He looks at me sheepishly. I hold in a slew of expletives and pretend I’m calm. “We need someone to guard with Medin,” I say.
At Luc’s command, a second decurio races to join Medin in protecting our targets. We can’t afford a single mistake. All Kaidren needs is another twenty points to win the Tournament and the throne in one fell swoop.
Kaidren’s armed guard races toward us. Caspian steps into her path, keeping her from reaching Luc.
They clash. Their feet move, weapons clang, in a dance. They’re both quick, but she’s outpacing him. She’s light-footed and better at anticipating.
I catch Luc’s arm. “Remember what I said. Take as many shots as you can.”
He pauses in reloading his weapon to frown at me. “Where are you—”
Too late, he realizes my intention. Before he can do something foolish—like cry out to me or try to stop me—I release my brother and charge toward Kaidren.
He’s reaching for another bolt from his quiver and doesn’t notice me until I’m right in front of him.
I grab hold of his weapon, trying to rip it from his hands.
For a few moments, we grapple with it, but he’s stronger than me. With a smirk, Kaidren yanks it from me.
Luc fires another bolt from behind me. Again, it’s solid wood, and again, he misses.
I hold in a groan.
My only goal is to keep Kaidren distracted until I can cheat Luc’s way to victory. My hands shake as I pull my weapon from its sheath around my hips. The sword feels clunky, but I swing it, trying to knock the crossbow from Kaidren’s grip. He sidesteps me easily, looking more amused than threatened.
I grunt, trying to lift the heavy weapon again, but I stop as searing pain shoots up my calf.
It takes me a pause too long to realize it’s Kaidren’s armed soldier. She incapacitated Caspian, raced to me, and sliced the back of my calf.
I drip blood, and my leg is on fire. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. My head spins, dizzy from trying not to keel over.
Luc fires again. Another wooden bolt, another miss.
Weakly, I turn to face my attacker. My arm wobbles as I try to lift my sword. Fear sits in my throat, like milk gone rancid. My opponent is tall and strong. Like me, she carries a sword. Unlike me, she actually knows how to wield it. She’s already defeated just about all the trained soldiers on Luc’s team. I don’t stand a chance.
“Wait!” Kaidren speaks quickly, voice breathless.Desperate. “Let me. Go for the Praeceptor.”
She pauses. She could kill me in seconds and then go to attack Luc, and she knows it. But it isn’t her job to question her candidate, so she hands him her sword and runs over to Luc.
It’s a foolish move on Kaidren’s part, but I see it as the act of mercy it is. She was going to kill me, and despite himself—despite everything—he’s protecting me.
My leg is still in pain as I raise my sword and he raises his. We circle each other, jabbing every few moments, but our movements are slow and unpracticed, so neither of us hits the other.
I lean all my weight on one leg, trying to ignore how the other one cries out in protest. It wants me to sit, but I don’t have time for that.
“Are you all right?” Kaidren murmurs with a swift glance at my leg.
Luc shoots for the target and misses—again.
The crowd groans, and I’m temporarily distracted.
The next slice of his sword cuts my arm.
I drop my weapon as my hand instinctively rises to the bloody wound just above my elbow.
Kaidren freezes. He didn’t mean to actually wound me.
He shouldn’t care so much.
