One wish for my son’s safety.
One wish for the girls on either side of me.
And one wish for my husband’s soul, pricked through with stars as it was.
Chapter Twenty-one
Falco
I rounded the corner of my palace hallway, reaching the entrance of my bedchamber. There were no guards here, and my footsteps echoed off the marble floors. The door was wide open and something wasn’t right. Something was coming. Something was waiting.
I moved into the chamber and saw a delicate hand lying on the rug, attached to a body that seemed to be hiding behind my bed. Slowly, heart pounding, I edged around until I could see.
There before me lay Quillane. Her gold eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, and her stomach had been torn open. Crouching over her was a small, pale creature, a colourless wraith. It had its head inside Quill’s body, and it was tearing and chewing at her guts, eating her remains. The creature heard me and looked up, startled. It was Isadora, blood smearing her mouth, eyes dripping with it as she bared her teeth –
I woke with a gasp. My head pounded and I reached to clutch it. Not in the palace, in my chamber. I was in the warder prison. The bed on the other side of the cell was empty.
The dream lingered on my skin as I rose and dressed, lingered even as I made my way to the kitchens and was served a morning meal. It lingered as I called for everyone to meet in the arena, and as I spent the next hours dividing the warders and soldiers into groups and organising their training.
Figuring out who were the best fighters was a slow process, but I eventually had half a dozen strong warriors – including Brathe – to lead the groups. I wanted those who hadn’t been trained – such as the warders – to learn, and I wanted those who could fight, to fight better.
At one point Isadora appeared and my head and my heart were overlapping cloaks that did not match in colour or texture. There she was in my dream, blood-smeared, and there she was in the bed beneath me, and there she was standing in the prison. I asked her to lead a group, but she shook her head, instead watching the proceedings hawk-eyed with a knife twirling between her fingertips.
I’d never trained anyone before, but I did my best with one of the warder groups, recalling the lessons Da had given me as a child. I took them through basic self-defense, how to correctly hold weapons and find the weak spots on an enemy. ‘You want to inflict maximum damage in minimum time and effort.’
As they awkwardly ran through grappling drills I sat beside Isadora. She was leaning lazily against the wall, legs propped up before her. The dagger spun fluidly as though it had a mind of its own.
‘Alright?’
She nodded, attention squarely on the trainees
‘How would you do it?’ I asked her.
She gave a half shrug that could have meant anything.
‘Don’t you train your soldiers?’
‘I have people to do that for me.’
Right. Obviously. I had to stop imagining her army as a ragtag bunch of misfits running around in the forest. They had proven time and again that they were a ruthless, deadly force. She had forcibly taken three realms of my country, bringing them under her control using an army smaller and better trained than mine.
‘When we escape here, I will rally them and move north-east.’
I nodded. ‘I’ll do the same with this lot.’
That got her attention, at least. She flashed me an arched eyebrow. ‘This lot will get themselves slaughtered in minutes. They are no worthy force for you.’
‘They were the only ones loyal and brave enough to stand against Dren and Galia. For that they were imprisoned. They’re the worthiest of all.’
Izzy met my eyes. ‘I apologise.’
‘Iz, you don’t need to apologise to me. I think we’re a bit beyond that, don’t you?’
She returned to watching the training.
‘I wanted to talk to you about last night,’ I said. She didn’t react. ‘There’s obviously a lot … that remains. It took me by surprise and I wanted to make sure you’re alright.’
‘It was nothing,’ Isadora said. ‘Nothing but a passing moment of weakness.’
I blinked. Turned back to the arena. If last night was weakness then I was a very weak man indeed, because I still felt it now and could hardly refrain from touching her.
‘Who taught you?’ she asked, eyes still on the fighting.
‘My da.’
‘And after he died?’
‘No one. I taught myself.’
The knife stopped twirling briefly, then started again.
‘Younger sons,’ I murmured, thinking back. ‘Not born to rule, but to fight. I was never going to be Emperor. Not with two older brothers. I was to be the soldier in the family.’
