Page 82 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

When they were seated, she leaned against him. “You were magnificent. Who taught you to drum?”

“A Persian man on one of my digs. I’m an amateur compared to him. He came from a long line of frame drummers, and I was lucky he chose to teach me.”

A hush fell over the crowd as two warriors entered the circle with wooden staves similar to the canes used in the dance. The men squared off, bowed, and leapt at each other. Evangeline jumped at the loud crack of wood as the shorter one swung his staff down and his opponent blocked it.

The shorter warrior struck again, driving his opponent back. Someone nearby cheered. Kiya scooted to Evangeline’s side.

“Dakan is higher rank, but if Belkado wins, he higher rank, too.”

“Oh! A test of his skills.”

Kiya nodded toward the taller man. “Dakan is too proud. He needs to lose once.”

Evangeline nudged Jonathan. “We’re rooting for Belkado.”

“Go, Belkado!” he bellowed. Several people around them laughed.

Kiya grinned at her.

Dakan had clearly earned his rank, though. He blocked every swing and retreated, prowling around Belkado like a wild cat preparing to pounce. His intense stare locked on his opponent. A heavy silence hung in the air. A shiver raced up Evangeline’s spine. He lunged, sweeping his staff low and aiming for the other man’s ankles.

Belkado jumped, sailing over the staff, and spun, hitting Dakan’s shoulder. He winced and almost dropped his weapon.

Snarling, Dakan went on the offensive again, but Belkado was prepared. Dakan ran toward him. Belkado stepped aside at the last minute instead of blocking and swept his feet with his staff. Dakan landed hard in the dirt. Belkado raised his staff like a spear, jabbing it downward and stopping before making contact with his opponent’s back.

Right through the heart. The demonstration chilled her to the bone as the crowd erupted. It was one thing to read about ancient fighting techniques, but to see it in action was sobering.

Jonathan drew her closer. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

She blinked him into focus. Worry lines were etched into his forehead. “I—” She exhaled. “How is Uncle Charles still alive?”

He didn’t answer. It wasn’t necessary. Her uncle was only breathing now because of the Semkari’s mercy—and no one knew how long it would last.

Belkado offered his defeated opponent a hand-up, but Dakan slapped it away. Nekara’s voice rose over the jeers. Dakan hung his head, then accepted his opponent’s help. He stalked off after Menar declared the winner and Belkado joined the crowd to accept claps on the back and congratulations.

Two more warriors entered the circle, but this time they were women. Like Regina, they used deflection techniques, but they were fierce when they attacked. One of the women tried to block a strike, but her opponent feinted at the last minute and jabbed her in the stomach.

Evangeline gasped, hand covering her heart.

“This is too much,” Jonathan said, gently cupping her elbow to help her stand. “We should retire.”

She shook her head. “I’m learning.”

He released her and sat down again. “What are you seeing?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

They studied the warriors’ movements in silence. When a winner was declared, another match with two new opponents entered the circle. In the middle of the fourth match, she detected a pattern.

She leaned toward Jonathan. “Watch his eyes. He glances at his target before he takes a shot.”

It was incredibly brief, but a flickering gaze at his opponent’s shoulder followed a sideways swing. The other man dropped to the ground, then sprang up to whack him across the back when momentum swung him around.

“Brava,” Jonathan whispered.

“The inexperienced ones do it, and the seasoned warriors can read them.”

After the exhibition fights, the musicians returned and dancing resumed. Kiya pulled Evangeline into the circle to teach her some steps. She suspected she looked ridiculous, like a gangly foal on shaky legs, but her guard began to slip again.