air.
But Iren watched the belly button.
Cadis feinted left. Shimmied right with her shoulders. Then struck left.
Her waist never faltered.
In a real fight, Iren would have stepped in and stabbed her dagger up through Cadis’s chin, through her mouth, into her mind.
But then in a real fight Cadis wouldn’t have been so sloppy.
She wanted something.
Respect.
Or if not respect, at least forgiveness for humiliating Rhea in front of them.
Wanting something like that, in a full-contact fight speed match, was a weakness too obvious for Iren.
Cadis thrust forward.
Iren stepped in and punched Cadis in the face.
The dagger hilt weighted her fist.
It crunched Cadis’s nose.
Blood spray.
A roar from the crowd louder than any all day.
Cadis’s head snapped back.
Iren hammered the hilts of her daggers down onto Cadis’s shoulder.
She screamed and dropped guard.
Iren swung again and smashed her in the eye socket.
Cadis stumbled.
Iren pounced forward.
Iren swept the hilts down and scooped under the back of Cadis’s knees.
Cadis fell back and hit the dirt.
The crowd stood and leaned over the railing.
Even Declan.
They wanted more blood.
They wanted her broken for all the crimes of Findain.
For their lost king.
Iren kicked her in the ribs so hard the peons in the mezzanine heard a crack.
A cheaty thing to do.
They would have expected it out of the Fin.
Cadis was hurt, but didn’t stay down.
She somersaulted backward and got to her feet.
Her eye was swelling. Nearly shut.
Her teeth were bloody.
Some in the crowd cheered.
A good show.
The Fin had grit.
They had to give her that.
Cadis wobbled, but held her cutlass in front.
Iren let them drink in the sight of Findain bleeding.
She closed one eye against the sun.
Then Iren threw a knife.
A little boy screamed.
Right before all of Meridan, at the Revels of the Pax Regina, the princess of Corent took a kill shot at the archana of Findain.
Gasps and whispers.
It was not a declaration of war.
It was an assassination.
Cadis flinched and lifted the flat face of her cutlass just in time.
An audible sigh of relief.
Iren had gone too far.
A dead queen would mean war.
Iren made an effort to grunt.
A frustrated sound for people to hear.
She was down to one dagger.
Cadis’s nose was broken.
The blood loss had her dizzy.
Her swollen eye blinded her on the left side.
Iren shifted the dagger to her right hand, where Cadis couldn’t see it.
A little boy in the fourth row shouted, “You can do it, Caddy!”
His mother quickly pulled him away from the railing.
It was forbidden to be so casual with a queen.
Cadis caught her breath and swung again.
The crowd erupted, this time in admiration.
She was brave.
And she could take punishment.
Iren ducked the blade.
Cadis wheeled around with a kick.
Iren took the boot on the chin.
She heard a pop as she fell.
The pain was more of a numbing sensation all along her neck and cheek.
Iren rolled over.
The sky was cerulean blue.
The color of Corent.
The sun was summer white.
Here in Meridan, it felt impossibly far away.
The shadow of Cadis blotted out the sky.
Iren tried to lash out with her dagger, but her arm was pinned under a knee.
She dropped her weapon.
Before Cadis could strike, Iren put up two fingers in surrender.
The roar was deafening.
Iren closed her eyes.
She thought of her room in the high spire of Corent.
She missed her mother.
When they arrived back at the great hall at the center of all their private chambers, Cadis and Iren released the maids.
Cadis collapsed onto a couch by the wall. Iren poured water from a carafe on the center table into two glass cups.
“Here,” she said, and handed one to Cadis.
Cadis looked out from under the wet towel she held over her swollen eye. She took the glass. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Cadis laughed, then winced.
It must have been funny to say, “You’re welcome,” in that moment.
“You’ve been practicing,” said Cadis.
Iren shrugged.
Cadis lay back on the couch and covered her face. “You’re dodging me.”
“All day.”
“Was that a joke? From silent Iren?”
“I thought we were being funny.”
“Truly, when did you become so—”
“Good?”
“Vicious.”
Iren drank her water.
“In the ring, I mean,” said Cadis.
“I’ve been practicing,” said Iren.
It would be sufficient excuse for the others—the king, the magister, the Meridan nobles. To them she was just lucky. A few landed strikes, some dishonorable play, no real evidence of greatness.
But Cadis had seen it up close. The speed of her punch, the control. When they grappled, only Cadis could know the taut-cord strength of Iren’s lean frame. Only Cadis could know that Iren was nothing like she seemed.
“Fine,” said Cadis. “Keep your secrets.”
That was a hurtful thing to say, thought Iren. She put her glass on the table and walked