Page 13 of The Beautiful Blade

“Speak,” the champion barked. “Who are you?”

I couldn't give him my name. Maybe just a piece of it. "My name is Char, and I'm a huge fan."

Kael’s gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate, like a wolf sizing up a meal. My skin crawled under his attention, every inch of me wanting to recoil, but I stood tall, refusing to give him the satisfaction of flinching. The strong smell of the alcohol on his breath turned my stomach.

“A bit young, but that doesn’t bother me. You’ll make a fine bed partner for the night.”

My frown deepened, the bile rising in my throat now threatening to choke me. “You’re married to Tyra Veyne. What would she think of this?”

“She's not going to know. She married me for my victories, which is the same reason you're sneaking out in the middle of the night, on the path of my journey into the capital. You're not the first groupie to do so.”

His mechanical hand reached out with a grinding whir of poorly maintained gears. I sidestepped his attempt easily, the sluggish movement of his enhanced arm telegraphing his intentions well before he could reach me.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Hard-to-Get is my least favorite game. Don’t be difficult.”

“Difficult? Difficult is cheering about your triumphs and thinking you were someone worth looking up to. Difficult is finding out the man I admired is nothing more than a philandering disappointment. I really believed your love story.”

To think that my favorite champion and my favorite singer might have been faking their relationship for the crystals. Could this day get any worse?

“Admired?” A slurred chuckle escaped his lips. “Oh, sweetheart, admiration doesn’t win medals.”

He lunged at me, his movements clumsy, the grace he’d displayed in the Games when he was younger andless mechanized utterly absent. I ducked under his arm with ease, the scent of sour wine and sweat trailing after him.

Kael swung at me again, his fists slow and wide, more a brawler’s heavy swing than the calculated strikes of a champion. I bobbed and weaved, dodging each clumsy attempt. My feet danced across the uneven forest floor, while his were rooted with the heavy armor of his mechanized legs.

I knew all his moves. Had practiced them for years. Right now, I could execute them better than him.

“Do you even know how many children across Lunaterra idolize you? We’ve all spent hours watching you, pretending to be you, dreaming of standing where you stand. And this is how you act? Pathetic.”

I’d watched him battle fire, ice, and warriors from every corner of Lunaterra. The man before me now wouldn’t last five minutes in the Games. His balance was off, his strikes lazy, his speed dulled by the weight of too many drinks and too much metal.

“Is this what you’ve been reduced to? A drunk stumbling through the woods, trying to grope women? How do you even plan to compete this year?”

His face darkened at that, his pride clearly stung. I ducked another swing, my reflexes sharp compared to his sluggish attempts. Kael stumbled, his rock of a footcatching on a root. He swayed but managed to stay upright. Barely.

I caught his wrist with one hand and twisted. It was a move I'd seen him perform dozens of times in the gauntlet. And it worked. I heard the distinct sound of bone popping and gears snapping. The champion dropped like a stone.

The collective gasp of the caravan snapped through the night like a whip. Lanterns swung as the others turned toward us, their eyes wide with disbelief and horror.

“Now you’ve done it,” the man who had captured me hissed. “You’ve cost us the victory.”

I tightened my grip on the dagger, my breath quickening as I counted the figures advancing on me. Their shadows stretched long and menacing in the dim light, their footsteps heavy and deliberate.

My mind raced, weighing my options. I could run, but they’d catch me. I could fight, but I was outnumbered. Either way, I would have to come up with yet a new plan.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JORGE

Eighteen years old

The ground was tough, dry, and reluctant to yield. I pressed on, driving the spade deep into the earth. My arms, no longer frail but lean with hard-won muscle, burned with the effort. It was a good burn, the kind that reminded me I was stronger now. My chest rose and fell steadily as I worked, each breath pushing me forward. My legs held firm beneath me, steady even after hours of standing, a far cry from the trembling weakness ofmy childhood.

I paused to wipe the sweat from my brow. The cool evening air brushed against my skin like a fleeting balm. The trench I’d dug stretched long and straight, ready to receive the seedlings. The nascent plants were hardy, stubborn things. They reminded me of myself—night-blooming varieties that could survive in barren soil and drink deeply of what little light the moon offered.

I crouched down, lowering the first seedling into the shallow trench with care. Its pale leaves caught what little light filtered down from Avarix. There were still faint traces of red on the moon's surface from the passing of the Hunter's Eclipse, leaving the first moon not in his full strength.

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