious.”
“We need to find the person who told you that.That’syour enemy.”
Taran, who’s standing to my left, chuckles.
The fight moves so quickly that it’s difficult to follow. They’re fighting fairly, at least, not a hint of fire magic in sight. Adria takes an early lead, but Quinn manages to score a couple of points in there, making it 3-2.
Ronan sighs next to me. “She’s feinting to the left still, but Quinn has either forgotten what I told her, or she’s too distracted to notice. It’ll be over in a minute.”
Taran nods.
“Have you so little faith in your friend?” I ask. I am sorely tempted to shout out to her, to tell her about Adria’s weakness.
But I need Adria to believe that I’m still on her side. Iamstill on her side. Aren’t I? Isn’t there a chance that it’s all amisunderstanding and there’s a perfectly good explanation for the food shortages?
Why do I find it so hard to believe the best in her and so easy to believe the best in Ronan?
“4-2!” says the judge. I didn’t even see the blow.
“Like I said,” says Ronan.
Quinn looks well and truly defeated out there. I want to see a glorious comeback from her, but I know Ronan’s right. Sometimes, no matter what you do, the wrong person wins.
Adria takes a low guard to bait an attack. Quinn falls for it, Adria feints to the left, then—
Quinn somehow dodges the cut that follows and dives for Adria’s hips.
“Oh, shit,” I say as they end up on the ground.
Grappling is allowed in sword-fighting, but the goal isn’t to knock your opponent out. It’s to score a hit on them with your weapon.
Someone forgot to tell Quinn and Adria that.
They’re wrestling violently on the ground. Quinn has Adria by the bun, dragging her as Adria knees Quinn in the stomach.
“Enough!” yells Ronan, but either they don’t hear him or don’t care if they do.
Adria kicks Quinn’s sword away as she reaches for it, going for her own.
But Quinn tackles her again. She pins Adria down, and for a moment, I think her superior strength will win the day.
“Stop!” yells Ronan. “No exchange!”
Quinn lifts her head in his direction, and Adria takes the opportunity to sock her in the jaw.
