Page 63 of In the Ravenous Dark
I can feel his hard chest lining my spine, his thigh planted alongside mine, the strength in his fingers nearly crushing my delicate bones against the hilts. I thrust my blades forward at the same time, and together Ivrilos and I send the crown prince staggering back so abruptly he trips and falls on his ass in the dirt.
I spin to stare at my guardian in shock. He’s backed away slightly, though he’s still nearly stitched to my side. Not that anyone else can see. He didn’t appear long enough, or perhaps with enough of himself,for the spectators to notice. I only felt him at a few key points of contact—places on my body that are still tingling, both with the force of him and something else. Some heightened awareness.
I expect to topple over, to fall harder than Kineas. However little my guardian materialized, he used a lot of strength. Which meansmystrength, in the end.
But it’s Ivrilos who looks winded, leaning forward, black-gauntleted arm braced on his thigh, hair curtaining his face.
He hasn’t stolen from me at all, I realize. Affecting the physical world takes a lot from the dead, and it all came from him.
He straightens and practically hisses when he finds my gaze on him. “Eyes forward, blades up. End this now. You could conceivably have hidden martial talent and get lucky, but you can’t prove to be thoroughly stronger and more adept than him.”
And then Kineas is on me again, swinging in a flurry of blows.But he’s angry, his cheeks flushed. I’ve embarrassed him. And that makes him sloppy.
I know where to strike: a low thrust to the left, which Kineas is able to block, barely. What he can’t do is parry my higher strike on the right, which is once again propelled by Ivrilos’s palm against the back of my hand—just a whisper of it, there and gone—lending me speed.
The red gash appears practically like magic across Kineas’s bicep.
The crowd is silent as the blood wells up and then drips down the crown prince’s arm. He stares at it in disbelief. I almost laugh as I let my half-moon blades fall to the dirt, never mind thatIfeel like dropping to the ground with them.
“I guess it’s you who bleeds,” I manage to say.
Kineas’s face twists in fury. He raises his sword. I’m too stunned, too exhausted, to try to block him with sigils, let alone fast enough to pick up my blades.
Another blade flashes in front of my face to meet Kineas’s—keeping it from cleaving my head from my shoulders. I turn, half hoping, half dreading that I’ll see Ivrilos standing there, dark in the sunlight, revealing himself for all to see as my true guardian. Enemy of the crown.
But no. It’sAlldan.He tosses Kineas’s blade wide in a shining arc of ringing steel.
“I heard tell of your skills, my lord, and came to see for myself. And yet this is beneath even the lowliest of fighters.” His voice has an odd, lilting accent, but otherwise betrays nothing. “The lady put down her weapons.”
Kineas is panting. I don’t doubt the crown prince could—and would—bully anyone in his own court. But the uncertainty in his sharp gaze tells me that he doesn’t know how to approach a prince of Skyllea. It isn’t just because of his title. The man is a striking sightto behold: deep green hair crowned in gold antlers, copper-flecked skin, and a russet tunic so patterned in bronze-edged leaves that it appears to be made of them, layer upon layer, all of him glittering in the bright courtyard. Even his sword is a wavy piece of rose-gold steel as odd and elegant as the rest of him. If he reminded me of a summer forest at the betrothal ball, today he looks like an autumn wood incarnate.
Kineas seems to shake himself, his empty hand spasming into a fist at his side. “It was all in jest. My beloved and I were just sparring.”
“Of course. Your beloved.” Alldan’s smile dies well before it reaches his violet eyes. “And she won. So weapons aren’t necessary anymore?”
“Of course,” Kineas echoes, dragging his gaze away from Alldan. He skips over me as if he’s already forgotten me.
But I know he’ll remember this. Everyone probably will. It doesn’t matter thatIdidn’t challenge Kineas to a duel, that he brought this on himself. The next time he tries to hurt me—and there will undoubtedly be a next time—it will be much worse for me.
So much for falling in line and making myself the perfect bride-to-be. If I could see Ivrilos’s expression right now, I doubt he would be pleased. But he’s vanished. I have a hunch that he’s too drained to easily appear in the living world, even if only to me.
Kineas walks away, lurching across the courtyard somewhat stiffly, I’m pleased to note, hand clutched to his arm to stop the blood. His nervous flock of attendants scurry out of his way as he departs between the columns. But then they follow at a safe distance, which leaves me blessedly alone for the moment.
Except for Alldan, prince of Skyllea and Lydea’s betrothed, who is still standing next to me.
21
The Skyllean prince turns to me in the sunlight of the sparring yard, brow arched, golden crown flashing against his hair like a flicker of deer antlers in a dark forest. “Is this one of the stages of courtship in Thanopolis? Should I challenge Lydea to a duel?”
“Not unless you hate her,” I say before I can think better of it. “Or unless you have a death wish.”
Alldan’s lips quirk. “So then… Prince Kineas hates you?”
I try to equivocate to make up for my slip. “No more than Lydea hates you, I’m sure.”
His mouth flattens into a grim line. “And why would she have cause to do that?”
There’s a slight challenge in his words, and I’m not sure why. Does he know, somehow, that Lydea and I are involved? Does he think I’m turning her against him in some other way? Or does he mean something else entirely?
