When the crowd has gathered, Esther begins to speak. It’s obviously a rehearsed speech, written years ago when the Assassins’ Festival was still a deadly affair. There’s a lot of posturing about tradition and strength and competition being the fuel for success.
She doesn’t make eye contact with me during her speech, which is for the best. Everyone here still thinks we’re enemies. That’s the whole point. I take a deep breath. Esther is going to announce our surprise duel, and then, together, we’ll pull a con on the entire crowd. I’m ready for this.
I’m not prepared for what actually happens. As Esther nears the end of her speech and the crowd grows anxious, Belrosa steps out of the audience. Before Esther can even finish her speech, Belrosa strides to the center of the arena to summon me to our duel.
CHAPTER 22
With Belrosa standing beside her, Esther speaks more slowly and carefully.
“And of course,” Esther says, stumbling over her rehearsed words, “the Assassins’ Festival officially begins with the highest-ranked duel…which is between General Belrosa Demure and the sovereign of Seriden herself.”
Esther gestures toward me, meeting my gaze with a flash of alarm. I silently plead for her to continue, to say the next lines we planned: But I, Esther Fallow, supersede that duel with a challenge of my own. I challenge the Nameless queen to duel for her crown.
But she falters, and Belrosa is already leaving Esther behind and marching toward me. If I were to call Esther out to duel now, it would seem as though I’m afraid of Belrosa.
I steel myself and step into the open arena. Away from the crowd, I feel the steady breeze rush through the knots of my braids, prickling my scalp. I feel the charged energy of 3,628 auras. Too many auras to track individually, but each of them like a pinprick of light. Together, they’re a blurring constellation.
Belrosa is dressed in her formal general’s uniform, complete with ceremonial sword and an oddly tilted hat. Perfect. Not only do I have to fight Belrosa in front of everyone, but her entire appearance is designed to remind the people watching that she is their protector. She’s the beacon of Seriden pride.
Come on, Esther. Say something. Do something.
Belrosa stops four steps shy of the arena’s center, and we face each other. She presents her weapon, and I present mine, both of us holding swords.
We bow, ever so slightly, maintaining eye contact. Then, before either of us finishes, the first sharp movement snakes outward.
Steel clangs against steel as we meet blows. Her first swing is strong and high, but I do more than block it. It takes me three quick strikes to put her on the defensive, and then I’m advancing at an angle to move toward her weaker side.
She matches my strides and then counters, jabbing toward my left. As I twist to dodge the strike, I carry through with a kick that catches her hard in the shoulder. She stumbles but doesn’t fall. Her eyes flash with fear as she realizes that I’m not as untrained as she thought. My sword has a jeweled, decorative hilt just like hers. I’m using Glenquartz’s sword. His thoughts are with me, and so is his most cherished weapon.
Both Belrosa and I are focused enough on the blades and our movements to trade blows but not injure each other. We make real contact in the nonlethal blows from fists and knees and feet.
The fight has stretched on for nearly two minutes—what feels like an eternity. If we were on the streets, I would have picked up one of the rocks on the ground to get a long-distance shot at her. Or I would have pickpocketed a pistol from a spectator. But this is the Royal arena, where a display of treachery would cost me more than what I would gain by winning the fight.
I kick Belrosa’s knee, and as she recovers, I glance at Esther. If she’s going to salvage our con, she needs to interrupt the duel. It can’t be me.
Esther tenses in fear, and then I feel the blow hit my waist. It’s a sword, but it feels like a punch to the gut. I duck and roll a few paces away on the ground. When I push myself into a crouch, I grip my side with pain plastered on my face.
Belrosa readies herself to charge me again. Ice sweeps from her aura, and I know that she’ll kill me if she gets the chance.
Esther finally steps into the arena. “I challenge the Nameless queen!”
Her shout echoes out into the air, and I wonder if I’m the only one who sees through her indignant anger to the fear beneath it. Belrosa immediately falters, nearly tripping over her own feet.
“My lady?” Belrosa says, her sword hand jittering at her side.
“A higher-ranked challenger can interrupt an ongoing duel, according to the terms of the Assassins’ Festival.” Esther walks right up to Belrosa. I don’t know how she manages to be graceful even now. If we weren’t in a hot field of stones surrounded by thousands of Seriden’s citizens, I would have thought she was interrupting a wine-serving ceremony. I take the opportunity to rise to my feet, but I keep my hand pressed to my side as though to stanch a wound. Royals and Legals on the inside edge of the audience stretch on their toes, trying to see how badly I’ve been wounded.
Belrosa is still so wild and tense with the energy of battle that she doesn’t even try to steady her hands enough to sheathe her sword. She gives a curt bow and retreats a few steps away, but she doesn’t leave the main arena or join the crowd, as if she’s not quite willing to step away from the fight.
Murmurs flow through the spectators, who are jostling elbows and pointing fingers.
Esther takes Belrosa’s position. She has rehearsed her lines several times over the past day, and her voice hardly wavers as she speaks.
“You are an impossible queen,” Esther says. “You are Nameless and reckless, and I would be ignoring the wishes of my people if I did not challenge your right to the throne. I don’t believe my father would name someone like you as the next sovereign of Seriden, and I am not convinced you are the true heir. Everything about you could be a lie.”
I hide the grin that wants to play on my lips. Instead I rise to a standing position, pretending to wince as I straighten up.
“I am the crowned heir of this city, the first to live in the palace as Nameless. What, I wonder, would convince you?” The crowd is as silent as the Nameless protestors outside the Royal Court gates.
“Nothing,” Esther says, and she picks up my sword from the ground and presents it as her duel weapon.
A tremulous whisper rises in the crowd.
I have no weapon. I hold out my arms.
“I am unlike anything that came before me,” I say. “I am unlike everyone that came before me. The sovereigns of Seriden’s past, they may have been able to conjure images of fire.”
I hold out my right hand and imagine a column of flame bursting upward from my palm.