He dodged backward, and slashed again. And again. And somehow, despite the fact he had the longer blade, the better reach, she was always there to block, to parry. She wasn’t a graceful fighter, but she moved with all the speed of a whip, and no matter how Kell searched, there was no way past, no opening.
He danced back, or tried to, but he’d lost track of his surroundings, and instead of open deck, he slammed into the mast. The force knocked the wind out of his lungs, and the sword slipped from his hand, but Lila was still coming, daggers glinting, and there was no time to think, so he didn’t, simply flung out his fingers and called a nearby coil of rope. It rose, flying toward Lila’s wrist, even as the pain tore through him, jagged and deep, and in the end, it was for nothing, because her blade sliced through the rope before it came to rest against his throat.
“Dead,” she whispered. Her hand dropped. “What happened?”
The words slid like a gasp between his teeth. “I forgot.”
Lila studied the edge of her knife. “I forgot, too, at first. Ran into doors, fell down steps. It took me months to find my balance, to gauge distance. It was hard, but I learned. So will you.”
Anger bloomed inside him. He wanted to tell her it was different, that her eye was gone, and his magic was still there. A limb he felt but couldn’t use. A weapon he was forced to hold but couldn’t wield.
He wanted to lash out at her. To scream.
Instead he knelt and picked up his sword, and said, “Again.”
* * *
FIVE YEARS AGO
The sun bled into the sea, turning the world around them red.
The Barron had dropped anchor off a Faroan port. The air held on to the day’s heat like a clay oven after the fire’s gone out. Kell’s lungs burned, his limbs ached.
“You’re too quick,” he said, gasping for breath.
“So catch up,” said Lila as she ducked, and dodged, and danced out of reach.
They sparred until the sun vanished and the red dusk gave way to night, until Stross went about lighting the lanterns across the deck. By the light, Kell could see the rest of the crew, perched like birds around the Barron, watching the match. Even the newest member, Raya, the woman from the south that Vasry had brought back to the ship. She sat up in the netting, pale eyes burning the dark.
Kell ignored them. He had to. Staying alive took all of his focus.
“You’re too good,” he said, narrowly dodging Lila’s latest cut.
“So get better,” she answered. There was a ruthless focus to her movements, a precision he couldn’t seem to crack. No wonder she had made it here, he thought. Delilah Bard was a force of nature. The world hadn’t simply opened for her. It had been cleaved, parted like skin beneath her knife.
She was incredible.
“Has anyone told you,” he said, “that you’re gorgeous when you fight?”
The words knocked her off-balance, like a boot catching on uneven ground. She stumbled, for just a second, and in that second, he swung. Her dagger came up at the last moment, but it was close, beautifully close, the two blades shivering against her throat.
For once, Lila scowled.
For once, Kell smiled.
And then she kicked him in the chest.
He hadn’t seen it coming, and he went down hard on the deck, gasping for breath.
Rhy would feel that one, he thought, imagining his brother, leagues away, in the middle of some gala or feast, wincing at the force of Lila’s boot against his brother’s ribs. Kell said a silent apology as he lay there, exhausted, staring up at the sky. It was a moonless night, black and full of stars.
And then Lila was there, holding out her hand, and helping him back onto his feet.
He fell into bed that night, limbs aching and leaden.
Everything hurt, but for the first time in months, he welcomed the pain.
* * *
FOUR YEARS AGO
Kell’s coat lay cast aside, his shirt soaked through with sweat and rain.
As Lila circled, he ran a hand through his damp hair, slicking it back—he’d cut it shorter, but somehow it still ended up in his face. A storm had swept through in the middle of the last match. It had passed, replaced by a scorching summer sun, but the deck was still damp beneath his feet, water dripping from the sails as Kell twisted out of the way of Lila’s blade.
He dodged another blow, and a cheer went up.
They were no longer alone on the deck. The Barron’s crew watched with giddy interest, whooping and hollering and making bets, though Kell doubted they ever bet on him. Even though he did win.
Sometimes.
Rarely.
More often than not, it was only a question of how long he could hold her off, his victories measured in minutes. He’d gotten better in the last few months. He’d had to. But Lila always found a way to keep him on his toes. Dragging him out to spar at dawn, at midday, in the middle of the night, so he could learn how to see a weapon’s movement in sun and shade, noon glare and moonlight and full dark.
Now and then, he still slipped, found himself reaching for his magic, and every time, he paid for the mistake. But his sword hand was getting stronger, and the steel began to feel, if not a part of him, then at least like something he could wield, not just competently, but well.
As soon as he grew comfortable with the short sword, Lila gave Kell two, and by the time he could hold his own with those, the crew had stopped feigning indifference and gotten involved in the fights. The first mate, Stross, was the one who’d suggested the lottery.
“A way to make things interesting,” he’d said, presenting the box in the galley one night as Raya spooned out helpings of stew. Kell suspected they were just tired of him losing, and were hoping to spice things up. Inside the box, scribbled out on scraps of paper, was the name of every weapon they had on board the ship.
Lila had always possessed a fondness for sharp things, and since becoming captain of the Barron, her collection had only grown, expanding in impressive ways beyond the usual steel.
Which was why, as they circled each other now, Kell found himself holding a pair of small scythes, their edges curved, while Lila hefted a broadsword. Vasry and Tav exchanged a look, and Kell suspected they must have added that one to the lot more recently. Maybe they were betting on him after all.
Tired of holding the blade up, Lila attacked, and despite the weapon’s size, she still managed to move with unnatural speed. She swung and Kell lunged back, expecting the sword’s weight to carry her forward. But somehow, impossibly, she pivoted, reversing the weapon’s arc.
He got one of the scythes up and blocked, the force ringing up his arm as they crashed together, but his second blade was already carving through the air toward her chest. Her eyes widened, and he thought, I have you, right before she let go of the broadsword entirely and ducked beneath his scythe. She sprang back, falling in a crouch as the hulking sword crashed to the deck between them.
It was the first time Lila Bard had ever lost her blade.
Around the deck, the voices had stopped. The crew held its breath.
Lila looked up at Kell, a grin spreading across her face.
She had so many different smiles. Some happy and some cruel and some positively wicked, ones full of humor and ones full of hate, and he was still learning how to read them all. But this one he knew, not because it was common, but because it was rare.
It was pride.
But the match wasn’t over. She hadn’t surrendered yet. Lila rose, eyes going to the blade she’d abandoned on the deck between them. She dove for it, and so did he. But as soon as Kell tried to lunge forward, something forced him to a stop. He looked down to see a sheen of ice running up over his feet. His boots were frozen to the deck.
Lila caught up the sword, and raised it, letting its weight come to rest against his chest.
“I win,” she said simply, and he stared in shock at the blood dripping from her free hand. She’d used magic. Not even elemental, but Antari.
“You cheated,” he said, indignant, but Lila only shrugged.
“I’m not the one who can’t use magic.”
And with that she dropped the sword and strode away, leaving him to break the ice from his boots. From that day on, there were no rules.
Kell only fought to win.
* * *
THREE YEARS AGO