‘Then they died and you spent the rest of your life playing dead.’
I looked at her. She was as cold as the knife in her hands. Pushing myself off the wall, I strode back into the middle of the arena and called for a halt.
‘I’m seeing a lot of hesitation,’ I said. ‘You hesitate and you die.’
‘It’s only sparring,’ Brathe interjected.
‘I don’t care.’ I looked around at their faces. ‘You walk into a fight – any fight – and you have to be willing to get hurt. You have to be willing to die. I know you are. So show your opponent the same respect. Fight hard. We don’t have much time so make every blow count.’
Their energy picked up after that, warders and soldiers throwing themselves wildly into the sparring bouts, doing each other a fair bit of damage. But that was good. I wanted them to feel the pain a blow could inflict. They couldn’t be frightened of it.
Sharn was by far the smallest in her group. It was obviously the first time she’d ever tried her hand at combat and she was struggling. I watched as she was slammed to the ground and pinned. I could see her frustration growing, her focus waning. She wanted it though, which I appreciated, remembering how precious she had once been.
‘Hold,’ I said, walking to her side. The man she’d been paired with – Clyde – was a head taller and much stronger through the body than she was. I knew how I’d beat him, but Sharn didn’t have my strength. I had no clue what to tell her.
Spinning, I motioned for Isadora to join me. She peered at me for a moment, expressionless. Then she wandered reluctantly over. ‘Isadora. This is Sharn. If you’d be so kind as to show her what to do with a larger opponent, we’d appreciate your expertise.’
She rolled her eyes at my saccharine manner, and I grinned. That was all I managed before she pivoted off Clyde’s thigh, flipped her body over his shoulders so that her legs were around his neck and then used the momentum of her fall to slam him so hard against the ground I wasn’t sure he’d ever get up again.
I blinked as Isadora straightened gracefully.
Clyde groaned and started struggling to his feet while Sharn cheered and I remembered how to breathe. Having Izzy kill someone wouldn’t leave a great impression on day one of training.
‘Thank you,’ I told her. ‘How about this time we try the beginner’s version, without the showing off.’
Izzy’s lips twitched as she hid a smile. She turned and motioned for a new opponent to come forward. Henrik was the largest in our group and hesitant as he stepped up to be her next training dummy. I might have chuckled at his expression had I not been so preoccupied with Isadora and her smile and –
‘Groin, throat, eyes.’ She addressed Sharn shortly.
Henrik immediately covered his groin, but Izzy went for his eyes. The moment he reached up in response to her first hit, she sent a knee to his groin, and as he doubled over she hacked his throat. Luckily, she’d only given him love-taps.
‘Obviously not in the order you announce,’ she added witheringly.
Henrik blushed, but looked quite relieved to be unscathed, while the rest of the group laughed. A few other groups had circled around to watch by this point, the women pushing their way to the front.
br /> I gestured for her to keep going.
‘Groin causes extreme pain. But if you’re being attacked by someone stronger, your only chance of survival may be the eyes. This is a vicious point of attack.’
As she looked around at the women surrounding her she was the Sparrow, in complete control.
‘Secondary vulnerable spots,’ Isadora went on bluntly, pointing each out. ‘Ankle, knee, wrist, elbow, solar plexus, collarbone, nose. Each will incapacitate. If it’s a joint, you must compromise the range of movement; broken bones or dislocated joints are optimal. The knee, from the correct angle, requires the least amount of weight to dislocate. A clean hit to the jaw could knock him out, but isn’t likely to kill. To strike a death blow, aim for the temple.’
She glanced at me. ‘As we saw last night, a bandaged hand will generate more power in your punch. Wrap your hands before a battle. But it is always preferable to fight with a weapon.’
A slightly curved, serrated dagger appeared in her hand, a wicked and beautiful weapon she had obviously found in the armoury and concealed within her shirtsleeve. I wondered how many more she had on that body. She approached Henrik once more, but this time he jerked away.
