Rabi moves a second before I do, both of us racing toward the center. Swiveling, Bluethorn catches the vase up in one arm and spins it away from the podium just as Rabi delivers a precise kick. Her leg sweeps through the air the vase occupied a second before. The crowd gives a collective gasp, and there’s a smattering of applause for the romantic nature of the rescue.
I move on instinct. Taking advantage of Rabi’s need to recover and Bluethorn’s cargo, I attack his weak side, forcing him to expose his back to me in an effort to shelter his summer star. He’s off-balance when Rabi returns, driving him into my attacks with a series of pristine jabs. But Bluethorn delivers on his reputation by feinting toward me, then spinning around to aim a vicious kick at Rabi’s chest.
She flies back, and I can’t help the pinch of concern that worms its way through my chest as she hits the ground. There’s no time to consider all the ways that feeling is troubling as Bluethorn rounds on me, forcing me back with his long-legged kicks.
Across the room, Rabi rolls onto her knees, one hand clutched to her chest. I drop to the floor, letting the momentum of Bluethorn’s attacks carry him past me, and as soon as his back is turned, I drive my fist into his side. It’s a solid hit, one he won’t soon forget, but I’m on the wrong side of him and time is running out.
Before he can recover, I dig my knee into his thigh, forcing him to bend. I have him exactly where I need him to be, but before I can swing around to his other side, Rabi is there. She approaches in silence, and then the vase shatters against the thin side of her hand.
Water, glass, and a single flower pool at our feet. The pendulum knocks down its final peg. And a stony mask falls over Bluethorn’s face. He hasn’t lost. At least, not yet. Nothing will be decided until all three of us have defended, but he gained very little in this fight, and he knows it.
The courtiers issue delighted applause, and three young boys hurry out to sweep away the destroyed vase as the herald calls out, “Caswell will defend next!”
We take up our positions around Rabi’s vase, this time with her assuming the point of defense. She shrugs as she settles into a crouch, and I understand instantly that she’s hurt, though not deeply. Her eyes flick from me to Bluethorn, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am: Bluethorn will be out for blood.
I should use that to my advantage, but when I look at her, my desires travel in confusing ways. I want to protect her as much as I want to win.
You will change the path your family walks, I think. Outside the palace grounds, my mother waits for word in the Thorn Garden. She has been there since the earliest hours of the morning, afraid that arriving too late would mean a spot too far to be among the first to hear the news. Sometimes I think she’s been waiting for this moment longer than I have. Winning will change everything for us, it will root the Mayhew line in the very bedrock of our nation.
“Three pegs!” the herald’s voice calls. “Beginning now!”
Bluethorn moves instantly. He doesn’t know or care what I will do, only that he makes the first attack. He aims low, forcing Rabi to dance away from his sweeping legs and put space between herself and the podium. Thinking the move afforded him an easy advantage, Bluethorn moves in to swipe the delicate vase from its perch. But Rabi is there. Her body arches in the air as she performs a tight flip that brings her legs slicing down against Bluethorn’s arm.
It’s an exquisite move, and the crowd loves her for it. They cry out and fling petals, filling the cavernous room with her name. “Caswell! Caswell! Caswell!”
Rabi hears them—there is no way she doesn’t—but she is a wall of focused intensity. Her eyes remain locked on Bluethorn, but I can feel her tracking me as I circle around her side.
Bluethorn strikes again, this time with a punishing effort. Rabi dodges, deflects, and counters, matching Bluethorn’s speed if not his force. The fight pulls them away from the podium, just far enough to give me an opening.
I take it, charging in, my eyes on Rabi’s form.
Which is why Bluethorn takes me by surprise. His fist crashes into my jaw, neatly curtailing my approach. Rabi is on his heels, leaping high in the air to drive her own fist into his neck.
For the flash of a second, her eyes skip to mine, marking the blood now sliding down my chin, and I know—I know—her attack was a retaliation for me. It’s over in a beat, there and gone, but it leaves me with a swollen feeling in my chest.
Bluethorn moves again, returning his attentions to Rabi. This time she swings low.
It’s a mistake.
I see it the instant she does, though it’s too late to change course, and now there is nothing standing between Bluethorn and Rabi’s summer star.
I’m trapped on Rabi’s other side, closer to the vase than I am to Bluethorn. There is only one option before me, and I’m startled to find that I do not want to take it.
You are here to win!
I drive my leg out in a low kick, nailing the podium dead center. As it flies across the room, the vase crashes to the floor. The summer star comes to rest at my feet, and I raise my eyes to find a wounded look in Rabi’s. I destroyed her vase so that Bluethorn would not, but that is a look that will haunt me.
I tell myself that it won’t matter when the Bloom chooses me and the line of my family is restored.
The crowd is cheering, but I do not hear the words. Instead, I move to my podium. I pause and bury my nose in the layered ice blue and lilac petals of the summer star flower, letting the lacy fragrance remind me of my purpose, then I turn to face my opponents.
“Mayhew defending!” The herald has to stretch to be heard above the excited clamor of the courtiers. “Three pegs! Beginning…now!”
Once more, we initiate our violent dance. I take a wide stance, knowing that Rabi will bide her time, while Bluethorn will attack head-on.
I give neither of them the opportunity.
Pulling my vase into my arms, I kick the podium into Bluethorn’s shins. He goes down but rolls with the impact, and he finds his feet as I turn to Rabi. I expect to find resentment in her honey-brown eyes, but what I find there instead is a message: Get behind me.
It is impossible that we know each other so well so quickly. Impossible that I know beyond the whisper of doubt that just as my desire is to protect her, her desire is to protect me. Days ago, I thought the impossible task before me was getting to this moment. Now I know the true challenge will be in getting out of it.
I curl my body around my vase and circle wide, putting Rabi between myself and Bluethorn. It’s a temporary reprieve. Bluethorn drives forward, and the three of us trade a flurry of blows. I dance and weave, kick and sweep. My body absorbs fists and elbows and knees until I feel certain I have cracked a rib and more.