Fireblood (26 page)

“Now this”—his finger taps the metal bar above the hilt, just below the blade—“is your crossguard. It prevents your hand from sliding up the blade, and protects your hand by keeping your opponent’s blade from sliding down the blade. It won’t fully protect you, however, unless you’re also wielding a shield. But it gives some measure of defense. Since you’re smaller, you’ll handle a short sword more efficiently. You may go up against a knight wielding a longsword at some point, so I’ll teach you how to use your dagger to compensate for the difference.”

Already I feel my brain swallowing me. I practice holding my sword as instructed, and he moves in front of me, extending his. “Use your short stature to force your foe to expose weaknesses and openings to strike.”

He slides our swords together. The shrill ring of metal sliding against metal heightens my senses. “If I were fighting someone of equal height, I’d try to knock their sword to the side.” He demonstrates.

“But you want to confuse them. Tap up and to the side, opening their body to you. This will also force them to move slower, figuring out how to counter to deflect you.”

He nods encouragingly, and I tap his sword upward and over. “Good,” he says. “See, my center is exposed. Now lunge.”

I do, stopping the point of my blade right before his chest.

His eyes squint as he smiles. “Nice. Now, the torso is the main goal, but you have much more you can do by using your height to your advantage.” He slides our swords together again. “Targeting limbs is a wise move. You can’t best them with strength, so you want to disarm them. Force their arm down and at an angle so they have no choice but to expose their hand from around the guard.”

He does this by tapping my sword down, but I keep my arm level. “See, you have the advantage. You are already low to the ground.”

I glare.

“But they are not,” he adds quickly. “Because they must lower their sword, they expose their wrist, and it’s the quickest and closest body part to strike.” He nods. “Go ahead. Try it.”

I take a deep breath and tap his sword toward the ground. I see what he’s saying. Excitement flutters in my chest as his wrist becomes visible behind the crossguard. I eagerly thrust—only stopping my sword from connecting too late.

“Shit—”

“
Oh
.” I drop the sword. “Devlan, are you all right? I tried to pull it back.”

He wraps his hand around his injured wrist. “I guess I should’ve told you just how badly that hurts.” He shakes out his hand. A strained laugh escapes his lips. “Let’s stop it
before
, shall we?”

My face flames, and I anchor my fists to my hips. “Yes, wise teacher. Maybe you should explain thoroughly before telling your student to ‘go ahead.’” I scowl, but can’t help the smile breaking through my twitching lips.

Devlan crooks a smile, his eyes a light and clear blue. “Touché.”

After he shows me a few more moves, we dance back and forth over the stone floor. Forward and backward as we tap blades. I never knew sword fighting was so enjoyable. I love the feel of the sword in my hand, and the fact that my height doesn’t appear to be a weakness. Rather, I’ve learned I have more angles of attack; my foe will have to compensate, not me.

The side of Devlan’s blade swats my forearm. “In,” he orders monotonically, reminding me to keep my arm behind the crossguard.

I roll my shoulder and come at him again. He retreats, and I see his foot still in attack position. I quickly tap his sword upward and drive mine down, capturing his toe beneath the tip of my blade. “In,” I mock.

Devlan’s eyes gleam. Before I can gloat further, he knocks my blade to the side and circles it with his own, relieving me of my weapon. As it falls, he dives forward, catching it with his free hand.

He crosses the blades, his hands before his chest, and advances. I retreat until my back hits the wall. He blocks me in, blades on either side of my head.

“Never. Take. Your eyes. Off your opponent.” His own eyes lock with mine, and his heavy breaths fan my face, my lips.

His dark hair falls across his forehead into his eye, and I nearly lift my hand to brush it aside. Balling my hand into a fist by my thigh, I stop myself from reaching out. His smile fades as his eyes roam the features of my face. His lips part slightly, and his face moves closer.

My breath stills in my lungs.

He drops the swords to his sides. Then he tilts his head as his face nears mine. Our cheeks nearly touch—my skin a live current as his lips brush my ear. “You’ve forgotten about your secret weapon.”

My breath whooshes out. “Damn. I forgot about my dagger.” I could’ve easily grabbed it and…I don’t know. Maybe thrown it at him to get away.

