Page 19 of Crown of Iron (The Crown Trilogy #1)

Eleven

“ L ady's choice,” Kyron says.

I lift a brow and place my hand on the pommel of the sword at my side. It's a bold move, but I have little room for anything less.

Kyron shakes his head, and his lips form a straight line. “Let's save killing each other for another day. Pick a mock weapon and stop stalling, princess.”

“I'm not stalling.” I snatch a wooden sword comparable to mine out of the cabinet.

Kyron selects his sword, and we join Terro on the sideline.

He holds open a leather sleeve, and Kyron dips his sword into it, leaving the blunt blade covered in red dust. I follow suit, and Terro explains, “Today's match is to the death.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“First to strike a fatal blow, leaving a distinct mark over a vital organ of their opponent, wins. There are no other rules.”

The notion of sparring with Kyron with no rules sends a chill through me. My face must go pale because Kyron says, “We can always postpone until you're ready.”

I'm in over my head. This is nothing like the way I used to practice with Leif. There was no kicking and punching. We just used our light practice swords. And even then, we weren’t fighting at full force .

I shake my head and take a step back. “I'm ready.”

Kyron walks to Greer and removes his jacket, and I make my way to Ulric. “Don't try anything fancy and keep your sword up and your eyes on him at all times. If you see an opening, take it,” he says while I unbuckle my actual sword and hand him my jacket.

“I'm taking him down and starting my training,” I say with more certainty than I feel.

I take the canteen Ulric offers me and gulp the watered-down whiskey inside. It burns my throat and distracts me from my worries, calming the anxiety building within me.

“Good?” he asks.

“Good.”

I move to the center of the field, and Kyron joins me. He raises his weapon and slices the air between us, coming just short of hitting me in the gut.

I stumble back, saying, “You could have warned me!”

“You think the enemy is going to send a letter letting us know when they plan to attack?” He swings again and this time, I block him. “This isn't a tea party; it's war. There’s no warning or holding back.”

Gone is the compassionate man who taught a boy to chop wood, and in his place is a fierce soldier.

The constant smile he wore with the children is now a harsh scowl.

The gentleness he used when carrying Mia vanishes into deadly movements.

On this field, I face a soldier who has brought Stigian warriors their last breath.

Our weapons repeatedly cross with a crack and plumes of red. Kyron never lets up. Every step he takes is an advance, forcing me back. He slams his blade against my free arm, leaving a dusting of crimson on my sleeve, and I yelp at the sting.

The crowd’s joyful reaction fuels my rage.

I slash my sword in a sloppy swing, trying to reciprocate his blow, but I only slice through the air.

“Quit wasting my time and fight,” he commands.

I double my efforts with jabs and cuts, but he deflects every time, sending vibrations up my arm.

His movements are short and rapid, a comfortable tempo for him, so I switch it up, arching my swing wide and slice back to the other side.

The tip of my blade brushes his forearm.

The mark is nothing more than a dot, but it's enough to energize me.

I advance, keeping my focus on his weapon and swinging in broad strokes.

His jabs and quick movements falter against my advances, and my confidence grows. I might take him down!

Kyron lifts his free hand. A flaming ball of light forms in the center, and the soldiers erupt in a chorus of cheers.

“You have to be kidding me,” I say.

Kyron flings the fireball at my boots and thrusts his blade at my side.

I jump back and twist my hips. My feet hit at an awkward angle, tripping me.

I land on my hip, and the side of my head smacks against the ground.

He rushes to stand over me, and through tear-blurred eyes, I watch him slash downward toward my chest. I lift my blade and the wood crashes against his.

With a ragged scream, I kick his shin, sending him off balance.

My thigh throbs in protest as I scramble to my feet, and I grind my teeth, fighting through the pain.

Blood trickles down from my temple and a sick feeling washes over me.

The full force of his gift and knowing he could have amplified it by siphoning from me is a nauseating mixture.

My tongue grows thick, and my throat constricts, threatening to expel my breakfast. But a stronger feeling pushes to the surface. Anger.

I yell and advance, meeting his sword with fast and hard beats.

Fuck him for taking what is mine and my father's.

He should not be general and given the respect of these soldiers.

