Page 99 of Children of Fallen Gods

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My eyes snapped open,even though I didn’t remember closing them. Nura stood over me, holding a rapier that nearly nicked the tip of my nose. Her pale cheeks were flushed with exertion, silver hairs forming a halo around her head.

“Where were you?” she demanded.

I was unable to even answer that question. A second ago — no, less than a second ago — I had been on my feet, dodging one of Nura’s strikes, Il'Sahaj halfway to closing the space between us.

And yet, now... I was lying on my back in the sand floor of the sparring arena.

A full two seconds. Three, even. Gone. Just…

{Lost,}Reshaye whispered.{Like so many other things.}

“We don’t have time for daydreams, Tisaanah.” Nura nudged Il'Sahaj’s hilt with her toe, pushing it back towards me, then resumed position with two long, gliding steps. “Get up. One more.”

I came back to my feet, ignoring the pain that throbbed behind my eyes. I refused to let my movements betray any hint of it. Certainly not after she just got me to the ground.

Three paces away from her. I took my stance, sweaty palms gripped tight around Il'Sahaj’s hilt.

We both coiled, waiting, watching each other. When Nura and I sparred, we never announced the start of the match. We’d wait, every muscle ready, watch for any twitch of movement.

Fitting. With Nura, one never really knew when the battle began.

Five seconds. Ten. And then—

Nura moved first this time, and I liked it better that way, because it gave me something to respond to. Her rapier came at me from the left and I rolled right, meeting her strike with my own, steel and gold glinting violent pangs beneath the waning sun.

Lunge— and pull back,fast fast fast,before she could answer, before she could adjust—

She lifted her arm. Danced backwards. I snaked out with Il'Sahaj’s blade, caught the edge of her shoulder, opening a trail of crimson over her white jacket.

She winced, but didn’t take her eyes off of me. A little smile tugged at one corner of her mouth.

She lunged. I swept to the side, capitalizing on that one off-balance second.

Strike, strike, strike—

Our weapons met where she didn’t expect them too, her rapier so light and flexible that Il'Sahaj nearly barreled right through it. She turned with her body to grab my wrist. But I knew she would — knew she wouldn’t stop.

I went for her other hand. Twisted until I felt it, felt the click of machinery beneath her sleeve.

And shoved her own hand to her throat — so that the blade she’d hidden there was poised against her alabaster skin.

Maybe if I’d looked at her, I might have seen some variation of pride. But instead my eyes couldn’t tear away from the steel against her throat. Behind my skull, Reshaye hissed, a sensation that twisted arousal and hate. It drank up the imagined image of red spilling over her skin.

I froze, distracted, trying to yank Reshaye to the back of my thoughts. But that moment of hesitation was all it took. Nura seized it. Pain shocked up my other wrist as she twisted, then my knees as she kicked my feet out, and then I was on the ground again, my breath coming in gasps.

Nura smirked down at me.

“Good,” she said. “But not good enough.”

“One might argue,” a voice said, from across the arena, “that the match had already been won when there was a blade against your throat, Nura.”

My heart stopped.

I barely noticed when Nura cocked an eyebrow at me and said, “Really? Doesn’t look like it was won to me.”

I scrambled to my feet, spinning around to see Max standing at the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

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