Page 30 of Zel
Ulrich smirked.
Damn. Zel had not intended to play his hand so openly. Then, as he straightened his posture and looked at the dagger, he realized it was his. This trap had layers, for this was the very dagger Zel had hidden beneath his mattress that first night.
“You went into my room?” he questioned.
“I did not. A simple spell. It periodically sweeps the tower for anything dangerous that does not belong to me and brings it here. My apologies.” Ulrich bowed. “You could have simply told me. Having something to protect oneself with is smart, as are having the skills with which to use it.” Ulrich claimed another weapon from the nearby rack, this one a sword. The sword wassimple but beautifully crafted, steel with an intricately designed guard and pommel and a black grip. Ulrich took to the ring, brandishing it and settling into his own fighting stance.
“My lord?”
“Show me, Zel, what you are truly capable of.” Ulrich sprang at Zel with the speed and ferocity of a trained duelist.
Zel deflected Ulrich’s thrust with another rush of instinct. First rule of dagger versus sword was he could not let his opponent keep him at a distance. Zel ducked beneath a slash and leapt closer. He feinted toward Ulrich’s most vulnerable opening before striking at another that wasn’t, hoping to get Ulrich to overcompensate, but the sorcerer spun out of range like he’d seen the move coming and immediately thrust at Zel again.
Zel parried but only barely, focusing on the second rule of dagger versus sword—speed. He went for a riposte, a quick counterattack that brought him back into close range for a stab. Ulrich parried that just as quickly, grabbed Zel by his wrist, and spun him, pulling him back against him and holding Zel’s own dagger to his throat. The move was almost identical to how Zel had grappled with the bandit yesterday, but being shorter than Ulrich gave Zel the advantage.
He stomped Ulrich’s foot in the same instant that he threw his head back to collide with Ulrich’s chin, all as he had been taught, ingrained in him since he was strong enough to hold a dagger’s weight. He wrenched his arm free, using the momentum to spin back around, aiming for Ulrich’s throat, wondering if his immortality meant the blow would naturally be deflected or still puncture him only to heal.
The dagger did not make contact to see which was true, for Ulrich used his sword like a shield, locking their blades together. Ulrich had been dueling one-handed to match Zel, but with both hands on his hilt now, Zel could not break their binding in his favor. Instead, he kicked, knocking Ulrich’s foot out from underhim. Ulrich scarcely parried Zel’s next stab, so Zel refused to let up. He pushed, slashing and stabbing in quick succession to keep Ulrich on the defensive.
Back and back, they moved until Ulrich was close to being knocked out of the makeshift ring into one of the weapons racks. Another strike, another; Zel would not yield. His life depended on it, or so his instincts told him.
Then Ulrichlaughed, and the resonance, the surprise of it, caused just enough of a distraction for Zel to pause.
Ulrich swept his sword in a half circle to force Zel’s dagger downward, nearly disarming him, and then swept his blade point up to align with Zel’s throat again. This time not even speed would be in Zel’s favor to bring his dagger up and deflect a killing blow.
That was when he realized that while Ulrich was smiling in the aftermath of his laughter, Zel was smiling too. Hehadfought like his life depended on it, but he hadn’t been truly afraid. He had enjoyed that. He had only ever enjoyed sparring with his parents before. Not that they gave him any quarter, and they still fought dirty, just like they’d taught him to, because fair never saved anyone’s life. But there was a comfort in not having to hold back, in trusting that one’s opponent would not hold back either, yet that trust also meant believing a killing blow would never follow through.
Not yet.
“It seems I lost,” Zel said, although he couldn’t resist tapping the point of his dagger against Ulrich’s thigh.
Ulrich glanced at it, seeing that Zel was equally poised for a deadly skewer, and a far more emasculating one, given how low the blade had been deflected. “Hm. If I were mortal, it seems we both would have lost.” Ulrich disengaged, sweeping his blade down to point at the floor, as if it bowed just before he did.
Zel lowered his dagger and bowed in kind. He had trained both in his daily clothes and in assassin gear. Wearing breeches and a simple dress without a corset certainly made sparring easier than in his old outfits. Usually when in a dress, Zel was more hindered. Even more comfortable like he was now, he couldn’t say for certain if he could defeat Ulrich if they fought for real. Would they come to another standstill? Had luck been on Zel’s side today, like it usually was, or had Ulrich gone easier on him than things appeared?
If Zel found a weakness to exploit, the only way to be certain of a killing blow would be to catch Ulrich unaware.
Like Ulrich had caught Zel. If that magical sweep for dangerous items happened daily, then Ulrich had possessed Zel’s dagger for a lot longer than only this morn.
“It was a test, wasn’t it?” Zel asked, while Ulrich went to place his sword back on its rack. “Not just this, now. Yesterday too. You wanted us to encounter that bandit. You let him attack me on purpose to see what I would do.”
Ulrich looked over his shoulder with a knowing smile. “You were never in any real danger.”
“But what did you hope to learn?”
“Oh, little cabbage, I hope to learn everything.” Slowly, Ulrich returned to where Zel stood in the ring. He seemed taller in his pride. Pride toward Zel? Pleased with him? Pleased by something. Who was the real swindler here? Zel honestly couldn’t say. “Tell me, do you hide a sheath beneath your skirts?”
Zel reflexively tightened his grip on the dagger. “Not today.” That was true. Zel had seen no reason to risk carrying his dagger before now. Did Ulrich think Zel simply skilled at fighting, or did he guess, did heknow, how many people Zel had killed?
“Pity,” Ulrich said, reaching to brush some of Zel’s fringe from his forehead, which had grown damp with sweat. “I might have put it back for you.”
Heat swelled in Zel’s gut. Hewasbeing bewitched. He had to be. He wanted nothing more than to lift onto his toes and kiss Ulrich then, not as some tactic, but too real, too honest, too much something Zel wanted only for himself.
Before he could, Ulrich stepped away.
Zel loathed how disappointed he was. He could not risk becoming compromised like this. He didn’t even know what games Ulrich was playing or what he truly wanted from Zel. Were these tests merely to weigh the worthiness of a bride? Zel didn’t know, and yet, only days in, and despite having made progress with his mission, compromised he was.
“About the dagger—”