He lured me in with the guise of a caring general, and broke down my defenses when he showered those children with attention.

It led up to the moment he steered us into the woods and overwhelmed me with his gift.

He doesn't deserve to command these people because he’s no better than the next Stigian.

I blink away the sweat flowing into my eyes and clench my teeth against my burning muscles, anticipating the right moment to strike. Kyron sweeps his weapon, and I lunge forward, cutting through a black cloud. He's gone, using his Noctist gift to hide in shadows.

An arm wraps around my waist and the red blade angles at my neck. “Give up, princess,” he whispers into my ear.

“Never.” I fling my head back, whacking my skull against his face and running my elbow into his stomach.

Kyron grunts and charges for me. He holds nothing back, hurling balls of fire at my feet and vanishing into a dark cloud.

I block, thrust, block, cut, spinning around like I’ve lost my senses, but my blade doesn't make contact once.

He appears before me, and I lift my sword over my head, cutting through nothing but mist. The force of the swing leaves me off balance, and I land on my face in the pebbled dirt with my weapon out of reach.

Every muscle in my body burns and my head throbs. Dirt coats my face, making it difficult to breathe. I should give up, I tell myself as the crunch of footsteps draws closer.

I roll onto my back, and Kyron's blade stabs into the ground next to me.

He spins and presses the sole of his boot to the center of my chest, pointing his sword over my heart.

We hold each other's gaze while blood flows from his nose and beads of perspiration drip from his brow.

He lowers the tip of his sword, and I grip the blade in both hands, calling upon every ounce of strength I have left.

The ruby dust coats my palms as he pushes harder, the wood catching my skin, embedding sharp slivers along my fingers and palms. My arms shake and tears flow down my cheeks.

“Stop fighting,” he says, his voice a gravelly whisper.

I continue to stare at him and croak, “No, I won't surrender.”

A spark of something like remorse breaks through his stonelike features, and just as quickly it’s gone. His eyelids flutter shut, and with a quick exhale, he drives the blade to my chest.

It doesn't hurt. It's hardly a touch. But the hope I held so tightly to fractures. It’s the kind of pain that drowns and steals, and leaves a person broken.

Kyron doesn’t look at me as he tosses his weapon to the dirt and walks to the crowd. They cheer and pat him on the back, parting to let him through. He’s prevailed, and I'm no better off than I was the moment I saw my father with Esmeray.

Tears sting my eyes as Kyron leaves the field with my last ounce of hope.

“When did you become so accident-prone?”

I open one swollen eye and glare across my room at Leif. “This wasn't exactly an accident.”

“No, it was stupidity. ”

I raise my hand in a crude gesture. My best friend returns it with one of his own.

“Hold steady, Elle,” Ulric says, tilting my head to the side and removing another tiny pebble from the scrape along my cheek.

Although I lost the fight, the soldiers in attendance gave me a round of applause as Leif and Ulric lifted me to my feet and escorted me to my room. Even if I never get to train, at least I've finally earned their respect. Not one of them has dared to challenge their general.

Ulric applies a salve to the cuts on my face and hands with gentle fingers.

The ointment soothes the sting but does nothing for my throbbing head.

He straightens and gathers his medical tools from my table.

“Continue to drink the tea. It'll take the edge off the pain and help with the swelling,” he says, pointing to the cup sitting before me.

“You fell hard on your hip. Are you sure that scar always looks like that?”

I run my hand over my leather pants that cover the rough patch of skin in question. I always feel so awkward when someone first sees the blemished skin. “Yeah. I’ve had it since I was a kid.”

He nods. “The healing will take some time. But the salve will help make sure your lovely face is good as new.”

“Thanks for everything. Today would have been a bigger disaster if you weren't there.” I smile up at him and quickly flinch from the pain.

He nods and heads for the door. “And don't worry, your determination outweighed your stupidity.”

“Don't encourage her.” Leif pushes off the wall and takes the chair across from me. He waits for Ulric to leave and asks, “So now what?”

I sip my bitter tea and breathe in its floral scent. “I train on my own and challenge Kyron again. Maybe I can choose a spear next time and use he longer reach to my advantage.”

“Micah is looking for you. It won't be long before the guards arrive and drag you back.”

“Then help me with the limited time I have left.”