I stared as Sydoc’s body was cleared from the arena, leaving a thin river of red behind it.
Was this worth it? For fifty million—was it enough to risk death?
I walked back into the arena, my breath escaping my lips in clouds.
The truth was, it wasn’t just the money. I had nothing to return to, did I? Only ridicule, loneliness, and an empty bank account.
And when I’d practiced with Torin, I’d felt like I could take on anyone. If I could hold my own against a king, the strongest in all of Faerie…
The world seemed to grow silent around me, and my gaze locked on Moria. Blood spattered her leather armor, and her hair gleamed in the bright light—nearly the same shade.
My stomach fluttered.
Moria watched me through narrowed eyes, the hint of a smile on her lips. I glanced down at the ground, where Sydoc’s blood was already freezing—just another layer of ice.
I glanced at the crone, who lifted her arms in the air, ready to announce the start of the fight.
My heart was a war drum as I raised my sword, and Moria’s deep plum eyes locked on me.
The crone shrieked the start of the fight, and her voice somehow sounded a million miles away.
Across from me, Moria began circling with an unhurried sureness. Like a cat walking along a roof’s edge, she seemed oblivious to any danger, her sword arm relaxed and steady. She’d cleaned the blood from it already.
The little smile faded from her lips, replaced by a sneer. She started to advance toward me, slowly weaving her blade back and forth in a sort of mesmerizing movement. And it was an absolutely beautiful sword, a rapier with a long silver blade and a gold and diamond–encrusted hilt. A sword fit for a princess.
With a little snarl, she lunged. I whipped up the tip of my rapier to parry, but just as Cleena had struggled with Moria’s strikes, I was a hair late. Instead of a clean deflection, I barely pushed her blade aside.
Her eyebrows rose, and she whipped her blade faster, her expression determined. I kept my rapier up in the guard position, my eyes locked on her sword. Suddenly, she lunged. Again, I parried; again, I was late. This time, she didn’t wait to strike. She immediately pressed her advantage with a series of blows.
I struggled each time to deflect her blade. It always seemed as though I were slow, like my reflexes were off. Orla was spot-on with her assessment—a glamour was at work. I just needed to overcome my own senses.
“Gutter fae, you’ve never fought someone like me before,” she said, in a taunting voice. “I have been training with the sword since I could walk.”
Moria advanced, the blade of her rapier flashing under the sun.
She struck again. I tried to direct her blade, but she twisted her wrist at the last minute, and the very tip of her rapier scratched my right shoulder.
“I struck a blow!” shouted Moria.
It didn’t matter if I lost on points. Torin could choose me, either way. What mattered was staying alive for the next twenty minutes.
Moria’s rapier gleamed as she moved her feet into place. She thrust, and I parried. But as before, my sword was late, and I barely succeeded in directing the tip of her rapier away from my body.
I didn’t know why I could seem to deflect her blade, but I knew I had to take the initiative—to stop playing defense. I leveled my blade and lunged.
Her blade flashed up, faster than I’d ever seen a sword move, and she slashed a jarring parry.
I nearly lost control of my weapon, and as I was steadying myself, she counterattacked. She drove the tip of her blade into the flesh, just above my left hip. I staggered back, clutching at my side, warm blood already wetting my hand.
“A second blow!” screamed Moria.
She lifted her sword above her head, and I stared as my blood dripped onto the ice.
I glanced at Torin, his dark hair tinged with frost. His body was rigid, hands gripping the armrests of his stony throne.
I tried to straighten my body, but the pain was nearly overwhelming. I staggered, even as the announcer shouted that Moria was now up by two points.
Moria faced me again, her rapier raised.
I forced myself to stand straight, gritting my teeth. Moria appeared to have driven the rapier clean through my abdomen, about an inch and a half above my left hip. It hurt more than anything I’d ever felt in my life.
If that charm had worked for me, I’d really be enjoying its benefits right now.
I gripped my side, struggling to stay upright.
I hadn’t even raised my blade before she lunged, and pure instinct had me blocking the blow. “Why don’t you just give up?” she snarled. “I’d have crawled away to die after the first humiliating video, never mind the photos.”
I didn’t have the breath to answer her. I was focused entirely on deflecting her blade. It flashed again, and I parried, the shock of her blow vibrating up my arm. I winced as those same vibrations ran down my injured side.
“You can’t possibly think you’ll redeem yourself?” said Moria gleefully.
“Not giving up.” Hot blood filled my mouth. Fuck, this isn’t good.
I wondered if Torin would stop the fight if it seemed like I was about to die—
But he believed I was wearing the charm, didn’t he?
Moria continued to advance, slashing and stabbing with her blade, but only halfheartedly. She was playing with me now, like a cat with its prey.
“You should never have joined this competition,” she hissed. “Even for a gutter fae, you are a disgrace. A common whore.”
I wasn’t going to waste my breath on her. I needed to focus on the timing of her sword.
