Falcon stared at him. He was a delegate from Guavea, one of the wealthier districts in the city. “I said your boy would learn to fight with honor,” Falcon replied, keeping his tone even.
The man shook his head. “There is no honor in defeat,” he spat.
“Not the way you’re doing it,” Falcon said. Behind the man, his son stared dejectedly at his feet, his eyes still wet.
“I will see you are stripped of your job.”
“Do as you will,” Falcon said, turning away. Despite his confident response, he felt a shred of fear enter him. It was not an empty threat coming from this particular delegate. He held some sway with a large portion of the other delegates, and might very well be able to follow through. Falcon enjoyed his job, and didn’t want to lose it. He also wasn’t certain of whether the man was referring to his other job, too. Being an ambassador was something he loved equally. To lose both in a single moment would pain him greatly.
Don’t think about it, he thought. Think about your students. This isn’t about you or that bitter man. This is about them.
His next two students emerged from the circle victorious, and it brought a swell of new excitement from his group. They had a short break, and he led them to watch one of the other bouts, between one of Shanti’s girls and a boy fighting in the style of phen lu. The battle lasted the better part of an hour as the boy was content to defend against the graceful attacks by Shanti’s student.
Falcon pointed out the various techniques used by a practictioner of phen sur. At the same time, he watched in wonderment as the techniques once known as not more than a dance came alive in the form of beautiful yet powerful attacks. If not for Sonika Vaid’s vision all those years ago, they might not be here today.
Finally, the young girl found an opening in the boy’s defenses and slipped through like water through a sieve, taking him down and pinning him. A subdued cheer arose from Shanti’s students, while more raucous celebration erupted from the area of the audience that was likely made up of the girl’s relatives and friends.
Falcon’s gaze was drawn away by a commotion in another portion of the crowd. A fistfight of sorts had begun, but was quickly ended when two of Sonika’s Black Tears arrived on the scene, dragging the men apart. Falcon sighed. Why do people have to ruin things?
He glanced back and found Shanti had ushered her students away from the scene. He followed her example and did the same.
The tension was high. Most, if not all, of the students from each school had been eliminated. Falcon was proud to have two combatants remaining. The girl, Ava, and a tall rail-thin boy named Ko who was much stronger than he looked. Shanti had only one competitor, the same girl who had outlasted the boy before the commotion had occurred. Since then, the crowd had been remarkably subdued, though it felt like the calm before a storm as the stakes grew.
There was no monetary prize for the victor, but that mattered little to these Phanecians. For them, it was all about pride and victory. For their children. For their districts. Phanecians had long held battle and war as a measure of their identity. Now that there was relative peace across the Four Kingdoms, the annual tournament was the closest thing they had to that old life.
Falcon watched as Shanti’s lone student dismantled a very capable competitor from one of the outer districts. She did so with ease, which led Falcon to believe she’d been holding back previously. She was just warming up before, he realized. It was just like Shanti, he knew, to counsel her best fighter to lull her competitors into a false sense of security. Like a spider in a web, waiting patiently.
When the fight was over, the girl walked back to her master, who spoke to her in quiet tones. There was no celebration. None of the usual excitement that came with victory. Only a gritty determination that showed neither female believed one win was enough. They wanted more.
Falcon chuckled inwardly. They’re just children, he thought. Just as quickly, he chided himself for his naivety. Not in this context. Today they are a political statement. It was sad, but true. He shook his head, hoping he would be able to shield them from such undertones.
Ko was defeated in the next fight, barely. The boys had been evenly matched, and if not for the smaller boy’s superior speed it might’ve turned out differently. “You fought bravely,” Falcon said as the boy walked up. “You should be proud.”
“I am,” Ko said with a thin smile. “But my father will not be satisfied.”
Falcon’s temper flared as he watched the boy’s father scold him. He began play-acting the end of the fight, showing the boy what he should’ve done, how he could’ve fought better.
There was a time for learning from one’s errors, Falcon knew, but it wasn’t now. Now the boy should be congratulated on how far he’d come in the tournament. Then, once the dust had settled, he could be taught. Falcon planned to do just that, if he still had a job on the morrow.
