Page 131 of A Pact of Blood

My opponent will probably have a proper sword, maybe one significantly larger than even the subdued version I’m training with. I need to get close enough to him to land a few blows and not find myself fatally stabbed in the process.

It’s not that late in the night, only a little past the tenth bell, but the exhaustion that’s dogged me all day seems to seep right down to my bones, dragging at my limbs and turning my next breath ragged. “I’m sorry. I’m doing my best.”

Raul’s face falls. He tosses his own sword into the mess that scatters his bedroom desk and tucks his arms around me, his voice softening. “I know. I don’t mean to harp on you. I just— Gods help me, it’s going to be the worst torture watching you walk into that battle.”

I tip my head against his broad chest, soaking in the musky smell of him, wishing I could stay here in his embrace instead of going back to our illicit training session.

This is the third night I’ve slipped away from my chambers through the secret passages to the vacant room justa few doors down from Raul’s. He waits for me there, confirms the hall is empty, and ushers me over to his rooms where we can slash and lunge at each other without worrying about disturbing the draped furniture in some way the cleaning staff might notice.

We also arranged a couple of official training sessions during the day with Neven assisting, but we’ve only been able to focus on general techniques then. The guards are watching too closely for us to practice the key elements of our scheme.

A spark of hope kindled in my chest when the princes first explained their plan to me. It burns on even now, when all I feel like doing is falling into bed and sleeping for a year or two.

But with each passing day, my energy has faltered. The fatigue weighs on me like the sword does on my arm.

I want to believe we can pull this complicated deception off. I want to believe it’ll be enough to prove myself as empress to both my husband and his people.

I want to believe I’m not going to die out there on the arena’s sandy earth.

Some part of me must not fully believe any of those things, though, because I still can’t seem to completely shake the hopelessness that gripped me when Marclinus announced the details of the rite.

What if he’s beaten my spirit down so many times that something inside me has broken for good?

I push away those thoughts and ease back from Raul, bobbing up to give him a quick kiss before I retreat completely. “Then we’d better make sure I’m as ready as I can be for that battle. Let’s go again. If I’m just defending myself, that’s fairly straightforward. The most important parts are making it look like I’ve attacked effectively.”

Raul nods. “We can focus on those moves. Slashing the forehead shouldn’t be too hard. I don’t think you have thepower to split right into a skull even if you intended to. A shallow gash there will bleed plenty, which’ll blind your opponent and make any other wound you deal look gorier.”

I lift the sword and swipe the tip carefully through the air just an inch shy of Raul’s forehead. We’ve practiced that move many times already. It isn’t the part that makes my gut clench up.

“Then I have to stab him somewhere in the torso, where it’ll look to the spectators as if Icouldhave killed him, but without actually doing any fatal damage.”

“You should get an opening once your potion kicks in, if it works the way you expect,” Raul reminds me. “Stab off to the side rather than center, and to the chest rather than the gut. Chances are the blade will glance off a rib, but that won’t be obvious at a glance, and no one’s going to check very closely when he’s lying in a bloody heap.”

Chances are I’ll only hit a rib. That means there’s still a chance I’ll accidentally pierce deeper.

And attempting it at all depends on me getting into the right position without my opponent stabbingmefirst.

I inhale and exhale slowly, attempting to dispel both my nerves and another wave of fatigue.

I can do this. It’s theonlyway I can do this.

I have to get it right, or I’ll be dead one way or another.

Squaring my shoulders, I lift my chin. “Let’s run through those moves again, and then we’ll go back to general sparring.”

By the time the next bell rings, my limbs feel like lead and my eyelids are drooping. I rub them and force a smile onto my face, but Raul touches my cheek. “We’ve done enough for tonight. It doesn’t help you to run yourself ragged.”

A raw laugh hitches out of me. “I can afford to be tired when I’m finished with this rite and still alive to enjoy therest. I’d rather not neglect my efforts when getting to that point is far from a guarantee.”

Raul lets out a choked growl and pulls me in closer. He tucks his head next to mine. “You’re going to get through this sick ceremony, Shepherdess, just like you did all the psychotic trials Tarquin and Marclinus came up with.We’regoing to get you through, together. And then you’re going to claim the entire blasted empire and clean up its horrors.”

My smile turns into something more like a grimace. “It’s gotten harder to imagine that day.”

“You’ve made a shitload more progress than anyone else ever has.”

Raul pauses and then slips his arm around my waist to lead me over to the wall across from his bed. A couple of long tapestries hang from close to the ceiling down nearly to the floor, depicting scenes of Kosmel carrying out two of the tricks the sly godlen is most famous for.

Raul holds out his other hand, flexing his fingers so the mottling of pale scars on the knuckles shift across the knobs of bone. His jaw tightens. “You’ve always wanted to know why my hands keep getting messed up.”

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