‘Relax,’ she ordered impatiently. There were a few titters from the audience.
Isadora placed the tip of the blade at his thigh. ‘A thick artery runs here. Sever it.’ She moved it to his kidneys. ‘A blow to the kidneys causes sickening pain.’ She moved the knife to his stomach. ‘Forget the stomach – a wound here kills too slowly.’ The blade slid up to his neck. ‘Cutting a throat will make them bleed, but it won’t instantly kill unless you also sever the spinal cord, so use a swift, deep incision starting from this point.’ Next she moved the blade to rest over Henrik’s heart. ‘To reach the heart, don’t go through the breastbone.’ The blade traced up to his armpit. ‘Slide in under the arm, or –’ here it moved down to his ribs, ‘– up through the ribs.’
At this she glanced at me and the knife had pierced my heart again. The pain was in my chest; Isadora’s pain, my hand pushing the blade through her ribs and into her heart, her death and my own. A lifetime ago, and also seconds. Another person who’d inflicted that fatal wound, or perhaps the real version of me, whoever he was.
I dragged my mind back to the prison. Each group was watching Isadora sum up her lesson. ‘Momentum will help you use his weight against him. But don’t let him pin you. Look for weaknesses or injuries. Use anything you can find as a weapon. In battle use the attack points to kill swiftly and move on – it’s a numbers game.’
She turned to push her way through the crowd, done with it. Applause broke out and Izzy froze as though she’d been attacked. I crossed to her side. ‘Why are they clapping?’ she muttered.
‘Because that was brilliant,’ I said with a grin.
‘Show us!’ a woman shouted. They started yelling for Izzy to demonstrate. She shook her head, trying to push away again, but they wouldn’t let her through, good-naturedly pushing her back into the middle.
‘It’s not a game,’ she said.
‘So show us,’ Sharn replied. ‘Inspire me, because I have no damned idea how I’m meant to walk into a battle being what I am.’
Isadora stared at her. ‘What you are,’ she said clearly, ‘is anything you choose to be.’
Then she moved towards Henrik. He nearly peed his pants. ‘Not with me!’
Izzy waited for an opponent to step forward. There were, unsurprisingly, no takers.
‘I’ll fight you,’ I heard myself say. As she turned to meet my eyes my heart quickened. I didn’t imagine she would agree, but then she smiled a dangerous smile. If she did not destroy me in this fight my own desire for her surely would.
A cheer broke out as our audience pressed back out of the way.
‘Weapons or no weapons?’ I asked.
She looked at me like I was an idiot.
Weapons it was, then. ‘First blood,’ I told her and she nodded.
We walked to opposite sides of the floor. I drew the twin swords and felt their weight. I breathed deeply. The palace was not my home, Sancia was not my home, not even Kaya was my true home: my swords were.
I locked eyes with Isadora across the space. She hadn’t drawn any weapons, but I knew where they hid. I’d been wondering lately if I’d be able to survive an attack from the Sparrow’s daggers. Now I would find out.
The danger would lie in the first few moments. The distance between us was to her advantage, not mine.
We readied ourselves.
Sharn shouted, ‘Begin!’
And I was running, pressing myself forward into the hail of knives. One flew straight at my head and I managed to duck to the side, straight into the path of the second knife, which I avoided by lengthening my trajectory – the brush of it was so close I felt it through my hair. The next blade was too quick to dodge, aimed straight at my sternum, but I managed to get my sword into place and cut it out of the air, doing the same for the next two daggers that knifed towards me, slicing left and then right and sprinting into the gap.
I reached her and she leapt at me in the same moment, sliding beneath me and jabbing up with her remaining knife as I sailed over, twisting mid-air to avoid being cut. I landed low and slashed backwards with both swords, watching her arch out of the way to press off her hands, launching her weight up and over in a graceful backflip. I followed swiftly, slashing at her with twin blades winking in the light. She danced backwards and to either side, watching my swords, moving so quickly it felt like she was pre-empting my movements. Damn she was fast.
