Chapter 26
Morgana
Istand at the edge of the raised dais, a chorus of voices rising up around me, eyes scrutinizing every detail of my expression. I’ve been here before, standing in front of a crowd of people waiting for me to prove myself.
Or waiting to watch me die.
Despite Jocor’s best efforts, Oclanna has been forced to accept my challenge. It’s that or give up the throne, and she’s waited too long for the crown, yearned for it too many years, to just let it go now. Even if it might cost her her life.
“Remember, she wasn’t trained to be queen like your mother,” Harman said as we were escorted through the palace to the challenge room. “That means she’ll probably have limited combat training. Very limited, if her husband’s reaction is anything to go by.”
“And even if she’s had a few lessons with a sword, she has no real battle experience,” Stratton pointed out. “Not like you.”
“But you can expect her to play dirty,” Damia added.
“Especially when she has magic on her side,” Phaia agreed.
“And when we know she’s a backstabbing bitch,” Tira said.
Hyllus, as usual, stayed tactfully silent, but I looked at Leon.
“Do you have any words of advice?” I asked him. I knew he could feel the way my stomach was tying itself into knots, even as I fought to keep my face calm.
“Don’t die,” he said, his eyes burning into mine. Then, across the mooring: “And challenge be damned, if she somehow finds a way to best you, I’ll bring this whole building down on her head before she can deliver the killing blow.”
“I’d appreciate it,” I replied with a smile.
“Not that it will come to that. I have absolute faith in you, my love.”
I try to hold onto that faith in myself as I wait for Oclanna now.
I’m not wearing my dress anymore—or at least, not all of it.
I made use of Phaia’s alterations, detaching the skirts to reveal the close-fitting pants underneath.
Captain Drisha allowed me back my sword and two daggers, the latter strapped to my thigh, with the longer blade at my hip.
These are my weapons. The sum total of what I can use to defend myself and kill Oclanna.
I want the court to see I’m a woman of my word, that I believe in fairness and honor—even if it means putting myself at a disadvantage.
Now I’m here, it’s harder to feel high-minded about these things.
I feel exposed and vulnerable, like a baby bird left out on a tree branch, ready for a hawk to come snatch it up.
I try to remind myself it’s not the first time I’ve been magicless in the face of a deadly enemy. And I survived, even in those days before I knew how to fight.
The crowd grows excited as Oclanna enters, and my heartbeat starts to gallop.
She’s dressed the part too, in a thick leather tunic over a white shirt and dark pants.
She doesn’t move comfortably in the clothes, however, like this is the first time she’s worn them, and the blade at her side looks out of place.
I hold onto these observations. I can do this.
She isn’t unbeatable, even without my power.
An attendant comes forward and places a small table on Oclanna’s side of the dais, then puts down a row of glasses on it, filled with water.
These are my aunt’s weapons. I’ve never seen her power in action, though she mentioned being able to conjure ice once.
I think with a sour lurch about how simply I could have orbited anything sharp away from myself or melted the ice with my sun beams. But I’ve made my bed now.
Oclanna’s eyes narrow as she steps up to the dais.
How could I have ever trusted this woman?
Now that I’m finally at this moment, I let myself feel my anger about what she’s done.
Rage burns in my veins, enticing me to call on my magic.
This woman took advantage of a scared, inexperienced girl and tried to control her.
And when I showed her I wouldn’t be kept under her thumb, she gave the order for me to be wiped out, just like my parents.
I can feel her inner flame right there, flickering within reach.
How easily I could take hold of it and snuff it out—eliminate her, just like she tried to do to me.
But if I did that, I’d be going back on everything I promised the court.
Not to mention what they would think of a queen who could kill people just by looking at them.
These people deserve a leader they don’t fear.
Oclanna comes to stand opposite me. I see her husband, Jocor, standing at the front of the crowd behind her. He looks terrible.
Good.
General Becane steps forward from his position to my left. Leon and my friends are to the right of the dais. I give them one last look, soaking up the sight of their faces.
Then the general’s voice sounds. “Your Highness. Your Majesty. May the gods guide the rightful victor to glory. You may begin.”
