The entire arena held their breath as Derrick teetered on his heel, Grigory’s blade crossed with his over his chest. Grigory hissed out a breath as he pushed his blade further, making Derrick’s arms tremble…
“You cannot be weak, ever!”
Derrick suddenly pushed back and unlocked his sword from Grigory’s force. The crowd thrummed with energy.
I looked around. The monster had spoken again, but I could not find him. My sight locked on Derrick as he escaped…and only because I was an invisible woman in a memory was I close enough to see the unthinkable happen.
Derrick spun around Grigory, catching him off guard…and then hooked his foot around Grigory’s ankle.
He knocked Grigory into the sand as he completed his spin. Before Grigory could even blink, Derrick had the tip of his blade over Grigory’s heart.
“Duel goes to Lord Hyton!” cried the announcer.
The crowd erupted into applause. Derrick turned and gave the arena a sweeping showman’s bow.
Even though I could not affect the memory, I still tried to scream in warning as Grigory rose from the sand with a white-knuckled grip on his hilt.
“You damn cheat!” he shouted.
Derrick turned around right as Grigory sliced his face open.
The ribbon of blood that burst from Derrick’s cheek blanketed my vision in crimson. I flailed my arms as I tried to swim through the vast expanse of red.
Maybe I could find a door into another memory.
I pushed with my magic, knocking on all the invisible doors around me…
“You cannot escape me, sorceress.”
A claw wrapped around my ankle and pulled. I looked around, but saw nothing but red. How could I slay the monster if I could not even see him?
A blast of magic burst from my fist and the claws released my ankle. A sparkle of light glimmered above me as the door to another memory opened.
I reached toward the door and pulled with my magic, making my escape…
I crashed on a wooden floor and shoved myself up. I stood in the middle of what looked like a boys’ dormitory room. No sign of the monster, but I needed to stay aware in case he was lurking beneath the fabric of the memory.
Derrick sat in a wooden chair at a desk, keeping his eyes down. Mother bent at the waist and lovingly applied balm over the fresh stitches on his wounded cheek.
The setting sun peeked through the window panes. It was merely a few hours after the exhibition and Derrick seemed all right, but I held back a wince as my eyes ran down the wound. Grigory had sliced him ear to lip.
The strong aroma of warm herbs filled the air. Mother closed the lid to her balm and dampened the smell only a little.
She gently brought Derrick’s chin up so his eyes met hers. “You are not going to have a scar.” She placed the round pot of balm in his hand. “Just apply this every morning when you wake up and every night before you go to bed.”
Derrick’s left cheek twitched slightly as he looked up with doe-eyes at my mother.
“Come on, show me that handsome smile,” Mother said with a smile of her own.
He stretched his cheek muscle with a smile—it stopped twitching.
Mother patted him on the shoulder. “You are going to be just fine, sweet boy.”
“I doubt that.”
I turned away from Derrick to find Anders leaning against a bedpost on the other side of the room.
He glared at his son. “The Thornebow rat is going to your Uncle Ragnar so he can…discipline him. Although I should charge him with high treason for what he did.”
