Page 46 of In the Ravenous Dark
Despite seeming to care more about my bloodline than my life, he’s shown he isn’t a complete idiot. Though he does make an easy target.
Marklos scowls at me. “If you think all I’m telling you is wind, how about we practice dueling. Japha, come spar with me. Lydea and Rovan, you two are together. You girls,” he says to the cousins, as if he hasn’t bothered to learn their names, “pair up. Remember:No using fire to attack. And sigils as external weapons only! Nothing internal. If one of you causes so much as a headache or a muscle cramp, you’ll regret it.”
Using sigils to harm a body’sinsidesis something I’ve never considered, although I do remember seeing my father rip open someone’s neck. Healers exist, so why not the opposite? It follows, even if the thought makes me shudder. I could just as easily have torn Bethea’s bloodoutof her instead of gently lifting it.
Before Japha steps forward to join Marklos, they whisper in my ear, “I’m going to knock him on his ass. Or is it his face?”
It feels like a hand extended to me. I stifle a giggle, which earns me a relieved smile from Japha. Then their expression grows serious. “Rovan, I’m sorry. I accompanied you to the ball, and knowing how I felt after losing my sister and my mother… if I’d had someone to blame, I might have done it. And I didn’t know if I could face that, with you. Also, I’m shit at comforting people when they’re truly sad. Pouting and hungover like you were before, no problem.” They shake their head gently. “This was something else.”
My throat squeezes tight. Japha understands me so well. I appreciate their acknowledgment, and there really is nothing to forgive. I manage a shaky nod before Lydea slides between us, capturing my attention like a cat snagging a bird out of the air. Today, the princess wears a red peplos that matches her bloodline and offsets her black hair. She’s a glorious, deadly thing. Something in my belly clenches in anticipation. Or nervousness.
The perfect distraction.
“He paired me with you because I’m positively evil at dueling and merciless in sparring sessions.” Lydea folds her sigil-lined arms and smiles. “He probably thinks I view you as a threat and I’ll happily put you in your place. Ah, Marklos and his ilk, always trying to stuff others into their own meager understanding.”
There’s no trace of sympathy for me inhervoice. Though, after she came to hold me in the darkness while I cried, there doesn’t need to be. Lydea is so strong. But it’s a brittle strength, and I realize Ineverwant to see her crack. She doesn’t have to show me what’s behind all that armor that she’s so carefully built, living in this place—because I think I already know. I would never want to strip her, leave her naked.
Well, at least not figuratively.
I can’t help grinning, despite the darkness still ready to swallow me, despite the bloodline staining my skin, despite Kineas—no, I can’t think about him yet—despiteeverything. Lydea and Japha make me oddlyhappy, in the face of all odds. “So you’re not going to knock me on my ass?”
“I didn’t saythat.” Lydea assumes a position a few paces away, raising her hands, fingers slightly spread. “Besides, you need to be ready for what’s coming. My brother doesn’t play nice, either.” Her voice drops. “As I’m sure you’ve heard. You’re more than a match for him, Rovan, but… one can’t help worrying.” Before I can get too distracted bythisrevelation—she’sworried aboutme?—she asks, “Are you ready?”
I doubt it. I’ve never dueled before, in practice or in earnest. Especially not with a princess who wants to kiss me or stab me—I’m not entirely sure which is the stronger impulse.
Marklos shouts, “Begin!” and Lydea pulls every wooden practice sword off a weapon’s rack under the colonnade and hurls them at me.
I barely have time to slam them aside with a wave of flame, the pathway of sigils in my mind telling me how. Fire is the first thing to come to me, maybe because the weapons are wood, or maybe because I have the urge to burn things lately. The countermove works, and they clatter to the ground in a charred and smoking heap.
“No fire!” Marklos shouts.
I spin on him, where he’s in the middle of his own duel with Japha. “I wasn’t attacking, you b—”
But then I can’t talk, because I’m underwater. Or at least myheadis. From the shoulders down, I only feel the warm air of the courtyard, but my eyes can barely make out anything through the shimmering curtain of bubbles that rises from my gaping mouth. I can’t breathe. I claw at my face, as if to tear off a mask, but I merely get my hand wet. The water stays put.
I manage to curse myself through my rising urgency.Sigils, use sigils, not your hand, you idiot!
My bloodline provides an answer once again, but as soon as I swipe at my face, parting the water and dragging in a ragged breath, the water closes over my head again. When I scatter it into mist, more water, flowing from its ample source in the troughs, covers back over my face… but not before I glimpse the princess’s wicked grin.
I have to stop Lydea, not the water.Stop Lydea.Another pathway opens in my mind, and I follow it in a panic. Before I know what I’ve done, I’m thrown off my feet. I land hard on rough ground, bruising my tailbone and scraping my palms. But whatever I did must have been enough, because the water enclosing my head bursts apart, soaking my shoulders and chest. When I sit up, coughing and mopping wet hair from my eyes, I see that the patio tiles have erupted. Thick roots from the trees in the garden are lashing through the cracks like tentacles, seizing Lydea’s arms and twining around her fingers. The princess manages a few more sigils, however, and a massive root whips around my neck, dragging me flat on my back and choking off my air.
But I don’t need air to pull the same trick on Lydea. Soon we’re both on the ground, being strangled to death. The only sounds are from the two of us thrashing, and breath trying to wheeze throughmy constricted throat. The others must have quit their sparring to watch.
“All right, that’s enough!” shouts Marklos.
I suck in a rasping breath as the root releases me. I remain on my back, battered, soaked, and covered in grit, staring dazedly up at the gleaming, veil-covered sky through the stars in my vision. I actively appreciate the air in my lungs.
Lydea appears above, leaning over me, smiling. She isn’t too much the worse for wear, only a few streaks of dirt and early bruising visible on her neck and wrists.
“If I’d known you wanted to tie me up, I would have approached you differently,” she says with a smirk, offering me a hand.
Wincing, I lift myself onto my elbows first. “Now that I know whatyou’reinto,” I croak, “I’m a little reluctant to tangle with you again.” I rub my throat, where I no doubt have blossoming bruises of my own.
The princess laughs. “I’m not so cruel as all that. I can prove it to you if you’ll let me.” The look in her eyes dredges up heat in my wet cheeks—along with carefully buried hope in my chest. Maybe the princesscanhelp me. But trust is so much harder than doubt. She waggles her hand again, and this time I take it, struggling to my feet.
Japha steps daintily across the overturned tiles of the courtyard to join us. “Not one for subtlety, are you, Rovan, dear?”
“I’m impressed,” Lydea says. “I might have years of practice on you, but you were still a match for me.”