My hand flies to my sword, unsheathing it. In the same moment, Oclanna turns and snatches up one of the glasses, hurling its contents into the air. It freezes almost instantly, the water droplets drawing together to form a wickedly sharp shard of ice hurling directly toward me.
I swing my blade upward in time to meet it, sending the shard spinning away. It hits the dais and shatters apart, the pieces sliding across the floor with a tinkling sound.
Trying to catch Oclanna before she throws any more, I run forward, but she already has the second glass in her hand. I preempt her move, slicing out with my sword.
But the timing’s wrong. Instead of deflecting ice, my blade moves through the water she’s flung into the air.
She smiles, then suddenly my sword is heavier, the metal freezing cold—to the point where I almost lose my grip on it.
The water around the end of the blade has solidified, forming a lump of ice.
I back up, trying to knock the ice off the blade in an awkward, ungraceful gesture, but it’s stuck fast, and my skin is protesting now, burning against the frosty surface.
Oclanna draws her own sword and sprints toward me.
I meet the swing of her blade with my own, the clang echoing across the chamber as the impact reverberates through my bones.
But I only just blocked the blow in time. The balance on my sword is all messed up now, and I know misjudging its speed and movement next time could cost me my life.
I press my blade against hers, shoving her back toward her side of the dais.
Then I drop my sword, kicking it to the edge.
It’s a liability to me now. Instead, I grab hold of the nearest dagger strapped to my thigh.
I can’t get close to her while she’s still got her sword, but I’ve always had good aim.
I fling the dagger out, and it spins toward her.
Oclanna lifts her arm to try to block it, but she only exposes more of her shoulder.
The blade slides just past the edge of her tunic where the thick leather covering her torso ends, leaving only a thin cotton shirt.
Blood blooms across it as the metal sinks into the flesh of her shoulder.
She screams, dropping her sword in shock and pain. As she reaches up to pull the dagger from her shoulder, I charge at her, yanking my other dagger from its sheath.
Then I step on some of the melting ice.
My foot flies out from under me, and I hit the floor hard. Stupid. Clumsy, I yell at myself, gasping as all the wind is knocked out of me. Still, at least I manage to keep hold of my dagger.
I roll over to see Oclanna bearing down on me, face twisted in fury.
She’s picked up her sword again but is holding it awkwardly with her left hand now, her right arm still hanging limply with the dagger buried in it.
I do the only thing I can do: kick out, hard.
My boots connect with her stomach, stopping her sword inches from my chest. She grunts as the air is driven out of her, and I push my right boot up, so it connects with the hilt of the dagger in her shoulder.
She screams again as the tip of my toe drives the blade deeper into her flesh.
She staggers back, stumbling for more water as her chest heaves.
She’s clearly realizing she needs to keep her distance from me, but from the corner of my eye, I see my sword at the dais edge.
The ice on the end has started to melt. It seems this stuff doesn’t stay frozen for long.
I dive toward the sword, but I’m not fast enough to block the icicle that comes flying toward me.
I twist my body to try to avoid it, angling my elbow upward.
The razor-sharp tip of the ice grazes my forearm, cutting through the red fabric and slicing a long gash into my flesh.
I let out a cry of pain but keep moving, curling my fingers around the pommel of my sword.
When I stand, it’s with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.
I give them both an experimental swing as I lock eyes with Oclanna.
She’s hunched up beside the table, trying to get a better grip on her sword.
But I can see fear is taking over her now, panic flooding her veins.
She’s shaking, and I wonder if she’s ever been wounded before in her life, ever felt the sharp bite of a knife on her skin.
She still can’t seem to move her right arm—not because my dagger severed something important, I don’t think, but because she doesn’t know how to fight through the pain.
Oclanna glances between her sword and the table of water, clearly wondering which weapon to trust with her life.
I don’t give her a chance to make that choice. With a spin and a flick, I throw my second dagger. She manages to raise her sword to block it, but I’m already running forward and swinging my blade low, catching her across the legs before she sees me coming.