“He said it was because of me that he kicked dirt onto your food,” Taryn says, voice soft. “Locke tricked them into thinking it was you who stole him away from Nicasia. So it was you they were punishing. Cardan said you were suffering in my place and that if you knew why, you’d back down, but I couldn’t tell you.”
For a long moment, I do nothing but take in her words. Then I throw my sword down between us. It clangs on the floor. “Pick it up,” I tell her.
Taryn shakes her head. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“You sure about that?” I stand in front of her, in her face, annoyingly close. I can feel how much she itches to take my shoulders and shove. It must have galled her that I kissed Locke, that I slept in his bed. “I think maybe you do. I think you’d love to hit me. And I know I want to hit you.”
There’s a sword hung high on the wall over the hearth, beneath a silken banner with Madoc’s turned-moon crest. I climb onto a nearby chair, step up onto the mantel, and lift it from its hook. It will do.
I hop down and walk toward her, pointing steel at her heart.
“I’m out of practice,” she says.
“I’m not.” I close the distance between us. “But you’ll have the better sword, and you can strike the first blow. That’s fair and more than fair.”
Taryn looks at me for a long moment, then picks up Nightfell. She steps back several paces and draws.
Across the room, Oriana springs to her feet with a gasp. She doesn’t come toward us, though. She doesn’t stop us.
There are so many broken things that I don’t know how to fix. But I know how to fight.
“Don’t be idiots!” Vivi shouts from the balcony. I cannot give her much of my attention. I am too focused on Taryn as she moves across the floor. Madoc taught us both, and he taught us well.
She swings.
I block her blow, our swords slamming together. The metal rings out, echoing through the room like a bell. “Was it fun to deceive me? Did you like the feeling of having something over me? Did you like that he was flirting and kissing me and all the while promising you would be his wife?”
“No!” She parries my first series of blows with some effort, but her muscles remember technique. She bares her teeth. “I hated it, but I’m not like you. I want to belong here. Defying them makes everything worse. You never asked me before you went against Prince Cardan—maybe he started it because of me, but you kept it going. You didn’t care what it brought down on either of our heads. I had to show Locke I was different.”
A few of the servants have gathered to watch.
I ignore them, ignore the soreness in my arms from digging a graveonly a night before, ignore the sting of the wound through my palm. My blade slices Taryn’s skirt, cutting nearly to her skin. Her eyes go wide, and she stumbles back.
We trade a series of fast blows. She’s breathing harder, not used to being pushed like this, but not backing down, either.
I beat my blade against hers, not giving her time to do more than defend herself. “So this wasrevenge?” We used to spar when we were younger, with practice sticks. And since then we’ve engaged in hair pulling, shouting matches, and ignoring each other—but we’ve never fought like this, never with live steel.
“Taryn! Jude!” Vivi yells, starting toward the spiral stair. “Stop or I will stop you.”
“You hate the Folk.” Taryn’s eyes flash as she spins her sword in an elegant strike. “You never cared about Locke. He was just another thing to take from Cardan.”
That staggers me enough that she’s able to get under my guard. Her blade just kisses my side before I whirl away, out of her reach.
She goes on. “You think I’m weak.”
“Youareweak,” I tell her. “You’re weak and pathetic and I—”
“I’m a mirror,” she shouts. “I’m the mirror you don’t want to look at.”
I swing toward Taryn again, putting my whole weight into the strike. I am so angry, angry at so many things. I hate that I was stupid. I hate that I was tricked. Fury roars in my head, loud enough to drown out my every other thought.
I swing my sword toward her side in a shining arc.
“I said stop,” Vivi shouts, glamour shimmering in her voice like a net. “Now,stop!”
Taryn seems to deflate, relaxing her arms, letting Nightfell hanglimply from suddenly loose fingers. She has a vague smile on her face, as though she’s listening to distant music. I try to check my swing, but it’s too late. Instead, I let the sword go. Momentum sends it sailing across the room to slam into a bookshelf and knock a ram’s skull to the ground. Momentum sends me sprawling on the floor.
I turn to Vivi, aghast. “You had no right.” The words tumble out of my mouth, ahead of the more important ones—I could have sliced Taryn in half.