Moria lunged, driving her blade at my throat, and I brought my blade up. I managed to deflect her strike, but the movement sent me off balance. I still hadn’t managed to account for her glamour, and it was throwing me off.
I lost my footing and fell hard onto the floor of the arena.
Moria was going to sever my head from my body.
I could hear Torin screaming at her to stop, but I knew she wouldn’t, not until I was bleeding out on the stones.
Rage ran through me like wildfire, melting away the fear. I didn’t need Torin’s charm because something dark lived in me. And when I was cornered, I was monstrous.
Moria should drop to her knees and beg my forgiveness.
I kicked up hard, driving my foot into her knee from below. Her sharp yelp of pain was one of the most satisfying sounds I’d heard in years—followed by the scream of rage that erupted from Moria’s throat when I skewered her in the thigh with my blade, driving it into her bone.
She stared at the end of my quivering rapier protruding from her leg.
“You’re right, Moria,” I spat. “I am a gutter fae. We fight dirty, and we fight to win. But you’re not very different than me, are you?”
I ripped my blade from her thigh, and she staggered back with an agonized grunt. She looked completely stunned.
But she must have another kind of magic at work because she didn’t seem to feel the pain long. Within moments, her blade flashed up, shining in the early morning sunlight. Silver and bright, it glittered like a jewel—a jewel, I knew with complete certainty, she would drive through my heart if given the opportunity.
I raised my rapier, matching hers. As Moria began to circle me, I studied the blade in her hand. Its luminescence drew the eye, and I wondered if that was the effect of the glamour.
I listened as Moria moved the blade slowly back and forth like a venomous serpent preparing to strike. I could almost hear a thin hiss of wind through the air.
If I focused hard enough, I could sense what Orla had said—the sound was out of sync with the actual movement of the blade. Moria thrust again, and I tried to predict her movement, listening for the blade. For the first time, I was able to cleanly deflect her strike.
Moria’s eyes narrowed, and she attacked again. Once more, I listened for the sound of the blade and was able to anticipate it. With a hard counter-parry, I directed her sword away.
Moria seemed to lose some of the ferocity of her attack.
I struck then, lunging, anticipating the speed of her sword. She parried, but I was still on the attack, and I slashed at knee level. We quickly fell into a pattern, a whirlwind of blades and ice. Confidence filled my body as I knew exactly when to duck, when to block.
Our blades scraped along each other like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. Moria was so close that our faces were nearly touching.
Unexpectedly, Moria spun, twisting her body, and drove her left elbow into the side of my head as she growled. With a brilliant flash of light, an explosion of pain engulfed me, and shadows blinded me. Frantically, I backpedaled, dizzy, unable to see.
Fuck.
I was prey now, about to lose my head like the others.
Moria began to laugh.
I pressed my free hand to my face. When I pulled it away, it was warm and wet. Blinded, bleeding…
Panic clogged my throat. How was I going to fight Moria if I couldn’t see?
But I’d done this before, hadn’t I? And beasts hunted by smell…
A ferocious animal instinct burned in me, and I listened for the sound of her blade. When she attacked again, I parried.
The world went quiet around me, and I heard only the sound of her heart beating, her sharp intake of breath.
You were born to rule, Ava.
The words rang, a deep voice in my head, though I had no idea where they’d come from.
But now, I could envision Moria clearly in my mind’s eye; the triumphant grin, the confident thrown-back shoulders. Her blade whooshed through the air once more, and our swords sang as they clashed.
I inhaled deeply, smelling her sickly sweet rosewater perfume. And I attacked, thrusting my blade directly into her chest.
The moment I did, the shadows cleared from my vision. Across from me, Moria staggered back, clutching at her breast. I pulled my sword from her, shocked at how close I’d come to her heart. I’d nearly taken my first life, a thought that didn’t feel nearly as horrifying as it should.
Moria collapsed to the ground, and somewhere beneath the sound of the screaming crowds, I could hear her whistling breath. I’d punctured a lung, and I knew all too well how that felt. Her skin had gone pale as milk, and she looked up at me with an expression that wavered between fear and rage.
Her heart was still beating, pumping blood all over the ice. But she wasn’t getting up again. The fight had ended.
I wiped my hand down the side of my face, then stared at the blood dripping from my palm onto the dark ice.
The crone crossed into the arena, and the wind whipped at her hair.
She nodded at me once, frowning, then threw back her head and screamed, “As the person with the most points, Ava Jones is the winner of our final tournament.” She raised her hands. “King Torin, Ruler of the Six Clans, High King of the Seelie, will announce his choice for queen. At sunset, in the throne hall, we will learn the name of our next high queen consort. Our queen shall make our kingdom thrive with life once more!”
The roar of the crowd vibrated off the stones, and I felt their exultant screams in my marrow. Vaguely, I was aware of Orla rushing up to me, healing my ragged wounds with her magic.
I hardly wondered at all why the king wasn’t doing it himself.
