Page 62 of In the Ravenous Dark
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even though I want to shudder. My skin is crawling from being so near him.
Twin or not, how could Lydeaeverthink she was anything like him?
The crown prince and his gaggle of attendants walk the rest of the way in anticipatory silence to a sunny, wide dirt courtyard, columns open on one gracefully curving side of the palace to the city sprawled below. Between the columns, light streams in from stacked arches that rise three stories overhead to a pale, curving ceiling punctured by oculi and draped in flowers. Weapon racks line the other walls.
Kineas dismisses several men already waiting there to spar with him and spreads his arms wide to encompass our arena. “Choose your weapons, my dearest.”
“Your Highness,” says an older attendant, standing deferentially apart. “Shouldn’t you both be limited to wooden practice weapons, or—”
“Of course not,” Kineas snaps. “My bride-to-be surely knows how to handle herself. You dare insult her, and you’re insulting me. We fight until first blood.”
Clever, I think.Sick, but clever.
I march right over to where the real weapons hang and draw a pair of half-moon blades off the rack. They give me a good feeling—a sense of comfortable familiarity, despite my never having held anything like them before.
Ihave, however, seen them both strapped to the waist and gripped in the hands of my guardian.
Said guardian appears in front of me, speaking rapidly. “Ideally you’d use something with better reach, but I don’t think you have the arm strength for a two-handed sword. My advice?”
I meet his eyes.
“Lose as quickly as possible.”
My expression must be response enough, because he says, “I didn’t imagine you would listen. So I’ll try to give you tips, but Kineas has trained as a warrior nearly since birth.”
He sounds less than hopeful. I turn away from him and walk toward the center of the arena, grateful I’m wearing a shorter chiton for my dancing lesson, so as not to tangle up my legs. I face Kineas, who draws the sword on his hip.
“Let’s see how experienced you truly are,” he murmurs, a smile on his face for anyone who’s watching. “I’m betting you’ll bleed after all.”
I charge first. Kineas is probably hoping I will—hoping to goad me into making an immediate mistake. And then he’ll poke and prod and make a fool of me, if he isn’t planning ontrulyhurting me. But I have something other than fury fueling my limbs. I can feel it alongside my bloodline, swimming in the dark spaces between it. Maybe Kineas has trained as a warrior since birth, butIvriloshas, too, since both the beginning of his lifeandhis death—four hundred years ago. And he’s given me a breath I have yet to expel.
I’m happy to expel it now.
My barrage hits the crown prince like a storm, and he ends up retreating almost before the spectators can let out a collective gasp.
“Feint left!” Ivrilos barks.
I don’t know what the hell that means. I only have the dark instinct curled like smoke inside to guide me. And Kineas isindeed skilled. He only allows himself a single look of wide-eyed shock before he’s back on the offensive. Twisting, he swings at me viciously, seeking an opening. The force of his strike, deflected by my half-moon blades, vibrates up my arms hard enough to rattle my teeth. Suddenly, it’s all I can do to keep up withhim.
“You’ve fought, now let him win!” Ivrilos says, practically at my ear. If I could spare the hand, I would bat him away like a fly. “He can’t wonder at how well you can fight. No one can discover…”
He chokes off, but I know what he was going to say: Discovery is too risky. And yet, I’m supposed to let Kineas cut me to hide the truth?
As another rush of blows makes my elbows creak, I know what else Ivrilos would say. It’s what he argued that night: A little pain, a little misery, is worth it, for the sake of his plan. At least to him.
And yet he’s hovering so close, reluctant to let Kineas hurt me. My guardian doesn’t want to be the one to allow it. He wantsmeto allow it, so he doesn’t feel responsible.
Fuck that.
I pummel Kineas back once again, gaining more ground and making someone in the crowd actually squeal. But I can already feel the weight of my blades. Already I’m flagging.
Kineas must sense this, because he swings so hard I have to catch his sword on both blades, crossed above me—exactly how Ivrilos caught a sword of fire when my father attacked King Tyros. It was effective for Ivrilos, but the distraction of the memory costs me. The crown prince’s blade grinds down along both of mine, driving close to my shoulder, bared by my sleeveless chiton. His edge strains to reach my flesh. If it does, it probably won’t stop at first blood. It might even bite into bone, such is the force behind the blow.
I let out a ragged gasp that’s nearly a sob, my grip slipping even more. Kineas’s grin is a feral snarl.
This is it. He’ll win. And, oh, will I bleed.
But then, pale hands close over each of mine. I can’t feel themorthe phantom arms overlaying my own, even though they look as solid as I am, wrapping around my shoulders from behind. I sense the ghost of a cheek next to my ear. My eyes dart back and find Ivrilos’s as he glances at me through his fall of dark hair. Then he looks ahead to Kineas, his gaze determined and… furious. And hepushes.