I had her on the back foot, but noticed too late that this was what she wanted. She reached where one of her daggers had landed and with a fluid motion she kicked it up off the ground and into her empty hand. Without a moment’s hesitation she lunged forward beneath both my swords, slashing the knife up at my hand.
But I was quicker than she thought I was, and I’d been expecting her to do this at some point – my hands were the furthest extended parts of me, and the only unguarded spots on my body. Instead of jerking them up or to the side as she expected, I threw my whole body forward and slammed her backwards. She was thrown off her feet and rolled to the ground. I was upon her, slashing the dagger from her clasp and disarming her. I pressed forward to get the tip of my blade at the exposed flesh of her collarbone and I saw the exact hit I would make, the shallow slice of her perfect white skin –
Isadora
– and just as he was about to make contact I threw my head all the way back so his sword tip grazed my skin too lightly to spill blood, and in the same moment I slammed my boot heel up into his groin.
I heard his grunt of pain as I shot my fist up and into his wrist, sending his left sword flying. I dove to where it landed and rose to my feet.
We circled each other, both now armed with a sword.
Falco didn’t seem too bothered by my kick. He grinned. ‘I was hoping you’d do that.’
‘Too scared of my knives?’
He gave a breath of laughter and lunged forwards with a huge strike. I got my sword up in time to block it, but the impact jarred through both my arms and up into my jaw. He was way too strong to face this way. I had to either disarm him or get to one of my daggers.
We spun and slashed, blocked and jabbed and parried and hacked, dancing backwards and forwards. His footwork was beautiful – far better than mine. He angled me where he wanted, keeping me away from my fallen knives. My only chance at fighting him this way lay in my speed, and in maintaining a smaller target. But I couldn’t fool myself for long – in swordplay he was unrivalled. He blocked every one of my manoeuvres with ease, seemed to foresee every attack. I got the feeling he was playing with me, and my heart quickened not only with outrage, but with secret pleasure.
I had to get inside his arms, to where his sword couldn’t touch me.
Falco went in for a long strike to my stomach. If unblocked, it would skewer me like a pig. So I did something absurd and possi
bly suicidal. I dropped my sword.
He saw it at the last second and wrenched his arm up, dragging his own blade from its path with an urgent grunt. I curled backwards, kicking his sword from his hand. It only left his grip because he was in the throes of a completely unplanned movement, but whatever the reason, it flew up into the air and bought me time.
I used it to scramble backwards and dive headlong for one of my daggers. He used the time to dash after his fallen sword and reclaim it, and when we came at each other again I didn’t make the mistake of throwing my blade – this time I held it close as I ducked into his sword attack, curling up within the space of his arms to press my blade to his throat –
Only to realise that he had done the same thing.
We froze, our blades at each other’s necks, pressing so gently to spill a single drop of blood from each.
I was unable to hide my smile.
‘You’ve ruined me,’ he muttered, his eyes black, black, black.
I swallowed. And you me, was what I didn’t say.
Falco
It was her will. This will, my gods: a will to redefine the world, a will to deny even the ocean tide. A will that endured iron cages for years on end, that ate the raw meat of birds and sharpened their bones into weapons. That killed, but more than that – a will that fought, and practised, and learnt, when all of those things should have been impossible. That will had carried me, across so many miles of land, even when she wasn’t strong enough.
It was her defiance. A defiance that stood against the one thing no one in the world had ever dared to deny before. Defiance of a magic so old it defined our people.
It was her fury, her deadliness, the weapon she had made herself into when she could have cowered in her cage.
It was the fact that she went back for Penn, even though it would mean her capture and maybe her death.
It was her smile, rare as it may be. It was the daggers. Her red eyes. Her words when she gave them, like hiding jewels, and even more so it was her silence.