the Brimstone Vale, but fear and revulsion are also types of control, and I will not give in to them.” She grinned abruptly. “Actually, this is your fault.”
I startled. “What do you mean by that?”
“Not fault really, since I appreciate you allowing me the opportunity to do this more than I can say.”
I was still baffled, and shook my head.
“When you took over as First Blade, it freed me from responsibility for anyone but myself. I can afford to risk things that I couldn’t before. Where I had to fight against the smoke within every single minute, now I can strive to make it mine, to own it instead of the other way round. You might even say that it’s become my duty. If I can master this, it will allow me to do things for the order that maybe no one else can.”
“And if it devours you?” Though I didn’t entirely believe there was an order anymore, I let that part of her remark pass unanswered.
Siri shrugged. “You’ll kill me. Before, you would have hesitated, bound by your sense of duty to my authority as well as our friendship. Now, that same sense of duty will force you to do the right thing. I find that enormously reassuring.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I turned away. Only to find myself facing Kelos, his eyes unspeakably sad. If I had believed for an instant that he was capable of betraying his own inner emotions, and not just aping sentiment to manipulate those around him, I might have taken some comfort there. As it was, I had to restrain myself from spitting at his feet.
“What do you want?” I growled.
“Are you exhausted yet, or would you care to go another couple of rounds?” He looked hopeful, almost wistful—more manipulation, certainly.
“With you?” I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice.
He nodded, but his expression closed, and sarcasm laced his response, “Believe it or not, I need to practice as much as the rest of you.”
“Why not with Faran?”
Are you mad? Triss asked me silently.
“I would prefer not to bleed out if I miss a parry,” replied Kelos. “I trust you not to kill me out of pique. Your apprentice . . .”
“It wouldn’t be pique,” said Faran. “It would be cold-blooded justice, and I’d be smiling all the while. Sunny, even.”
“So,” said Kelos. “Are you too tired to spar with me or not?”
“I’m good to go,” I said, surprised to find that it was true. Even six months ago, one serious round with Faran had been enough to wind me—maybe I really was the Kingslayer again.
“Will you?” Again he gave me that faux-wistful look.
I rolled my eyes, but nodded. “Fine, let’s do it.”
Are you sure about this? asked Triss.
Not even a little bit.
Kelos stripped off his shirt as he crossed to the far side of our tiny arena. When he drew his swords and turned to face me, I couldn’t help but remember the last time I’d crossed blades with him. That had been in the Magelands, too, atop the roof of the proctor house at the University of Ar. . . . I say crossed blades where I should probably not. I’d drawn steel right enough, but Kelos hadn’t bothered. He hadn’t needed to. He’d taken me down using little more than his bare hands.
It was embarrassing in the extreme and I couldn’t help but relive that humiliation now. Would he defeat me as easily again? I was in much better shape than I’d been then, but he hadn’t even needed to draw on me. I felt a bead of sweat form at my hairline and roll down the side of my face.
No.
I would not let him outface me this way. I refused. He might beat me anyway, but he would have to do it with steel. I wouldn’t let him win the fight inside my head. Not ever again. I forced myself to be calm. Forced myself to be the Kingslayer, and not just Aral. Kelos might be a legend, but so by the goddess was I.
I drew my swords and advanced on my old master, every sense at maximum alert, every nerve alight. There was none of the cautious circling that Siri and I had indulged in this time. Kelos came in hard and fast. He outweighed me by a good fifty pounds, all of it muscle. He used that advantage ruthlessly, hammering away at me with blows that would have shattered lesser swords, driving