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I turned back to Nikolai. His eyes were already on me, wide and defeated. “If she is as monstrous as you say, I just hopeshedoesn’t killyou.” He pulled up the hood of his cloak and disappeared into the setting sunlight.

All I had to do was wait.

I watched from the shadows as she climbed through the second story window. Unexpected point of entry—Syrra would have approved. The Blade earned her name, cutting through the night air like a sharp edge. She landed on the decaying pulpit brandishing her dual blades. A quarter turn and she would see me. My chance to deny her invitation had flown out the window as she jumped through it.

Magic flared inside my chest. I pushed it back, keeping my breath even and leaning against the pillar. I wanted to appear calm. Collected. The Blade needed to know I had planned this. And I planned on leaving.

I spoke into the darkness. “I heard you wanted a rematch.” She turned in one fluid motion. Her shoulders were lax, but ready. Her feet shifted almost imperceptibly, feeling the uneven tile beneath her boot. I kept my eyes on her torso, learning the balance of her body just as Syrra had taught me.

The Blade was dressed in her normal black garb. I smirked. I wondered if she knew I had designed my own clothes after the Shades’ uniform. After her uniform. Aemon hadn’t noticed my mockery yet, but the Blade wouldn’t be able to ignore it now. We weren’t fighting on that rooftop, limbs spiraling in every direction. We were standing in the peace before the inevitably deadly storm.

Her face was veiled behind the shadow cast by her hood. My power flickered. I was tempted to use it, to split that shadow in two and push it apart, revealing the face beneath.

I couldn’t. This would be easier to do if I didn’t have to see her face.

“Glad to hear my message was received,” she answered. She twirled her left blade, testing its weight. The left wrist didn’t shake, but I noticed a quiver in the right. I would attack that side first.

I shrugged. She may have requested the meeting, but I arranged it. She was not in control here. “It would be impolite to ignore a request from the king’s Blade,” I replied, my gaze never leaving the line of her shoulders.

She cracked her neck. I was hit with the thick scent of stale wine. The Blade was on edge. Maybe tonight would end in my favor.

“You’re eager to die?” she asked. I could hear the smugness in her voice, but it didn’t match the quick beats of her heart. She was nervous. I could use that.

I chuckled.

“Are you sure youcankill me?” I pulled my sword out of its holster, remembering the first lesson Syrra had taught me.Rage is a catalyst; it can be your weapon, or it can be your downfall.How many taunts would it take to stoke the Blade’s downfall?

I stepped forward. Her left foot shifted against the uneven wooden floorboards.

“Are you so sure I won’t?” she asked from underneath her hood.

Nikolai and Syrra flashed through my mind. The Halflings. The Elverin. I took a breath and prepared myself for what needed to be done. “May the worthy win,” I whispered.

Then I charged.

She was quick, dodging my blows and throwing her own. I attacked her right side, but the shakiness had vanished. Her right blade protected just as well as her left.

I needed to change tactics.

I smirked, hoping she heard it in my voice. “It’s been more than a minute and you have yet to draw blood.”

“Again, you’re so eager to die,” she snapped. Her voice was a little winded.

I switched my sword hand. I would play defense while she tired herself out. “Death is the only certainty in this life,” I replied. It was one of Syrra’s favorite lines in training.

She stepped back, noticing my change in maneuver. I could feel her eyes burrowing into me. Waiting for my next move.

Rage. I needed to provoke her. “I expected more from the king’s Blade. I was dodging blows like yours as an apprentice.”

A snarl broke free from under her hood. She pounced like a fire lion, slashing at me with her blades. I blocked every swing, knowing her energy was draining faster than mine.

We cut across the floor in a blur of flashing metal, our breaths keeping the tempo as each of our blades tore toward the other’s. Her arms lowered slightly, like her weapons were getting heavier.

I had her.

She backed into a pew. I swung. She dodged it by stepping onto the bench.

I readied another swing, but she was soaring over my head. She kicked the hilt from my grasp. The sword slid across the floor behind me. I couldn’t reach for it without turning my back to her.