“You want me to fight my own sister?” he asks, voice unsteady.
“I very much do.” Bogdana’s lips pull into a grim, awful smile. “High Queen, I will not merely accept the prince’s head, struck off by one of your soldiers. Just as I was tricked into murdering my own kin, it will be justice to see you kill yours. But I will spare the one of you who kills the other. Let the High Queen abdicate her throne, and I won’t chase her. She may return to the mortal world and live out the brief span of her days.”
“And Cardan?” Jude asks.
The storm hag laughs. “How about this? Take him, and I’ll give you a head start.”
“Done,” Jude says. “So long as you’ll let me take my people, too.”
“If you win,” Bogdana says. “If you run.”
“Don’t do this,” Wren whispers.
Oak takes a step forward, his head spinning. He ignores the way Wren is looking at him, as though he is a lamb come straight to the slaughter, too stupid to run.
As he walks closer to his sister, an arrow hits the ground beside him from Jude’s camp. A warning shot.
He really hopes that was a warning shot and not a miss.
“Prince Oak,” says Jude. “You’re making some very dangerous decisions lately.”
He takes a deep breath. “I understand why you’d think I was planning to betray—”
“Answer me on the field,” Jude says, cutting him off. “Ready for our duel?”
Wren steps forward. The rain has plastered her long, wild hair to her throat and chest. “Oak, wait.”
Bogdana grabs her arm. “Leave them to sort out their own family affair.”
Wren wrenches free. “I warned you. You can’t keep me your thrall. Not without Bex.”
“You think not?” says the storm hag. “Child, I will have my revenge, and you are too weak to stop me. We both know that. Just as we know that the falcons will listen to me once you collapse. And you will—you overextended yourself when you broke the curse on the troll kings and again on the ship, and you’ve used your power twice today already. There’s not enough of you left to face me. There’s barely enough of you to remain standing.”
Jude is adjusting her dress, slicing it so that she can tie the sides of the skirt into makeshift pants. What is her game?
Had they not been isolated on Insear, the army of Elfhame would have easily cut down Bogdana and Wren and her falcons. But so long as Bogdana’s storm keeps them isolated, so long as Wren stops arrows, Jude won’t be able to keep them from Cardan’s tent forever.
Jude will never abdicate, though. She will never run, not even if Cardan is dead.
Of course, if Cardan is dead, Jude might well blame Oak.
He wants to see hesitation in his sister’s face, but her expression reminds him of Madoc’s before a battle.
Someone is going to kill you. Better it be me.
Oak thinks about being a child, spoiled and vain, making trouble. It shames him to think of smashing things in Vivi’s apartment, crying for his mother, when they took him there for his protection. It shames him more to think of ensorcelling his sister and the delight he felt at the red sting of her cheek after she slapped herself. He knew it hurt and, later, felt guilty about it.
But he didn’t understand Jude’s pride and how he shamed her. How that was the far worse crime.
Jude attributes most of her worst impulses to their father, sparing Oak’s provocation. Sparing Oriana, too, who never made room in her heart for a little mortal girl who lost her mother.
Still, that anger and resentment have to be in her somewhere. Waiting for this moment.
“I heard that Madoc offered the High King a duel,” says Bogdana. “But he was too much a coward to accept.”
“My father should have asked me,” Jude says, unbothered by the insult to her beloved.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” Oak warns.
“Of course you do,” Jude says. “Van, bring me my favorite sword since Wren ruined the other one. I left it where I changed clothes.”
The prince looks over to see the Roach, his mouth grim, walk toward the tent. A few moments later, he returns with a sword wrapped in heavy black cloth.
“I wasn’t part of Randalin’s conspiracy,” Oak tries again.
But Jude only gives her brother a grim smile. “Well, then, what a wonderful opportunity for you to prove your loyalty and die for the High King.”
The Roach unwraps a blade, but Oak can barely pay attention. Panic has taken hold of him. He cannot fight her. And if he does, he absolutely cannot lose control.
“There are twin swords,” Jude says. “Heartseeker and Heartsworn. Heartsworn can cut through anything. It once cut through an otherwise invulnerable serpent’s head and broke a curse. You can see why I’d like it.”
“That hardly seems fair,” Oak says, his eye on the sword at last. It’s finely crafted, as beautiful as one might expect one made in a great smith’s forge to be. And then he understands. He lets out his breath in a rush.
Jude moves into an easy stance. She’s good. She’s always been good. “What makes you think I am interested in fairness?”
“Fine,” says Oak. “But you won’t find me an easy opponent.”
“Yes, I saw you inside. That was impressive,” says his sister. “As was your cleverness. Apologies for not noticing what I should have long before.”
“Apology accepted,” says Oak with a nod.
Jude rushes at the prince. Oak parries, circling. “Cardan’s okay, then?” he asks as quietly as he is able.
“He’ll have an impressive scar,” she returns, voice low. “I mean, not as impressive as several of mine, obviously.”
Oak lets out a breath. “Obviously.”
“But what he’s really doing is getting the courtiers and servants off Insear,” Jude goes on softly. “Through the Undersea. His ex-girlfriend is still queen there. He’s leading them through the deep.”
Oak glances toward the tents. The ones that Jude threatened to murder anyone who went near. The ones that are empty.
“Swordplay is a dance, they say.” Jude raises her voice as she slashes her blade through the air. “One, two, three. One, two, three.”
“You’re terrible at dancing,” Oak says, forcing himself to stay in the moment. He will not lose himself in the fight. He will not let himself go.
She grins and moves in, nearly tripping him.
“Wren was being blackmailed,” he tells her, dodging a blow almost a moment too late, distracted by trying to think of what he can say to make her understand. “The thing with her sister.”
“I am not sure you know your enemies from your allies.”
“I do,” Oak says. “And the falcons follow her.”
“Tell me that you’re sure of her,” Jude says. “Really sure.”
Oak thrusts, parries. Their swords clang together. If Jude really were fighting with Heartsworn, it would have sliced his blade in half. But Oak recognized the sword the Roach brought—it was Nightfell, forged by her mortal father.
As soon as Jude lifted it, Oak understood her game at last.
With as few soldiers as they had, she knew they had to get close to their enemy. Knew they needed the edge of surprise.
“I’m sure,” says Oak.
“Okay.” Jude presses her attack, forcing Oak back, closer and closer to the storm hag. “This dance I’m good at. One. Two. Three.”
Together they turn. Oak presses the tip of his sword to one side of Bogdana’s throat. Jude’s goes to the other.
The falcons turn their weapons toward Oak and Jude. Pull back bowstrings. On the other side, Elfhame’s knights are ready to return a volley of arrows. If anyone fires, as close as they are to Bogdana, the storm hag is likely to be hit. But that doesn’t mean they won’t be hit, too.
“He tells me we can trust you,” Jude says to Wren.
“Hold,” Wren tells the falcons, her voice shaking a little. He can see in her face that she, despite everything, expected to find one of their blades to her throat. “Lower your weapons, and the High Court will do the same.”