Page 31 of The Kingdom of Flames

This was no fight among friends or young girls. This was combat. It was a contest. Her nose stung, her eyes swam. They broke their grip on one another, and Dritha let fly a stiff jab that rocked her head back. Celestine retreated, keeping her eyes on the woman. Adrenaline flooded her body, and Celestine felt the pain retreat under the thumping tattoo that her heart thrummed.

Dritha snaked forward fast and let loose a flurry of swings at Celestine’s head. She ducked and danced back, letting the woman come forward. Another blow clipped her chin, snapping her head to the right, and she slipped into the next one in time that would have flattened her nose.

“Come here, my lady.” Dritha walked forward, hands raised and bouncing to strike.

Celestine spat bloody saliva onto the ground.

I am a bride of the Calendar Court, and I will not falter.

Celestine thought of Encarmine defending her when they first came to the castle. She thought of his poise in the duel with Cedarheart, the wolfish lord of Autumn. He had not faltered nor fallen, and neither would she.

I cannot lose.

More swings came for her. Celestine grunted as a fist landed and snatched back from her stomach as quick as it had come, but she didn’t fold. The pain was nauseating, but she threw her own strikes, sending her opponent dancing back. But it was a feint. A leg flew out right at Celestine’s side. She grabbed it as it slammed into her ribs, running the air from her, but held Dritha’s leg tight and danced backward, bringing her off balance.

She didn’t fall but lurched forward, clawing at Celestine. They grappled again, the foot leaving her grip as she fought the raking hands of Dritha. One found her hair, yanking her braids back, pinioning her neck.

Rage thundered in Celestine’s heart. She strained against the pull. Nails dug into her brow and tore at her face. She stuck her left hand behind Dritha’s neck, pushing her down.

“Fucking,” Celestine grunted through the pain. She kicked out as hard as she could, driving her right boot into Dritha’s stomach as she tried to pull away. Finally, she landed a true blow, knocking the wind out of her opponent.

The hand released from her hair, Dritha shot forward to shove her back, but Celestine somehow, between a sidestep and a grab, took Dritha’s momentum under her arm, locking her in a headlock.

Celestine wasted no time. She drove a wrapped fist over and over into Dritha’s unprotected side. Nails dug into her back and leg, but Celestine roared and delivered blow after blow.

“Whore!” Celestine yelled on the last punch into her opponent’s side. The nails dug deeper, and she threw her fury into the final blow. Then released Dritha, but not all the way. The woman stepped back, but Celestine kept her hand on the back of her head, keeping her head low. She brought her right knee up as hard as she could and into Dritha’s jaw.

You could hear the crunch of bone on bone when her knee connected. Murmurs slid from the crowd.

The woman fell to the ground, stunned. Celestine fell upon her. The chance and opening might not happen again. She couldn’t let her get up. She drove her hand over and over onto her opponent’s skull, bringing it down like a hammer. There was no martial prowess here. This was a brawl. Her enemy’s head turned, and Celestine hammered her over her ear.

Dritha stopped defending herself. Her hands slackened.

Celestine stood, the bloodlust upon her, wounded, scratched, and sore everywhere.

I’ll open her fucking head. I’ll crack her skull apart like a porcelain plate.

Celestine raised her boot to stomp Dritha’s head, but in a split flash, she saw her defenseless opponent.

This is wrong.

Celestine stopped. She stepped back, panting.

“Victory presents itself,” the old woman said behind her.

The crowd roared. Attendants came and swept up her fallen opponent. Celestine turned, and the young and middle-aged women of the Red Banner came to her, sudden sisters in a single bloody endeavor, and raised her hands high. The crowd cheered her name across the hall.

Never had she felt glory. She would be in pain tomorrow, she knew, terrible pain. But in that moment of victory, it didn’t exist. The people of the Red Banner came forward and filled her hand with a tankard of wine, and she was hoisted upon their shoulders as she danced across the hall. She drank the flagon down, and she felt strong and mighty. The coin toss of defeat and victory had landed up for her, and her eyes locked with Encarmine’s as she was carried on cheering shoulders.

He was smiling.

The merriment and contests continued all evening. Celestine was greeted by another roar of the crowd when Dritha emerged, carrying two tankards of ale to her. She stood and embraced her opponent, smiling and cracking their tankards together. They stayed by one another during several more bouts, cheering and toasting, until Celestine’s head swam with the heat of the hall and the alcohol.

“Well won, Final Bride.” Dritha sipped her tankard.

“I saved your life, you fool.” Celestine wiped the drink from her mouth.

Dritha’s eyes slid over to Encarmine. “Who would deny themselves a night with such a being? Even if it was their last.”

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