At first, it was small things: Deah not putting her foot down exactly how I did mine, holding her sword a fraction of an inch lower than mine, gripping the hilt just a little too high. But slowly, all those little things started to add up. Deah was still a great fighter—one of the best I’d ever seen—but I was just a smidge better, someone she couldn’t overcome without her mimic magic.
And she knew it too.
Her blows became quicker and more desperate and reckless. I couldn’t see the future like Seleste could, but I knew with crystal clarity how the rest of the fight would play out. Five more moves and she would overreach, and then I could slice my sword across her arm and win the Tournament of Blades, just as my mom had before me. The thought made me so happy that I smiled and stared directly into Deah’s eyes.
Her hot, sweaty desperation slammed into my gut so hard that I blinked and stumbled back from the force of it. I stared into her eyes again, and I realized desperation wasn’t all she was feeling.
Deah was afraid.
Fear churned and churned like acid in her stomach. She knew that I was the better fighter and that she was seconds away from losing the match and the tournament. And she was afraid of what her father would do to her and Seleste when she lost.
It was weird, but in that moment, I almost felt I could see into Deah. That was nothing new, but I wasn’t just feeling her emotions—I was actually seeing all the memories she had of growing up. Training so hard all the time so she could be the best fighter possible. Running after Seleste, trying to keep her from wandering off and displeasing Victor and Blake. Doing everything she possibly could to win her father’s love and approval and knowing that nothing she did was ever truly good enough for him. That Victor preferred Blake and always would.
One after another, the memories flooded my mind until it was all that I could do to keep swinging my sword. How did Deah live like that? Training so hard, worrying about her mom, being hurt by Victor’s cruel words time and time again? How did she function when she knew that her own father didn’t even love her? Neither did Blake, who saw her as just another tool he could use to do their father’s bidding.
In that moment, I felt sorrier for Deah Draconi than I ever had before.
I could win the match, but for the first time, I didn’t want to because I knew what it would cost her. I didn’t like Deah, but I didn’t want her or Seleste to suffer because of me. I’d never wanted that, but if the fight kept going the way it was, that was exactly what was going to happen. Deah and her mom would suffer miserably at Victor’s hands, and there would be nothing that I or anyone else could do about it, since it would happen behind closed doors at the Draconi estate. No one there would dare to interfere with Victor and Blake, and none of the other Families would care enough to get involved, except for Claudia. But even then, I didn’t know what Claudia could do to help them, since the Sinclairs and the Draconis were on the verge of going to war anyway.
I sighed, knowing what I had to do. It was the exact same thing my mom would have done. She’d always tried to protect people who needed help, and she’d never once complained about it. I wasn’t as good or noble as she had been, but I knew a hard truth. That sometimes, doing the right thing sucked out loud, and this was definitely going to be one of those times.
So I sighed again, lowered my sword just a fraction, and slowly lessened my pace, as though I was exhausted and finally fading. Deah pressed her advantage, and I made my blows weaker and weaker, letting her get a little closer to cutting me every single time. I could have recovered, I could have taken her out, but I decided not to.
Besides, maybe Seleste’s prophecy was right and Deah and I needed each other to survive. Either way, I wasn’t going to win this fight. Not now. I wasn’t going to be the cause of someone else’s misery—especially not someone who had as much hurt in her battered, broken heart as I did.
So I counted down the moves in my head, wondering if she would take the opening I was going to give her.
And she did.
I pretended to trip on the edge of the water and stumbled past Deah. An instant later, I felt her black blade slice into my arm, and the hot spatter of blood sliding down my skin.
Just like that, it was over.
I sighed, lowered my sword, and turned around. Deah stared at me, dumbstruck, as though she couldn’t believe that she’d actually, finally won.
The official hurried over, grabbed her hand, and raised it high. “And the winner of the Tournament of Blades is Deah Draconi!”
The crowd erupted into loud, roaring cheers, each one like a sword slicing my heart to ribbons. They should have been cheering for me. They should have been yelling and clapping for me. They should have been chanting my name over and over again, not hers.
I dropped my head, trying to ignore all the jubilation, as though I was exhausted and disgusted with myself. Not too much of a stretch right now.
Yeah, sometimes, doing the right thing was the most painful feeling in the entire world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE