“I still need it,” I whispered, and drew my sword. The blade was clean, but the steel was melted and lumpy on one edge.
“That poor blade. Do you even feel bad?” He eyed it with a look of feigned disappointment.
“I blame the snake-lizard. And maybe this other person who called himself Black Knife. He promised lessons and never delivered, so I’ve had to use the one trick I know.”
“And that is?”
“Putting the appropriate end in my opponent every time.”
Tobiah drew his sword and allowed the light to glint off the flat of his blade. “Maybe he can make it up to you now.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re not Black Knife. Everyone knows Princess Wilhelmina is that awful vigilante.”
He lunged to attack; I lifted my blade to block. “Everyone doesn’t know that. A lot of the city people believe you are”—his blade slid off mine with a shing—“but there’s quite the rumor spreading that while Wilhelmina was in the wraithland, Black Knife was still in Skyvale.”
“Outrageous! Untrue!” I twisted my sword down for a slice across his flank, but he pulled away.
“I’ve heard Black Knife isn’t as good as he used to be.” Tobiah aimed for my chest, forcing me back a step as I hurried to block. There was no time to flick my little finger at him, because he thrust toward my stomach; I dodged.
We traded blows, attacking and blocking slowly as we warmed up. The sound of our blades clashing filled the room.
“I really was looking for you tonight,” he said between blows. “Patrick and the Red Militia—have taken Aecor City. Sandcliff Castle is his.”
His.
No, Sandcliff Castle was meant to be mine. Gritting my teeth, I attacked Tobiah’s side, breaking our rhythm. “What happens now?”
He blocked the stroke with ease. “My uncle rides for Aecor in three days.”
“With an army?” I attacked his chest, but he parried and moved inside my guard.
“With an army.” The point of his blade rested at my throat, and neither of us moved. “It’s not ideal, but it’s the decision I have to make as king, and the action he has to take as overlord.”
“And what action do you suggest I take as the rightful heir to the vermilion throne?”
“I know what you are. Everyone knows.” He lowered his sword and stepped close, so we were only a breath apart. “But the Indigo Kingdom conquered Aecor during the One-Night War. It belongs to me, and to my uncle, and as much as I want you to have your kingdom, we both must wait.”
“Until when? Until the barrier is built? Until the wraith has flooded the Indigo Valley? Until there’s nowhere to go but Aecor? I imagine my kingdom will be very useful to you then.” I clenched my jaw.
His tone softened. “You know that’s not how our Wraith Alliance works.”
“Then when?” I asked.
“When we are all ready.”
“Your uncle will only relinquish the title of overlord when he’s acquired the one he truly wants.” The memory of our conversation at the coronation ball made me shudder.
“Did something happen?” He searched my eyes and read the truth. “He said something to you?”
“He doesn’t need Aecor if he has the Indigo Kingdom, does he?” My grip on my sword tightened. “Not that he’d ever give up Aecor. If the barrier doesn’t work, Aecor is too valuable.”
“What did he say?”
“He offered Aecor for the truth of your recovery. To malign you.”
In the long pause that followed, I waited for him to ask whether I’d taken the deal, but he just shook his head. “Then perhaps it’s best he’s going away.”
Perhaps this was a bad time to tell him I was going away, too.
Tobiah sheathed his sword and rubbed his temples. “I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me.”
“I told you I was going to ignore him.”
“That’s not trust, Wilhelmina.” He took a long breath. “If you think that trusting someone—allowing them to help you by performing their own duties honorably—somehow makes you less, then it might be time to reexamine yourself. Start asking why you need to do everything. How can you really be close to someone if you never let them in?”
“Forgive me if I find that difficult.” My hand ached from gripping my sword hilt. “It isn’t easy to trust or be close to someone when the person I love won’t even follow his own heart.”
Oh, saints. I’d said that out loud. And now the words hung between us, heavier than the dust motes of his past.
His expression stiffened into that proud, bored mask he’d worn as a prince, and he spun and strode toward the door.
For a stuttering heartbeat, I almost let him go.
But I took a step after him, and my fingertips brushed his sleeve. We both stopped moving. “I want to trust you. It’s just that everyone I’ve ever trusted has betrayed me in some way. Even”—not you—“Black Knife.”