Chapter 34
My feet finally moved the moment the wooden door clicked shut behind Arrow.
I stormed up to Shayde and shoved him hard in the chest. “Are you fucking kidding me, Snake?”
He said nothing, but his indifferent expression spoke volumes.
My breath quickened. “You’ll take the first chance you get to kill me. We both know it.”
Scarlet stepped beside me, arms crossed. “How can we trust you?”
Shayde’s gaze flickered to her. Something softened—just enough. “You can’t. Not yet. But let me prove it. I’m not the enemy. I swear I’ll put her life before mine.”
Rhodes stepped forward, eyes sharp with doubt. “But without elements, brother?”
Shayde shook his head. “I’m not worthy of the Mareki anyway.” He turned fully to Rhodes. “Drithan will be safe here in the Crest. He’s not the one who needs to prove anything.”
“There’s no way I’m traveling to Tyria with him,” I snapped, jabbing a finger at Shayde.
Scarlet sighed, exasperated. “Fallon, this might be the only way. We need whatever those traitors are delivering at the drop. Shayde is a skilled fighter—I’ve seen it firsthand.”
I turned a glare on her, heart hammering. Without thinking, I shoved the tomes into her chest. She caught them—barely.
“If he’s so skilled, then let’s make a wager,” I said, stepping into Shayde’s space, meeting him eye to eye. “You beat me in a duel, you come to Tyria. If not—well, I’ve probably killed you in the ring and it won’t fucking matter anyway.”
Scarlet opened her mouth to protest, but Shayde cut her off without hesitation.
“Deal.”
My boots squelched in the mud as I stepped into the sparring ring, each footfall thick and wet, the earth reluctant to let me go.
Entertainment this late in the Hollow was rare, so word of the duel had spread fast. Villagers crowded the perimeter, eager for a nighttime show.
Fire elementals lit the torches encircling the ring, flames tossing shadows across the churned earth.
Above, the moon hung low, spilling an eerie silver over everything.
Doryan had been among the first to arrive, and for ten minutes he hadn’t shut up. “Balveer’s seen him training alone,” he murmured near my ear. “He’s better than you think.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not very reassuring, coming from the man who trained me.”
Unease buzzed at the edge of my senses. To the right, River stood beside Scarlet and Nook at the fence. The girls we’d brought back from Mageia leaned over the rail, expressions balanced between intrigue and concern. A few paces away, Rhodes Wylder spoke in low, measured tones with Davis.
Then the crowd parted behind me. I turned—and there he was.
Shayde slipped through the villagers like a blade through water.
They opened instinctively, as if he carried a curse.
His steps were deliberate, unhurried, confidence coiled tight beneath every motion.
He paused just long enough to wrap cloth around his knuckles.
He didn’t bother with a shirt, letting the rain wash soot from his bare chest.
I scoffed. “Don’t want to hurt your pretty little hands?”
“I’m taking you to a masquerade ball,” he replied, eyes flat. “The mask will cover the black eyes, but cuts might be harder to conceal.”
I glared.
He didn’t blink.
“Weapons or hand-to-hand?” Doryan called from the rack.
“Ladies’ choice,” Shayde answered.
I laughed once. “You just fucked up.” To Doryan: “Swords.”
He grabbed the practice blade he knew I favored and tossed it over. I caught it by the hilt with a snap. The matching sword sailed to Shayde, who caught it just as easily.
Doryan stepped into the center, raising a fist to quiet the murmuring crowd. “No elements,” he said. “Fight until one yields or can’t continue.”
The instant his fist dropped, I lunged.
My boots splashed through mud as I charged, sword high. I slashed for Shayde’s left shoulder—he parried cleanly. Steel rang, sharp and crisp. The vibration snaked up my arms.
I spun low for his side—caught again. He dropped his stance and shoved me back. But he didn’t strike.
We circled, blades raised in mirrored grips. I lunged to bait him—nothing. Not even a blink.
I came harder, faster. A wide arc for his ribs—blocked. He twisted us sharply, sending me stumbling.
Grunting, breath flaring with frustration, I pressed the attack. Every feint, slice, jab—caught with ease. His eyes stayed calm and steady. Studying me. Not fighting me.
It only pissed me off more.
I drove into him with a flurry of strikes, fast and relentless. He caught each one, still not breaking a sweat. Rage blurred my form. I overextended—he blocked, swept my leg, and sent me crashing into the mud in one fluid motion.
A wet slap echoed through the ring. The crowd hushed.
I never get knocked down.
Chest heaving, I glared up at Shayde Wylder. The moon burned silver behind him, turning his features into something carved from light and shadow. His breathing was heavier now—but not strained. Not tired.
He didn’t offer a hand. Just reset his stance.
