Page 67 of The Silver Spider
The best of the youth remained in the circle, having advanced through six bouts. A sheen of sweat covered his chest but there was no fatigue in his movements. He was good, lean muscled and calm. Tipping into adulthood, confidence in his shoulders she liked.
“Serephone.”
She glanced at Dawnthorne, then back at the youth, who had turned and was watching her. Everyone was watching.
“Dragon, you will remain here. She does not need an ally in this round.”
Serephone walked forward. She had only her blades, and her spiders. She’d seen some of the young warriors work small bits of magic to deflect or momentarily stun an opponent, but what she knew was through trial and error. And she was an animage, not a warriormage.
“What is your weapon?” The youth asked her gravely when she stood at arms length.
She regarded him. His strength was with the bladed staff. She had no experience with it. Her knife was the length of her arm, but wouldn’t give her enough reach.
“I don’t fight with the staff,” she said. “So if you want to win, you should go with it.”
He frowned slightly, but didn’t seem truly upset. “I don’t want to win by default. Can you wrestle?”
Her brow rose. “You’re a bit, uh, slippery.”
“Girls don’t like sweat, do they?”
She wasn’t sure if the comment was innocent, or meant as a goad. Serephone’s eyes narrowed. “How old are you anyway?”
He blinked. “Forty, of course. This is my first tournament. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
He stared at her. “You’re a baby.” He turned to Dawnthorne, upset, and pitched his voice to carry. “Lord, she’s only an infant. I can’t fight a baby. Everyone will laugh at me.”
She heard a scattering of snorts and laughter.
“She is mostly human, Othain.” Dawnthorne’s voice was patient. “Fight or forfeit, child.”
“You’re not trying to kill me, right?” Serephone asked, pitching her voice so hopefully only he would hear.
Othain shook his head. “No. Anissa—“
“That’s great,” Serephone interjected hastily. Last thing she needed was Dawnthorne to know her sister had spent the evening negotiating on Serephone's behalf. Who knew if that was against the rules. “Wrestling is fine. I wrestle with my sisters all the time.”
“You have sisters?”
Shit. The stress of the week was getting her. Was this the second time she’d mentioned sisters? She prayed no one but Othain had heard, and that he would forget. She didn’t need Evervaine to know that information.
A fae in a violet robe stepped into the circle. The robe was sashed in red with the vague look of ceremonial attire. “It is time. From here out I will referee the matches. Othain has advanced out of children’s pairings, and will now be contained by the rules of adults.”
Othain looked pleased. Serephone removed her shoes since her opponent was also barefoot, and the match began.
He was slippery as an eel, and fast. He was also stronger, but Serephone soon realized that the boy had never fought in a bar brawl. Some of the tricks she knew were taught to her by the most unsavory characters Maddugton had seen pass through in the last decades. He came close to pinning her a time or two, until she abandoned her own reticence—it really was like fighting a well-trained thirteen-year-old, but still a thirteen-year-old—and executed a particularly nasty maneuver that had him gritting his teeth to keep from yowling. She held him pinned for the requisite five seconds, and the referee call a sharp end to the match.
They rose, and Serephone tried to keep from favoring her shoulder—he’d almost dislocated it. Othain bowed, pleased resignation on his face.
Three more bouts came in quick succession, her opponents all fighting with an almost perfunctory air. She was put, thoroughly, through her paces. Blades, hand to hand, more wrestling. She pulled every iota of knowledge from her mind, pressed harder and harder with each fight, energy dimming. And though the three each forfeited the round at the very last moment, she was exhausted.
Dawnthorne called a brief recess and Serephone fled the circle. The Lord ignored her, and Amnan grasped her shoulder—the uninjured one.
Anissa came forward. “You have some time to eat, and drink. But only a little. These next bouts will not be so easy, I’m afraid. They are the warriors, who I believe are unconvinced of your value. If you had taken the oath at the beginning, you would not have had to do this.”
“I don’t want to hear about that goddamn oath one more time,” she growled, and sat down in the grass, cross-legged. Trying to appear as if she was merely lounging, at her ease, and not completely exhausted.
