She stumbled over a rock, and Jaevin tapped her leg. Vino roared, his scales shining blood red in the sun. Four strikes. None to her. One more from him and they’d be done.
“A short break,” Master Jaevin called. “Water, please.”
Ezaara slumped onto a rock.
“Well done, Ezaara,” Adelina called out. “He’s already beaten all of us, so you’re in excellent company.” A ripple of laughter floated across the arena.
Even though they weren’t laughing at her, Ezaara wanted more. They had to take her seriously. Everyone had to see that she could fight, lead them, think strategically. If she were to lead them, they needed to feel confident in her abilities. She had to land a blow on Jaevin—and soon.
Roberto brought Ezaara a waterskin. She drank deeply, wiping her mouth while he held her sword. “Thank you,” she gasped. “I needed that.”
“Think strategically,” Roberto mind-melded.
She nodded, too tired to reply.
“Come on, Ezaara. What’s his biggest weakness?”
“Jaevin’s fast, but he sometimes keeps his left side open. I’ll try to use that move you used on me the other day.” Roberto had repeatedly slipped his blade past her guard, tapping her forearm. She took another swig of water.
“It’ll impress him if you can carry it off.” Roberto’s eyes rested on her face a moment longer than necessary before he passed her sword to her, took the waterskin, and went back to the sidelines.
Impressing Jaevin was no small order. She was up against the most practiced swordsman in the realm.
“Go, Ezaara!” Adelina and Gret pumped their fists in the air. Cheers broke out. Lofty was the only one who’d ever cheered for her at home. These riders wanted her to do well. She had to try. Mustering her determination, Ezaara stood to face Jaevin.
A deep note rang out from Lars’ horn.
Ezaara leaped forward, but Jaevin was already there, aiming a blow at her chest. She parried, sword ringing, and lunged. He deflected her blade. She ducked low, feinting to Jaevin’s left and leaped to his right. His side was open. She thrust up, hard. He twisted, sword flashing, but he was too late. Her blade hit his forearm.
Caught by the sun, red droplets sprayed through the air as he drove his sword across her blade, flicking the sword out of Ezaara’s hand. Her blade clattered to the stone.
Dragon’s fangs! She’d swung so hard, the blunted blade had cut him.
Vino roared, counting her first strike. But the crowd was silent—she’d injured a master.
Belly hollow, Ezaara gasped. “Sorry, Master Jaevin.”
He grimaced. “Good hit. A little too much force for training, but it’s only a scratch. I’ll survive.”
It was more than a scratch—although not a deep gash—but was bleeding impressively. Perhaps he was a bleeder, whose blood didn’t clot properly.
“When unevenly matched, use more leverage,” Master Jaevin said. “Strike with the strong part of your sword against my tip. Now, pick up your sword, Ezaara, and keep fighting. A tharuk wouldn’t show you any mercy.”
She snatched up her blade.
Blood running down his arm, Jaevin fought with a ferocity that made her knees tremble. Again and again, he struck and she blocked.
Blood ran down his hilt, drops flying—so much blood for such a small cut.
Her arms ached. Her legs were tired. If she faltered now, he’d strike her again—the last strike.
“Steady,” Roberto murmured.
She rallied, blocking the master’s blows.
Gradually, Jaevin slowed. A sheen of sweat coated his face. His strikes weren’t as strong as before. Face pale, Jaevin leaped onto a rock, deftly flinging his sword from his right hand to his left, then jumped back down to engage her.
Even using his left hand, he was good, but definitely weaker than before and tiring too fast. Ezaara parried him easily. She drove him back. He stumbled.
Lips tinged blue, Jaevin’s breathing rasped as he lifted his blade to strike her—and dropped it, clutching at his chest.
“Master Jaevin, are you all right?” Ezaara sheathed her sword and leaped forward to support him.
Pale. Blue-tinged lips. Rasping breath. The edges of his gash were puckered and he was bleeding way too much. Dread filled her. Dragon’s bane—it had to be.
But who had poisoned him? Amid murmurs from the crowd, Ezaara lowered Jaevin to the ground, positioning him against a rock.
She picked up her ceremonial blade, examining the tip. Despite the bloody end, the blade glistened with a clear substance. She sniffed it. Yes, it was Dragon’s bane. Deadly if not treated. She had the remedy in her healer’s pouch, back in her cavern.
“Unhand him!” A shrill voice yelled. Fleur.
“It’s dragon’s bane. He needs—”
Sofia yelled, “Another victim. She wants us all dead!”
“She’s Zens’ spy!” Alban joined in.
“Get away from him.” Rushing over, Fleur knelt beside Jaevin. “Poison!” She pointed at Ezaara. “Seize her. She’s poisoned the master of the sword.”
If they didn’t listen to her, Jaevin would die. “No, you don’t underst—”
The blue guards grabbed Ezaara’s arms.
In a flash, Roberto’s sword tip was at a guard’s throat. “Unhand the Queen’s Rider,” he demanded.
Within a heartbeat, Tonio leveled his dagger at Roberto. “You’re threatening the blue guards?” he asked in a deadly-soft voice.
“They’re threatening the Queen’s Rider,” Roberto snapped.
“Who has poisoned the swordmaster,” Fleur barked, bent over Jaevin.
This was crazy. They were all at each other’s throats. “Stop,” Ezaara called. “There’s been a misunderstanding. Jaevin needs—”
Zaarusha roared and swept down from the outcrop, thudding to the arena. “Don’t worry, Ezaara, this is preposterous. I’ll sort it out.”
Lars blew the horn as Singlar landed. “Order,” Lars yelled. “Order, now!”
Everyone froze.
Shards, these riders had discipline.
“Stand down, Tonio and Roberto,” Lars barked. They sheathed their weapons, glowering at each other. “Fleur, take Jaevin to the infirmary at once and purge this poison from him.”
“Yes, Master Lars. I won’t rest until I
