Page 69 of A Pact of Blood

“We’ll see what you can do,” he says, waggling the weapon at me. I know he means that he’ll follow my lead.

I pick up a short sword with a thick pommel at the end of the grip. As I step back from the table, I give it a fewexperimental swings that draw a couple of gasps from our spectators.

Marclinus clicks his tongue, sounding giddy with delight. “Let’s not have any outright murder take place in front of us, Your Royal Highnesses. I don’t want to be making awkward explanations to your parents. Hit hard enough to leave your opponents unconscious or at least incapable of standing up, not dead, or I won’t be able to call it a win after all.”

Wonderful to know he has some standards of propriety. Does he really think we’d have slaughtered each other for his stupid game if he hadn’t mentioned that rule?

Bastien picks up a slim sword that suits his slender frame. Lorenzo grips one of the daggers awkwardly. We eye each other across our misshapen circle in the cleared area of the room.

It’s a strange sensation, finding myself needing to take the lead. I’m used to handing that role over to Bastien with all his older brother airs and cool-headed practicality.

They’re counting on me to guide them right this time. I need to be worthy of their trust.

My stomach knots, but I swipe my blade through the air. “I’m not going to stand around and wait for you to find your guts.”

Then I charge at Neven.

It’ll be easiest to knock him down first—and easiest to avoid any questions about how I’m fending off all my attackers if it’s the other two I have to keep at bay. I dodge the kid’s first tentative swing of the mace, smack him across the ribs with the flat of my sword, and circle him to keep away from Bastien and Lorenzo.

Neven winces at the impact. Guilt jabs through my chest, but the blow can’t feel worse than an actual sword shoved through his flesh if I were really invested in this battle.

The watching nobles start hollering out encouragementand insults, egging us on and wagering on who’ll come out victorious. I focus all my attention on the shifting of my muscles and the thump of my heart. I have to ignore them, the emperor, and Aurelia standing rigidly by.

All the training from my first stumbling lessons with the head of the Lavirian royal guard to the brutal lengths the imperial arena master pushed me to rise up from the depths of my mind. The imagined prickle of sand in the back of my throat grounds me.

Neven whips around as if giving the fight his best effort and lashes out at me again. I deflect his mace with a clang of my blade, nicking a small cut across his cheek at the same time.

With a growl, he heaves toward me. I can’t tell whether he’s purposefully making my intentions easier for me or he’s letting his temper get the better of him like I worried he might.

With a sidestep, I kick his legs out from under him. He tumbles forward to sprawl on his hands and knees. As he rolls over, I aim another kick at his belly—checking my force at the last second so it looks as if it’ll have landed harder than it actually did.

Neven grunts all the same and flails out with his mace. I leap around him and bring the pommel of my sword slamming down on just the right spot on his forehead.

The kid’s arm drops. His eyelids flutter and drift shut as his head lolls with his stupor.

I think I’ve actually knocked him unconscious. I didn’t want to—I just didn’t know if he’d actually play along with the way he was fighting back.

A surge of nausea bubbles up to the base of my throat, but I can’t give in to my horror. I whirl around, my sword at the ready, in time to deflect blows from both of my other foster brothers.

Bastien offers a feigned sneer to offset the anguish in his gaze. “You think you’re so much tougher than the rest of us. We’ll give you a challenge, all right. Come on, Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo’s face is fixed in a distraught expression, but he slices his dagger toward me. They move around me at opposite sides as if trying to throw me off.

Bastien adjusts his grip on his sword, a hint of warning right before he springs at me. Lorenzo launches forward at the same moment.

I duck and spin around, jamming my heel into Lorenzo’s knee and smacking my weapon against Bastien’s wrist. The sword spins from his grasp; blood streaks across his pale skin where I couldn’t help cutting him even using the flat of the blade.

As Bastien scrambles after his sword with his first rasped breath, Lorenzo makes a disgruntled sound and throws himself at me again. It’s too easy to shove him backward, aiming a punch at his chest where his ribs will absorb most of the impact.

I dance around him and ram my elbow into his spine. As he stumbles, I whack the back of his head with my pommel.

A thin whimper seeps from his lips as he falls flat on his face.

I didn’t hithimhard enough to really rattle his brains, but his body goes totally limp. Good man. He understands the real challenge is in the performance we give, not any actual battle.

Bastien is already sprinting at me again despite the wheeze reverberating from his chest. “You asshole!”

“I do what I have to do,” I snap at him, channeling my anger at Marclinus into the words.

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