CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR #2
Luc fires another bolt from behind me. Again, it’s solid wood, and again, he misses.
I hold in a groan.
My only goal is to keep Kaidren distracted until I can cheat Luc’s way to victory.
My hands shake as I pull my weapon from its sheath around my hips.
The sword feels clunky, but I swing it, trying to knock the crossbow from Kaidren’s grip.
He sidesteps me easily, looking more amused than threatened.
I grunt, trying to lift the heavy weapon again, but I stop as searing pain shoots up my calf.
It takes me a pause too long to realize it’s Kaidren’s armed soldier. She incapacitated Caspian, raced to me, and sliced the back of my calf.
I drip blood, and my leg is on fire. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. My head spins, dizzy from trying not to keel over.
Luc fires again. Another wooden bolt, another miss.
Weakly, I turn to face my attacker. My arm wobbles as I try to lift my sword.
Fear sits in my throat, like milk gone rancid.
My opponent is tall and strong. Like me, she carries a sword.
Unlike me, she actually knows how to wield it.
She’s already defeated just about all the trained soldiers on Luc’s team. I don’t stand a chance.
“Wait!” Kaidren speaks quickly, voice breathless. Desperate. “Let me. Go for the Praeceptor.”
She pauses. She could kill me in seconds and then go to attack Luc, and she knows it. But it isn’t her job to question her candidate, so she hands him her sword and runs over to Luc.
It’s a foolish move on Kaidren’s part, but I see it as the act of mercy it is. She was going to kill me, and despite himself—despite everything—he’s protecting me.
My leg is still in pain as I raise my sword and he raises his. We circle each other, jabbing every few moments, but our movements are slow and unpracticed, so neither of us hits the other.
I lean all my weight on one leg, trying to ignore how the other one cries out in protest. It wants me to sit, but I don’t have time for that.
“Are you all right?” Kaidren murmurs with a swift glance at my leg.
Luc shoots for the target and misses—again.
The crowd groans, and I’m temporarily distracted.
The next slice of his sword cuts my arm.
I drop my weapon as my hand instinctively rises to the bloody wound just above my elbow.
Kaidren freezes. He didn’t mean to actually wound me.
He shouldn’t care so much.
My heartbeat thuds as I consider him. From the moment he arrived at Widow’s Hall, I’ve been searching for Kaidren Vale’s weakness. I realize now that it’s been staring me in the face—me.
One of our team strikes down another of Kaidren’s.
We can win this. We have every advantage. I just need to keep Kaidren preoccupied.
I make as if to lunge for Kaidren and shriek.
I’m only half faking as pain lances up my leg. My body wobbles before I crash to the ground.
If Kaidren wanted to, he could stab me from above, killing me. He’d have every right to in this game.
He doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step toward me. Then stops himself. Conflict wages war on his face. “Are you all right?” he asks again, voice low.
I wince and cradle my leg to my chest. I release a hiss, trying to make myself look as pathetic as possible.
Kaidren crunches another step closer, brow softened in concern. The sword lowers to his side. “Mira?”
“I’m fine.” I force the words out through my teeth. He’s close enough now. “And I’m sorry.” Before he can react, I leap to my feet.
It hurts like hell, my leg screams in protest, but it doesn’t matter, because I wrench the crossbow from Kaidren, and before he knows what I’m doing, I throw it to the ground and stomp on it with my uninjured foot, cracking it in two.
The crowd is going wild.
Kaidren gawks at me. I’ve broken his crossbow. He has no way to hit the target, no way to win.
I start to limp away, but Kaidren tackles me to the ground.
I screech as I skid on my back, Kaidren on top of me.
We’re both out of breath. He glares at me through the mesh of my mask. Fury and betrayal are twin storms in his harsh gaze. He speaks through gritted teeth. “That was cruel.”
Guilt gnaws away at me. He let his guard down and I took advantage.
If he hated me like he’s supposed to—if he were able to treat me as an opponent, like he’s supposed to—he would have won.
I swallow, refusing to let my guilt reveal itself.
Instead, I glare right back. “I thought that’s what you liked best about me? ”
He eyes his discarded sword as though contemplating running me through with it. I know he won’t.
My heartbeat is a whir.
“Congrats on losing.” My words would carry more bite if I wasn’t bleeding from my arm and leg, and if he wasn’t on top of me, keeping me from moving.
He chuckles darkly. “I haven’t lost. Your brother hasn’t hit a target all trial.”
Kaidren’s unfortunately right. Luc is a terrible shot. Even with all the time we spent practicing, in the final moment, when it actually counts, he can’t do it.
Luc reloads again, and I feel for it with my mind. This one is different from the others. The modified bolt.
The only problem is Kaidren has me pinned and my hands are trapped.
Luc is about to fire. When he does, I need my hands free.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I say. Then I slam my head up, crashing against Kaidren’s.
He jerks back with a groan.
I scramble out from under him. My leg is on fire, each step is agony, but I don’t have time to focus on that.
Luc releases the final crossbow bolt, and I keep my hands low, palms directed at the bolt.
I feel for the tshira with my mind. It sails off course, but I nudge it over, right for the smallest target.
At my coaxing, the bolt flies true.
Fifty points.
The audience roars. Spectators jump to their feet. Several of them rush onto the field, leaping up and down.
Luc just won the Tournament.
The excitement is tangible. Almost infectious. I open my mouth to join their cheers, but pain from my leg wound finally catches up to me.
Instead of clapping, I collapse.
Across the field, Luc’s parents hug him. Mathson has never looked prouder, and Yelina is so happy, she’s sobbing. Meanwhile, I’m in so much pain, I can’t even stand.
Footsteps approach from behind. I don’t need to turn to know who it is, but I do anyway.
Kaidren pauses at my side. He looks torn.
His hand twitches to help me up. Then he looks between me—a pathetic, injured mess abandoned on the ground—and Luc—the inept Praeceptor once more—and his expression hardens.
“What’s wrong, Remira?” His voice is frosty. “Stand up. Take a bow.”
My eyes sting. I don’t regret winning. But I do wish there’d been a way to do it without hurting him. “I really am sorry.”
He gives a dark chuckle, a heart-wrenching combination of bitter and defeated. “Don’t be. You just got everything you ever wanted.” The cheers in the arena swell, and his nostrils flare. “Soak it in. I hope it’s worth it.”
Kaidren leaves me there, bleeding in the snow, as the rest of the world celebrates Luc’s victory.