Tilting his head back, his eyes stare at me through half-lidded slits. His finger traces up my arm, sending shivers dancing along my spine. “I wasn’t referring to your dagger.”

I squint, and his finger slowly backtracks down its heated trail. “A woman has a disarming weapon that, I firmly believe, no man is capable of resisting.”

My breath halts. My heart slams against my chest. I don’t breathe again until his lips stretch into an easy smile and his eyes shimmer with mock-humor, releasing me from his spell.

“I don’t believe I have the necessary
skills
, Devlan, to vex a man in that way.”

He backs away two steps and hands me my sword, then turns and heads toward the corner of the room. I release a frustrated breath, lay my sword to the side, and rub the still-tingling skin of my arm.

“Trust me, Zara.” His head snaps in my direction, his eyes devoid of humor. “You do.”

TWENTY-FOUR

T
he domed grid streaks the overcast sky, turning the usually bright-green lawn into a rolling field of blue and gray. I gather my white gown, lifting the hem above the grass, and march toward the lake.

I glance back at Devlan. His scowl is already apparent as he knows what I’m about to say.

Once at the bank, I settle down on the grass. Devlan looms beside me. “Zara.” He speaks low, into the wind, so the Eyes can’t pick up his voice. “You’re not ready.”

I pluck a lone dandelion. “I may never be ready, Devlan. But every day the barrier stands is another day I risk my father’s life.”

He doesn’t respond to this. He knows it’s the truth. His parents are out there, too, but his situation is different from mine. His parents work inside Morgana and aren’t considered for sacrifices. My father is a grunt worker, and could be tossed to the cannibals at the next Yielding.

Turning away from me, Devlan laces his arms over his chest and walks the bank.

I frown at his impossible resistance to hearing me out and blow the puffs of white seed. They float off with the breeze, scattering over the lake.

The past couple of weeks have lulled me into a steady rhythm, with most of my days spent alongside Madity, preparing for the marriage ceremony, and the others with Sebastian as he readies Karm for the grandest tournament ever, making way for a new king.

During the nights, I’ve trained to become the assassin that will free Karm of its dictatorial king.

Each day I grow more anxious. We need to initiate the mission as soon as possible, as I fear my father could be forced to the front of the line. I know I can convince Sebastian to take me to meet the king now, rather than waiting for the night of the wedding, but Devlan continues to insist that I need more training.

I do understand his point. We only have one shot when the time comes, and I have to be at my best. I sigh with resignation. I just don’t know how much longer I can bear my father being Outside.

“We’re meeting Fallon at the meadow tonight.” Devlan says, interrupting my brooding. He moves closer and kneels before me. “She’ll evaluate your progress, and we’ll discuss timing with her. That’s final.”

Looking past his gaze, I focus on the dark water as it ripples over the lake, the breeze carrying a silent plea in my heart. Devlan is the first knight to Sebastian, but he’s first and foremost a Rebel, and he’s committed. Whatever Fallon decides, she’s the leader—his leader. There will be no arguing with him if she says I’m not ready.

Devlan’s communicator crackles inside his vest. He brings it to his lips. “Devlan.”

A short hiss, then a voice says, “His Highness has requested an early assembly in the great hall. Bring the princess.”

My brow creases as I study Devlan’s face. He accepts the request, and slips the device back into his vest. “Do you know what this is about?” I ask.

He shakes his head, his face set in hard lines. “No. But let’s not keep His Highness waiting.” He rises and pulls me up beside him.

As we hurry toward the castle, my thoughts are occupied with my perplexing relationship with Sebastian nearly as much as with the mission.

The prince has been consumed with the tournament, which has given me ample time to slip away and train and has also kept him from pressuring my affections. In the time I do spend with him, we talk about the changes he wants to make in Karm, and I believe we’ve developed a tentative friendship. Deceiving Sebastian daily twists my insides with gnawing guilt.

I wish there were a way to tell him the truth. If I confessed his father is to die at my hands, though, I fear the same darkness that is in Hart would consume the prince. If the Taken are to be freed, Sebastian has to trust me; he can never know the complete truth. It’s an impossible situation, and one that I haven’t found a solution to yet.

