Page 18

Antones opened the fence at one end and stepped into the ring.

He held two wooden longswords and two wooden daggers.

They were the weapons of choice for Grimsons; we were all taught to dual-wield from an early age.

The constant training with both our left and right hands forced us to be ambidextrous so we wouldn’t have a natural “weak side” adversaries could expose.

Antones handed us a sword and dagger then stepped to the swinging door. “Only rule is don’t kill each other. Anything else goes. There are no fouls. The loser is the one who ends up unconscious.”

With those curt instructions, he gave each of us a tiny nod and exited the ring.

“Begin.” This from Lukain, said loudly with no fanfare.

Immediately at the word, Culiar charged me. He kept his body low, all lanky arms and legs as he tried to make himself smaller. His boots padded across the floor lightly, bouncing on the tips of his toes—ready to extend his momentum.

Culiar gritted his teeth and held his sword and dagger out to create a natural barrier. He spun them in a blur as he advanced, attempting to trick me into following the movements of the wooden blades.

I studied his feet instead, as I’d been taught. My right leg slid back into a sturdy foundation. I bent my knees to prepare to defend myself, holding my sword and dagger up near my face.

Culiar came in fast. He hacked at me with both weapons at once. He was surprisingly skilled with each. It took every bit of concentration to keep my wood cracking against his, avoiding his blows. He aimed for my body, not my swords, and I had a larger body to work with.

I pivoted with my front foot, backpedaling a step as he pressed his charge and snarled at me.

The spectators watched in eerie silence as the thudding of our wooden weapons parried and echoed. There was no cheering, no hollering—this was an audience of fighters, analyzing us as potential adversaries and allies in the future; gauging our worth and skill.

The presence of the fence loomed behind me like a suffocating cloud.

Culiar lunged—

I watched his left knee push down before he sprang at me, and I was already sliding to his right before he completed the maneuver.

My sword came down and banged against his leather armor, his ribs. A satisfying “Oof” puffed out of him as he spun to meet me before I could deliver another hit.

The leather we wore was strong enough to prevent massive damage yet thin enough that a well-placed strike with enough force could break bone. I had no illusions it would keep me safe.

While he stayed on the balls of his feet, I stayed on my heels. It made me anxious, like my legs were lumbering.

He was quick on the attack, lighter, and had more energy. I conserved my energy, reading his weaknesses and gaps in his style until I felt I had a good understanding of his rhythm.

Then I switched stances.

Culiar’s eyes widened as I pressed forward after backpedaling for two minutes straight and defensively parrying his strikes.

It began when my ass bumped against the fence and I spun. He was ready this time and gnashed my kneecap with his dagger. I stutter-stepped with a grunt, limping the rest of the way through my spin.

His sword hit me in the belly—a harsh smack like a club that threatened to steal the air from my lungs. All the endurance training had prepared me for such a blow, and Culiar was nowhere near as strong as Lukain.

I practically felt nothing as I bounced off his attack and began swinging my arms in deadly, controlled scythes that made him growl at me.

“That’s a good bitch!” he rasped, trying to get in my head. “Come at me.”

I clenched my teeth and focused on his lanky body. He punched out with his dagger-hand, trying to straighten me up. I bobbed right and caught his hand under my arm, squeezing my bicep down, pinning him against my armpit and ribs.

Then I yanked , forcing his momentum, throwing him off-balance into me. My sword-hand came down and banged the wooden blade against his wrist.

Culiar yelped, immediately releasing his hold on his dagger.

I tried to twist to break his arm, but his leg came up and he kicked me square between the legs.

That hadn’t been part of the endurance training—Lukain had never cunt-kicked me—and the pain was brutal, zinging through my body in an instant and filling my belly with dreaded nausea.

I doubled over to grab at my crotch—

Only to reel up with my head as Culiar drew close to try and finish me off.

The back of my head crunched against his jaw and blood sprayed. I thought I saw a sliver of tongue fly out from biting down on the muscle, but that could have been gore.

Regardless, Culiar was dazed, stumbling backward.

I charged with a vicious yell, discarding my dagger to hold my sword two-handed and slamming it over and over again into his side. I heard a rib crack.

Culiar groaned, trying desperately to defend himself. He dropped his sword and went bare-fist—

I kicked him in the balls before he could get his guard up, returning the favor. And unlike with me, my attack did double him over.

His head came to my waist, on his knees. His neck looked supple and open, and I stared down at it like I was a vampire ready to lunge at my next meal.

Culiar lifted his head, eyes determined to the last—

As I brought down my sword against his clavicle.

It snapped, clear as a spark in the bonfire.

Culiar wailed.

My boot came up and silenced him, crunching into his face and pushing him onto his back.

He thudded on the ground, arms flying limply to his sides. Blood trickled down his chin and mouth. His eyes were dazed beneath his lids.

I lifted my sword to swing down for good measure, the curtain of anger behind my eyes taking over.

“Match, Sephania,” Master Lukain calmly announced.

As if the clouds had parted, I blinked wildly and came back to my right mind—blade lifted above my head for a potential killing blow.

I lowered my arms as Culiar groaned awake and rolled onto his side in pain, curling into a fetal position to grab his wounded package and broken collarbone.

Antones walked into the ring to check on him.

A light smattering of grunts and nods met me from spectators as they shuffled out of the Firehold.

No one cheered, no one clapped, no one congratulated me.

The battle-daze lifted. Faithless fuck me . . . I won!

My breath heaved. My body ached in more places than I’d realized, telling me Culiar had smacked me around more than I thought. I had just grown numb to the hits due to my adrenaline.

With a smile cracking my lips, I turned my head to find Master Lukain—

And my grin faltered.

Lukain was already gone from the room.