Page 24 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

Her jaw set, she parried his next blow and then attacked, pivoting, thrusting, and swinging her blade in a series of lightning-fast moves. He met her, blow for blow; the air filled with the metallic hiss of clashing blades.

Lunging forward, she jabbed, and then yelped in surprise as he disappeared beneath her sword and rolled to his feet behind her, his blade tapping her back before she could recover.

“Your point,” she said, graciously enough, though it was an effort not to bare her teeth at him.

“You’re really good,” he said. The admiration in his voice sounded sincere.

“So are you. Where were you trained?”

He shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m listening.”

He paused, as though choosing which memories to share, and she had the uncomfortable realization that once again she was inviting friendship from a member of her private staff. Except this wasn’t friendship. This was polite conversation, and she could easily leave it at that.

“I grew up in the north.” His voice was soft, and she thought she caught a hint of longing in it. “We had plenty of opportunities to see Montevallo’s soldiers practicing. We’d creep out to their camps and watch them. I would go home and mimic what I saw until I was proficient at using their fighting method.”

“You know the seven rathmas?” She looked at him with new interest. No wonder he was so difficult to beat. The rathmas were a combination of dance and fight moves, highly prized in Montevallo and guarded fiercely by all its citizens. Not a single person interrogated in the palace or Calera’s military outposts had ever given up its secrets. They’d claimed to, but when the Caleran swordsmen tried to imitate what they’d been told, the method had always been a failure.

“I do.” He gave her that crooked smile. “Why? Having trouble beating me because of it?”

“I’m not worried.” She feinted left, dived right, and swung her blade at his knees.

He leaped over the weapon, danced beyond her reach, and then whirled back so close, the tip of her braid brushed against his arm as she parried his blow.

This was getting ridiculous. She couldn’t lose their first sparring session.

He pivoted and came for her, and she lunged sideways, stumbling as if she’d injured herself. Gasping, she doubled over, her free hand clutching her leg.

There was more than one way to win a fight.

“Are you all right?” He sounded worried as he lowered his sword and approached.

He leaned down to look at her injured leg, and she whipped up her blade, pressing its corked tip beneath his chin. Slowly they straightened, her sword held steady, his eyes on hers.

“You cheated.” He sounded amused.

“There’s no such thing as a fair fight. There are simply those who live to fight another battle, and those who don’t.”

He looked at her for a long moment as though hunting for something in her expression. Finally, he said quietly, “Your point.”

They fought hard for the third point. Charis’s muscles were starting to burn, and Tal was breathing heavily. Finally, ducking and feinting, she raised her sword as if to strike from above, and as his eyes followed her arm, she slid her leg behind him, hooked it beneath his knees, and brought him down onto his back. Hard.

Instantly, she knelt on his chest and pressed the corked edge of her blade to his neck.

“My point,” she said.

“Your point.” He gestured at his chest. “Mind if I take a breath?”

She surprised herself by laughing. Standing, she reached down to help him to his feet. His callused hand was warm in hers.

“Shall we do this again tomorrow?” Tal asked.

“Only if you promise to teach me the seven rathmas.”

“Of course. As long as you promise to eat three meals a day.”

She glared at him, and he bowed his head and said, “Your Highness.” She could swear she saw the hint of a smile on his lips.

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