“Attack!” roared Executus.
Without waiting for the others, Furian launched his assault on Arkades, battering him back across the sands. In practice, Executus had always held his own, teaching his sparring partners their weaknesses without seeking to punish them. But over the last few turns, Mia began to realize how much the former champion had held himself back. Arkades was a god on the sand—even with his missing leg, he moved like water, struck like thunder, stood like a mountain. His blows left the air bruised behind them, his guard knew no flaw, and he punished every mistake with a blow close to bone-breaking.
Battering Furian’s attack aside, Arkades smashed the champion onto his backside and turned on Bladesinger and Mia. The pair moved well together, Mia weaving below the taller woman’s blows and striking at Arkades’s belly and legs. She landed a passing blow to his gut, but as she twisted aside from the Red Lion’s riposte, she crashed right into a charging Furian, who’d dragged himself to his feet and thrown himself back into the fray.
“Watch your fucki—”
A wooden blade cracked across Mia’s temple, sent her flying. Arkades disarmed Bladesinger and locked up Furian’s guard, toppling the man with an elbow to the jaw. Rolling across the sand to scoop up her weapons, saltlocks flying, Bladesinger cursed as Arkades hurled both his weapons and struck her in the throat and above the heart.
He stood, empty-handed, chest heaving as he glared at the vanquished trio.
“Pitiful,” he spat.
“That stupid bitch got in my way,” Furian growled.
“O, Furian,” Mia sighed, fixing him with a withering stare. “If I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s how not to care when a dog calls me bitch.”
“Dog, am I?” Furian rose out of the dust, Mia standing just as swift.
“Enough!” Arkades barked.
The pair hung still, eyes locked and poised to strike. Mia could feel her shadow straining at its edges, like water behind a dam. If she weren’t holding it in check, she knew without a doubt it would be reaching across the sand toward Furian’s own, hands twisted to claws. Her teeth were gritted, and she fought for calm, blinking the sweat from her eyes. For her to lose her grip here, for everyone to mark her for what she was …
“Enough sparring for one turn,” the executus declared. “Crow, Bladesinger, go work the woodmen. You must strike harder if you’re to break the silkling’s guard. Furian, attend your footwork. You need better pace to best this foe.”
Mia and Furian glared at each other, not moving a muscle.
“Move!” Arkades roared.
Bladesinger gathered up her fallen swords and marched across the yard, began furiously battering the training dummies. Mia followed slower, narrowed eyes still aimed at Furian, feeling cold hate burn along with the sickness and hunger she felt in her belly whenever he was near.
Pigheaded fucking idiot …
Taking up position beside Bladesinger, Mia pictured Furian’s head atop her woodman, started beating it mercilessly. Sweat soaked her skin, bangs hanging in her eyes as she smashed her blade into its belly, chest, shit-eating face.
“You’re going to get me killed,” Bladesinger muttered, shaking her head.
“It’s Furian sowing discord, not I.”
“It’s the pair of you,” the woman spat. “I don’t know why you don’t just find a nice dark corner to fuck in and get it over with.”
Mia scoffed. “I’d rather have Butcher slip his cock into me.”
“Then what lies between you two?” Bladesinger paused to bind her floor-length saltlocks up. “Your tongues spit venom but your eyes never stray far from the other.”
Mia knew the woman spoke truth. She’d have bested that silkling if not for Furian’s interference. Instead she’d taken a public beating and Leona had lost all chance at patronage among the Stormwatch marrowborn. And yet …
She couldn’t deny it. Despite her tangle of feelings for Ashlinn, she was drawn to Furian. And though the Unfallen was doubtlessly attractive, this was something beyond desire. Something bone-deep. The same thing she’d felt when Lord Cassius was near her. Something beyond lust and more like … longing. Like an amputee for her missing limb. Like a puzzle, searching for a piece of itself.
But why?
Cleo had spoken of it in her journal. Walking the earth, being drawn to other darkin as a spider to a fly, and then …
… then eating them.
But what the ’byss did that mean?
“The many were one. And will be again; one beneath the three, to raise the four, free the first, blind the second and the third.
“O, Mother, blackest Mother, what have I become?”
Mia shook her head, spat into the dust.
“I’ve no fucking clue,” she said.
“Well, you’d best ponder on it, and fashion a solution,” Bladesinger warned. “Because if we step into a contest for our lives the way we are now? All three of us will be sitting by the Hearth before truelight, little Crow.”
The woman began beating the strawman again, eyes narrowed. Mia stared at Furian across the yard, her belly tangled in hateful knots.
“There’s no reasoning with him. I’ve tried before. He’s an ignorant fool.”
Crack! went Bladesinger’s sword against her target.
“Furian is many things,” she grunted. “Stubborn, perhaps. Arrogant, most definitely. But never a fool.”
“Bollocks.” Mia struck her woodman’s neck. “Have you ever tried talking to him?”
“O, aye,” Bladesinger nodded. “Like bashing your head against a stone wall. Honor.” Crack! “Discipline.” Crack! “Faith. These are the principles that define him. But above all, the Unfallen is a champion, and you are a threat to that.” The woman shrugged. “The greatest gulf between people is always pride, little Crow.”
Mia sighed, glanced over at Furian.
“That sounds suspiciously like wisdom to me.”
Crack! went Bladesinger’s sword against her target.
“Not mine,” she grunted. “It’s from the Book of the Blind.”
Mia stabbed at her woodman’s chest. “Isn’t that old Liisian scripture?”
“Aye,” Bladesinger nodded. “I know it by heart. We had to read holy texts from all over the Republic.” Crack! Crack! “The suffi at Farrow like you to have a worldly perspective before you’re inducted into the order. Know the world, know yourself.”
Mia tilted her head, looked sidelong at her comrade. It made sense now. The full-body tattoos. The singing she occasionally heard under Bladesinger’s door.
“… You were a priestess?”
“Just a novice.” Crack! “Never got to take my final vows.”
“Then what the ’byss”—Crack! Crack!—“are you doing here?”
Bladesinger shrugged. “Pirate raid. A quick sale. A common tale.”
Mia shook her head, sickened. “Too fucking common.”
“The suffi named it so”—Crack!—“when I was born.”
Mia bent double, hands to her knees as she panted.
Black Mother, this heat …
“Named it so?”
Bladesinger stopped drubbing the woodman, wiped the sweat from her brow. “Do you know how Dweymeri are named, little Crow?”