I nej saw the snap of Dunyasha’s hand and heard a sound like a wingbeat, then felt something bounce off her shoulder. She caught the silver star before it could fall to the roof. Inej had come prepared this time. Jesper had helped her sew some of the padding from one of the hotel suite’s mattresses into her tunic and vest. Years on the farm darning shirts and socks had made him surprisingly handy with a needle, and she was not going to play pincushion for the White Blade again.
Inej leapt forward, speeding toward her opponent, sure-footed on this roof she’d spent so very many hours on. She hurled the star back at Dunyasha. The girl dodged it easily.
“My own blades would not betray me so,” she chided, as if scolding a small child.
But Inej hadn’t needed to hit her, merely distract her. She flicked her hand as if she was throwing another blade, and as Dunyasha followed the movement, Inej rebounded off the metal spine to her right, letting the ricochet carry her past her opponent. She crouched low, knives in hand, and slashed open the mercenary’s calf.
Inej was up again in moments, bouncing backward over one of the scrollwork spines of the church, keeping her eyes on Dunyasha. But the girl just laughed.
“Your spirit brings me pleasure, Wraith. I can’t remember the last time anyone drew first blood on me.”
Dunyasha leapt onto the scrollwork spine, and now they faced each other, both with blades at the ready. The mercenary lunged deeply, slashing out, but this time, Inej did not let herself follow the instincts she had fought so hard to learn on the streets of Ketterdam. Instead, she responded as an acrobat would. When the swing was coming at you, you didn’t try to avoid it; you went to meet it.
Inej ducked close into Dunyasha’s reach, as if they were partners in a dance, using the motion of her opponent’s attack to knock her off balance. Again Inej struck out with her blade, slicing open the girl’s other calf.
This time Dunyasha hissed.
Better than a laugh , thought Inej.
The mercenary whirled, a compact movement, spinning on her toes like a dagger on its point. If she felt any pain, she did not show it. Her hands held two curved blades now, moving in sinuous rhythm as she stalked Inej along the metal spine.
Inej knew she could not move into these blades. So break the rhythm , she told herself. She let Dunyasha pursue her, giving up ground, skittering backward along the spine until she saw the shadow of a tall finial behind her. She feinted right, encouraging her opponent to lunge forward. Instead of checking the feint and keeping her balance, Inej continued to let herself fall to the right. In the same movement, she sheathed her blades and seized hold of the finial with one hand, swinging her body around to the other side. Now the finial was between them. Dunyasha grunted in frustration as her blades clanged against metal.
Inej leapt from scroll to scroll, racing over the roof to the thickest of the metal spines, following it up the humped back of the cathedral. It was like walking on the fin of some great sea creature.
Dunyasha followed and Inej had to respect that her movements were just as smooth and graceful with two bleeding calves. “Are you going to run all the way back to the caravan, Wraith? You know it’s only a matter of time before this ends and justice is done.”
“Justice?”
“You are a murderer and a thief. I was chosen to rid this world of people like you. A criminal may pay my wages, but I have never taken an innocent life.”
That word sounded a discordant note inside Inej. Was she innocent? She regretted the lives she’d taken, but she would take them again to save her own life, the lives of her friends. She’d stolen. She’d helped Kaz blackmail good men and bad. Could she say the choices she’d made were the only choices put before her?
Dunyasha approached, the flame of her hair bright against the blue sky, her skin nearly the same ivory as the fine clothes she wore. Somewhere far below their feet, the auction continued in the cathedral, its participants unaware of the battle being waged above. Here, the sun shone bright as a freshly minted coin, wind rushed over the spines and spires of the rooftop in a low moan. Innocence. Innocence was a luxury, and Inej did not believe her Saints demanded it.
She drew her knives once more. Sankt Vladimir, Sankta Alina, protect me.
“They’re charming,” Dunyasha said, and pulled two long, straight blades from the sheaths at her waist. “I will give my new knife a handle from your shinbone. It will be your honor to serve me in death.”
“I will never serve you,” said Inej.
Dunyasha lunged.
Inej stayed close, using every opportunity to keep inside the mercenary’s guard and deny her the advantage of her longer reach. She was stronger than she’d been when they’d faced each other on the wire, well rested, well fed. But she was still a girl trained on the streets, not in the towers of some Shu monastery.
Inej’s first mistake was a slow recoil. She paid for it in a deep slash to her left bicep. It cut through the padding and made it hard to keep a good grip on the blade in her left hand. Her second error was putting too much force into an upward jab. She leaned in too far and felt Dunyasha’s knife skim her ribs. A shallow cut that time, but it had been a close thing.
She ignored the pain and focused on her opponent, remembering what Kaz had told her. Find her tells. Everyone has them. But Dunyasha’s movements seemed unpredictable. She was equally comfortable with her left and right hands, she favored neither foot, and waited until the last moment to strike, giving no early indication of her intent. She was extraordinary.
“Growing weary, Wraith?”
Inej said nothing, conserving her energy. Though Dunyasha’s breathing seemed clear and even, Inej could feel herself dragging slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give the mercenary the advantage. Then she saw it—the slightest hitch of Dunyasha’s chest, followed by a lunge. A hitch, then another lunge. The tell was in her breathing. She took in a deep breath before an attack.
There. Inej dodged left, struck quickly, a rapid jab of her blade to Dunyasha’s side. There . Inej attacked again, and blood flowered on Dunyasha’s arm.
Inej drew back, waited as the girl advanced. The mercenary liked to hide her direct assaults with other movement, the whirl of her blades, an unnecessary flourish. It made her hard to read, but there . The quick burst of breath. Inej sank low and swept her left leg wide, knocking the mercenary off balance. This was her chance. Inej shot to her feet, using her upward momentum and Dunyasha’s descent to shove her blade under the leather guard protecting the girl’s sternum.
Inej felt blood on her hand as she wrenched the knife free and Dunyasha released a shocked grunt. The girl stared at her now, clutching her chest with one hand. Her eyes narrowed. There was still no fear there, only a hard, bright resentment, as if Inej had ruined an important party.
“The blood you spill is the blood of kings,” seethed Dunyasha. “You are not fit for such a gift.”
Inej almost felt sorry for her. Dunyasha really believed she was the Lantsov heir, and maybe she was. But wasn’t that what every girl dreamed? That she’d wake and find herself a princess? Or blessed with magical powers and a grand destiny? Maybe there were people who lived those lives. Maybe this girl was one of them. But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.