Rain fell again; I couldn’t tell if it was my doing, my sister’s, or the sky’s. Mud slid down my arms as I pushed to my feet. I rolled my shoulders, gripped my sword, raised it once more.
Be what he won’t.
Doryan’s words echoed through my skull. I shifted, switching to a left-handed grip. Shayde mirrored me without hesitation.
Mud spattered as I leapt, blade slicing down in a sharp diagonal. He sidestepped, parrying like he was brushing away a leaf. I growled, feinted left, cut right—he was already there. Steel cracked against steel.
We were inches apart, breaths mingling, blades locked.
“Fucking fight me!” I screamed, voice tearing my throat.
He shoved me back with his sword and reset, unreadable as stone.
We circled. My heartbeat hammered like a caged animal. Rain lashed my skin; sweat stung my eyes.
I lunged. Low strike to the hip—
He twisted, caught the flat of my blade, and knocked me off balance. This time he pressed the advantage. I stumbled—caught myself—then we clashed again. Dodge. Pivot. Parry.
The crowd roared.
Mud streaked us, soaking our hair. His strikes sharpened, each one driving me toward the railing. Wood pressed into my spine. I couldn’t catch my breath.
Then his blade swept mine clean from my hands. It hit the mud with a hollow plunk.
He could’ve ended it—blade to throat, duel over.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Shayde stepped back. Tossed his sword away. It landed on mine with a soft clatter. Then he raised his fists, waiting.
The crowd erupted at the sight of both blades in the mud.
I stared at him, chest burning, strands of wet hair plastered to my face. My hands curled and uncurled. My pride was bruised, but not broken. Not yet.
I tore off my leather jacket and flung it into the muck. My sleeveless tunic clung; rain and sweat slicked my bare arms. Cold air kissed my skin, but the boiling water in my veins kept me warm—itching for release.
We circled again. Slower. Measuring.
I struck first—a hard right. He blocked with his forearm. I followed with a jab to the ribs. Solid hit. No reaction.
Then he moved—fast. A clean right hook. I barely ducked. I pivoted, aiming for his jaw, but he caught my fist and spun, using his whole body to whip me off my feet.
I slammed into the mud. The shock knocked the breath from me. My lungs begged for air.
River barked from the crowd. I clutched at my throat, coughing, each inhale scraping like glass.
“Call it off, Fallon!” Scarlet’s voice cut sharp through the roar.
I forced my limbs to move, rolling onto my knees. Shayde stood where he was—ready, waiting—but still didn’t offer a hand. Slowly, I pushed to my feet, every muscle aching, mud clinging everywhere. My elements screamed beneath the surface, begging to be unleashed.
I clenched my fists and stepped toward him. “Bet it feels good,” I said, just loud enough for him alone, “taking your frustration out on someone who looks just like her.”
No flinch. No flicker.
We circled.
“If you wanted time with her replica that badly,” I went on, letting the venom drip, “you could’ve just said so. I would’ve obliged. Could’ve made it worth—”
Shayde’s fist ripped the words from my mouth.
Pain exploded across my cheek. My head snapped sideways, but I didn’t fall. Blood flooded my tongue; I spat into the mud.
“That was not nice,” I seethed.
“You don’t deserve nice,” he growled.
I lunged, throwing a right hook. He slipped aside, but I followed with a low sweep, knocking his legs out. Shayde crashed into the mud and I pounced, straddling him.
Before I could swing, he caught both my wrists, twisted, and rolled. The world flipped. Suddenly I was face-down, his arm a steel bar across the back of my neck. I inhaled mud.
He leaned down. “How’s it feel to be kicked while you’re down?” he snarled in my ear.
I thrashed—heels kicking, nails raking his forearm. Nothing loosened his grip. My vision tunneled. Stars burst behind my eyes. My pulse pounded, louder than the crowd.
Be what he won’t.
Or be what he can’t.
I called to the earth.
Vines ripped through the mud, slick and snarling, coiling around his limbs and throat, yanking him off me. I rose, clawing for air as Shayde was dragged back. A jagged laugh tore from my throat—half relief, half madness—until Doryan’s voice cracked like a whip.
“No elements! That’s it, Fitz. You’re disqualified. Wylder wins!”
The crowd erupted—half cheers, half boos.
“What? No!” I staggered to my feet, mud dripping from my hands.
Scarlet vaulted the railing and caught me, lifting my arm over her shoulders before I could protest. Rhodes ripped through the vines, steadying Shayde beside him.
“You know the rules, Fallon,” Doryan said, tone final.
The ring emptied fast—torches burning low, shadows crawling through churned mud. My chest still heaved. I wanted to scream, but each breath scraped my throat raw.
Scarlet pivoted, steering us away, but his gaze found mine in the dark. Shayde’s brown eyes burned with hatred, cold and hollow. No smirk. No triumph.
“See you in the morning,” he said, voice flat, and turned his back.