She nodded, suddenly feeling stubborn. They were thirty feet back from the target now, a long distance for an accurate throw. “But I want to. Go ahead. Make your throw. Let’s finish it.”
He shrugged. Without pausing, he whirled and threw his knife, the blade flashing in the gray afternoon light as it buried itself in the center of the black circle. He did it so smoothly and quickly that Mirai caught her breath in spite of herself.
He finished his follow-through, straightened, and turned to face her. He looked uncomfortable. “Give me a minute and I’ll remove my knife to give you a clear field.”
“Don’t bother,” she snapped, fighting hard to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“But it’s obstructing the target.”
“You heard me. Leave it where it is.”
She stared at his knife protruding from the center of the black circle and felt an unreasonable rage sweep through her. He hadn’t even looked before throwing! How was she supposed to match that? But she was determined to try. She would not give in. Not to him.
She took a long, steadying breath, braced herself, and whipped the throwing knife underhand at the target. The blade shattered the handle of Austrum’s weapon and fell to the decking.
She waited for his response, unable to look at him. “Doesn’t count, my lady of skills and beauty,” he said at last. “You have to stick it for it to count.”
“It was dead on top of your own throw.” She held his gaze, refusing to look away. “It would have stuck if your own knife hadn’t obstructed it. It counts.”
He shook his head. “Not according to the rules. You should be penalized, if anything. You damaged my knife. Even if I can salvage the blade, I’ll have to replace the handle.”
She was livid. She knew she had been lucky with her throw, but now he was trying to steal the victory from her! She looked around at the other Rovers, aware that the boisterous crowd had gone mostly silent. She couldn’t tell whether it was a result of discomfort over her confrontation with Austrum or astonishment over the accuracy of their throws.
“Who agrees with Austrum?” she snapped. “What do the rules say about this?”
Edras, older and even more whipcord-thin than Austrum, gave her a wry smile. “There isn’t any rule. I don’t think anyone’s ever even seen this happen.” He hesitated. “I say we call it a tie.”
There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the others. Declare it a tie and leave it at that. No need to choose between the two of you.
But Mirai didn’t want it to end in a tie. She hadn’t even wanted to be a part of this competition, but now all she could think about was winning it. Calling it a tie was condescending and demeaning, and she would not stand for it.
“We’ll throw again,” she insisted, wheeling back on Austrum.
He flushed a deep red. “You still owe me a new knife.”
She laughed at his petulance, unable to stop herself even though she knew it was the wrong thing to do. He was immediately furious, but stood his ground, insistent. “You find this funny, do you, little Highland girl?”
That was when she felt the coin break in her pocket.
She bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue, reached into her pocket, and extracted the pieces of the coin to make certain she was not mistaken. “We have to stop this,” she said at once.
Austrum, mistaking the reason for her demand, threw up his hands. “You just said you wanted to continue! You really don’t know your own mind do you, chilchun?”
In Rover slang, that name was the worst insult possible. So bad, in fact, that she almost hit him. Edras was upset enough that he grabbed Austrum by the shoulders and pulled him around threateningly.
“No, stop,” Mirai said quickly, not wanting this to go any farther. “Let it be. He misunderstands, that’s all.” She faced Austrum. “The coin given me by the Ard Rhys has broken in two. Just now, in my pocket. That means she needs us to come to her. She’s in trouble.”
Austrum stared at her, caught off balance. He started to say something and stopped. Then he shook his head in disgust and walked off.