If he would only acknowledge the evil in his father and give me a hint he wishes him gone, then I could act, but he loves and respects his father too dearly. I’ve thought of unmasking the truth of Outside to him, in hopes he’d see that his father needs to be eliminated, but that may in fact have the opposite effect, turning him against me and pushing him closer to King Hart.

My thoughts have come full circle, and I’m back to the Rebels’ plan. Swaying Sebastian to join us after his father is no longer an influence—and he’s no longer trying to prove himself to the king as a strong leader—is the best approach.

When I think of my father and all the others Outside, laboring, mindless slaves to be slaughtered by cannibals, I know I can’t risk Sebastian discovering the truth. No matter how much the guilt eats at me.

As Devlan and I enter the hall, we pass citizens waiting in line to greet the prince. Since Sebastian undertook the tournament as his personal project, Karm adores him all the more. They see what I see in him: a chance for change. King Hart has been silent all this time, hidden away, most likely watching his realm change slowly. The televised punishments have ceased, the Force no longer walk the streets instilling fear, and all their orders come from Sebastian.

And we work silently and cleverly, behind the scenes, ensuring that our mission unfolds seamlessly.

How long will Hart allow his son to entertain his visions before he reveals the truth to him? Hart probably has no fear that his son will take over Karm in the way he intends.

The early-morning sun filters through the stained-glass windows, casting the room in rich hues. I find Sebastian seated in the lone pew at the head of the hall. Devlan and I make our way over, and once I’m seated, I turn toward Sebastian and raise my eyebrows. “Is there something I should know?”

His lips spread into a wide, knowing smile. “All will be revealed shortly,” he says, then waves away the gathered citizens before he kisses the top of my hand.

I shake my head lightly, happy to see him so excited, and figure it’s something about the tournament. I have to admit, since he’s taken it on, he’s less vain. Maybe not less cocky, but less narcissistic, now that his focus is on a big project.

His eyes drink me in a moment longer, his smile stretching. Devlan rounds the pew to take his station at the end of our row and Sebastian’s smile fades. His eyes trail after his first knight. Ever since the day in Town Square, when the crazed man threatened me, something has changed between them.

I’ve asked Devlan what could’ve possibly happened to make Sebastian turn so cold toward the knight he elevated because he wanted to rekindle a friendship. But Devlan denies that there is anything to be concerned with, claiming that nothing has changed between them.

I study Sebastian now. His face is pinched, his form tense. There is something very apparent between them. I remember the crazed man, me being frightened and clinging to Devlan in my fear, and Sebastian’s hands on my shoulders, trying to lead me away from the scene. Does Sebastian take offense that I didn’t turn to him for protection or comfort? It wasn’t as if it was a conscious decision. Devlan was there—the closest to me when I reached out. That is all.

Although, maybe Sebastian doesn’t see it that way. If he doesn’t, then wouldn’t he have removed the first knight as my personal guard?

The friar takes his position behind the altar and raises his hands. “Citizens of Karm, thank you for joining us early on this Sabbath day.” His eyes search the crowd. He is about to ask again if anyone believes Sebastian and I should not be united. I have no fear of anyone denouncing it.

He pushes the sleeves of his robe up and continues. “It’s an honor to announce that King Hart has a special address for his subjects before the crying of the banns.”

Fear grips my chest, and I turn to see a stoic Sebastian. A smile flits across his lips, and I force my lips to return it. He knew his father was to speak today. But about what? My skin slicks with sweat, and I now doubt the surprise has anything to do with the tournament.

The monitor along the back of the wall flickers and crackles.

I try to sit up straight, and look directly at the screen. Someday soon I’ll confront King Hart face to face, so I brace myself to be strong. I won’t allow him to intimidate me as he did during the betrothal. I envision my father in the pitch black of Outside, his face dirty and his eyes lost, and anger replaces the knots in my stomach.

King Hart’s pale face appears on the monitor. I force my breathing to steady as his cold eyes scan the hall. “Greetings, citizens. Thank you for coming together in praise of our Lord, and to hear the banns for our future king and his queen.” He pauses, smiles. “I could not be prouder of the fine job my son has accomplished in his endeavors to make this year’s tournament the best ever. And because the last day of the tournament is always the most prestigious, I want to make it an even grander occasion.”