Page 44 of Blood of Ancients

An overhand thrust of my spear forced Damon down to a knee. Before he could rise I was sweeping the backend of my weapon with my off-hand, directly at his feet.

He tripped, stumbling back, barely maintaining his footing and avoiding the sweep.

My eyes went wild as the ache in my temple built, pressure seizing my mind and setting me off-rhythm.

I stumbled forward as if drunk—

And realization hit me like a sword in the gut.

My body has been tampered with.

Every one of my stabs and parries was sluggish and ill-timed. It was more than coincidence that it happened now, and I could only think one thing:Poison.

Letting Damon set my food at the table. Stealing me from that recognition with kind words meant to disarm me and make me uncomfortable—knowing I would focus on the one thing in front of me to avoid his incessant chatter.

The food.

No . . .the orange juice!

Damon came again, barreling with a battle cry. His sword lashed out, and I lifted my steel-fortified haft with both hands, parrying left and right, sliding on my back foot.

As we spun around in a dance of violence, my eyes briefly met Grim’s over Damon’s shoulder.

My protector looked concerned.

Even more concerned when he noticed the wild-eyed, confused look I sported.

Damon had timed it perfectly, engaging in small talk and coaxing banter as the poison had been working through my veins. Just enough time so it would affect me only once we were in the Sticks and it was too late to turn back.

I couldn’t cry foul now—couldn’t call the fight off—or I’d never live it down. I would be seen as a coward. All the clout I’d built up over my first term would be dashed in a single day.

The day my younger brother got the better of me.

My pride wouldn’t let me do it.

The academy would think I was scared of him, when it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

I knew how the rumor mill worked in this damned place.

Trying to spin out of range so I could better use my spear, my wandering thoughts damned me.

Damon caught me in the side with his shield.

I grunted, staggering, and he charged again.

“Ravinica!” Grim yelled, even as the other voyeurs in the room murmured in hushed whispers—surprised by this turn of events.

Gritting my teeth, I ignored all the things stacked against me, and I pushed on.

Sparks flew as my spearhead met Damon’s sword. He slashed wildly, uncoordinatedly, which actually worked to his advantage because he didn’t have much of a battle stance I could predict and counter.

It was made worse by my sluggish footsteps, my pained head. I felt drool drip out the corner of my mouth, embarrassingly, and Damon flashed me a wicked smirk over the rim of his shield.

Anger rippled through me.

I turned his blade aside, wiping the smirk off his face and replacing it with bulging eyes—

And then I attacked in an onslaught of high stabs, low sweeps, and spinning strikes.

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