Ciprian pats Luca on the back. “As long as we aren’t lying to her for no reason, she’ll understand.”
Luca nods, and the furrow in his brow smooths out.
Alistair leans forward, planting his elbows on the table. “We’ll need an intricate plan with backups in place. There’s no room for mistakes.”
A band of Riven’s real face rolls over the amber. “Let’s get to work.”
The day of the duel dawns the same as all the others, idyllic, temperate, and controlled by forces unseen.
I haven’t slept a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined S’lach outsmarting us. Ciprian stayed awake all night with me, his glittering black eyes focused on the door. If my fear kept him from sleeping, he was kind enough not to tell me.
My fingers clench around the hilt of my sword as I scan the courtyard. The staff prepared the space well. Neatly placed stone benches labeled with silence or truth runes to indicate spectator allegiance line the edge of a fifty-foot square. The boundaries aremarked with hand-painted runes, each stroke interlocked with its neighbors to form an unbroken border.
I walk the perimeter, counting each pace as I go. There’s plenty of space for a duel, but I have no reason to believe S’lach will stick to it.
At least the spikes are sturdy. I knock my boot against the one on the northeast corner, but it doesn’t budge. Bigger around than my wrist, the four spikes exist for one reason only: to hold up the speakers and create a conduction plane to broadcast the dueling vows. Shaped like two bowls stacked bottom to bottom, the speakers are designed to keep dueling angels honest. Too bad S’lach has never been honest a day in his life.
If he thinks he’s losing, he’ll find a way to cheat.
The spectators must be watched, too.
Bringing supporters to a duel is a time-honoredthatshatradition. It’s also the perfect opportunity for S’lach to sneak in henchmen or assassins. Celine’s side may remain empty... except—gods, the staff are gathering, sitting in huddled groups on her benches. They’re whispering nervously among themselves, but they’re here, and it means everything.
A chill runs down my spine, and I let my eyes flutter closed. They’re brave. This small show of defiance is proof that angels, no matter which tier they were born into or how long they’ve been pushed down, will always rise up.
The front door opens and closes and Celine joins me. Her gaze flits over the dueling ground briefly before landing on me. “I love you, Malach. I always have, and I always will.”
My heart shudders. She sounds like she’s saying goodbye. The urge to take her anywhere but here steals the air from my lungs.
“I love you, too.”The words come out rougher than I want them to, but Celine doesn’t mind. She squeezes my hand, the buttery leather of her fingerless glove grazing my calloused palm.
I swallow hard. This isn’t the end. It’s the beginning. And we’re already winning.
S’lach taught Celine that her wings were something to be hidden. That expressing emotion was shameful. By refusing to accept that, she’s reclaiming herself as much as she’s reclaiming me.
“I’d better go let him in,” she mutters. “He’ll want time to examine the dueling ground.”
I bite back my fury and nod. Part of me longs to find Ciprian and get him to make me invisible so I can sneak up on S’lach and shoot him in the head. But the fallout would be too severe. A duel to the death is the only lawful way to permanently remove him without being banned from our homeland forever. I know that, but I don’t like it.
I trudge after Celine, the missing weight of my wings more noticeable with each step.
S’lach stands behind the gate, wearing a grim expression. Unlike the last time they spoke, he’s not alone. “It’s not too late to back out, Celine. I don’t want to hurt you. You’re my daughter, and I love you.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He’s laying it on thick for his peons. The duel may not have started yet, but the mind games are well underway.
Celine’s wings twitch, but other than that one sign of discomfort, she doesn’t react to his obvious lie. “This is my ancestral home,” she says calmly. “I will do what’s necessary to reclaim it.”
A few of the angels behind S’lach mutter under their breath.
He silences them with a snap of his fingers. “Think of what your mother would have wanted.” He smirks for a split-second before flattening his expression into one of paternaldisappointment.
Celine bares her teeth like a beast catching the scent of fresh blood. There’s nothing but menace in her smile. S’lach frowns, his composure slipping. She’s taken him off guard.
“In that we can agree,” Celine says. “I’m here to give Mom exactly what she always wanted.” She glances deliberately at the angels gathered behind S’lach and activates her runes so there’s no doubt who’s telling the truth.
Her insinuation is clear: Valenara wanted S’lach dead and gone, and from the knowing glances being exchanged behind S’lach’s back, no one is particularly surprised. Unless he silences everyone here, this gossip will spread. And if he does silence them, he confirms his own guilt. They’ll know the truth, even if they can’t tell anyone else.
S’lach’s face twists. He got outplayed by the daughter he despises, and he knows it.