Next up was Ava and another student of phen ru. As was typical of such a matchup, the contest was a flurry of action, each competitor wasting no time in going on the attack, landing several heavy blows that left them both bloodied, whipping the crowd into a frenzy. C’mon, Falcon thought as they circled, both breathing heavily. The thought came from the knowledge only a master could have of his student. That she was faking it. Never had he seen Ava winded, for she was as well-conditioned as any in his group.
On cue, she went on the attack again, well before the boy was ready. A student of phen lu could likely have blocked the high kick, and a practitioner of phen sur might’ve danced lithely out of reach, but this boy was neither, attempting, too late, to launch a high attack of his own. While Ava’s foot thudded heavily against his jaw, his own kick glanced harmlessly off her shoulder. She spun with the impact, sweeping her opposite leg along the ground and taking out his legs from behind. He tumbled backwards and she fell upon him, her legs pinched around his throat. Unable to speak, he tapped the ground three times in submission and Ava released him.
Falcon’s students, along with a hardy portion of the crowd, erupted in a cheer. By their very nature, those who would be otherwise neutral tended to drift toward phen ru because of the action-packed nature of the art.
Falcon hugged Ava as the boys patted her back. She had represented them all, and done so well. Let them take my job after this, Falcon thought. Having a student reach the finale was no easy feat.
He glanced up to find Shanti watching him. There was something in her eyes that gave him pause. He’d seen that look before, many years ago. He’d wanted to see that look for so long it took his very breath away. But then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by a half-smile and a nod of congratulations. I imagined it, Falcon thought, feeling foolish. It was just like him to romanticize everything. Not everything is one of your stories.
He nodded back and then returned his focus to Ava, who would have a brief rest before taking on Shanti’s final student. “Winning or losing,” he said, “matters not.”
“Master?” Ava said, scrunching her face into a frown. She was full Phanecian, her mother a delegate from Gem City and her father a nut farmer. Her hair was as black as jet, and yet her eyes were darker and full of intensity. “You think I don’t know that? You have taught us as much all year. I will fight with honor, and let the gods decide if it is enough.”
Although everything the girl said was true, Falcon was taken aback. For some reason, he never believed his words penetrated his students’ young minds. Perhaps it was because he could never seem to get through to Shanti. Still, hearing the pure unabashed honesty coming from Ava, his champion now, was like a light in a storm. “Thank you,” he said. “Now enjoy the moment and do us proud.”
“I will.” She stepped into the circle.
If Ava was the power and strength of thunder and lightning, Shanti’s warrior was the quiet, graceful might of the wind. As such, neither could gain an advantage. Each time Ava attempted a direct assault, her opponent would find a way to escape, acrobatically in many cases. And when the girl tried
to slip past Ava’s lethal hands and feet, Ava would dive roughly away, willing to accept the minor scrapes and bruises to avoid taking a blow.
The crowd was growing restless, the sun beating down on the spectacle. After an hour, Falcon could see that Ava was finally growing weary. Her opponent wasn’t much better off, her chest heaving, her face dripping sweat. One of them would make a mistake eventually, sooner rather than later given their exhaustion.
But they never had the chance.
At first, the scream didn’t register in Falcon’s brain. Though it was loud and piercing, he’d grown used to the raucous crowd. But this was different, he finally realized, frowning, slowly turning to try to discern the origin.
The scream was repeated, and everything froze for one moment as a hushed silence fell over the crowd. A body fell, flung over a balustrade from high above the courtyard.
The body bounced off the edge of one of the, steps, tumbling the rest of the way in a jarring manner that made it look less human than inanimate object. The crowd at the base of the staircase scattered, the corpse landing with a final thud, unseeing eyes staring directly into the sun.
By the gods, Falcon thought, trying to understand what had happened, still not comprehending what his subconscious had realized the moment the woman fell.
For her cheeks were marked with black tears. Which could only mean one thing:
This was no accident.
The moment passed, sucking away the silence in a cacophony of screams, which seemed to arise all around. More bodies fell from above, while men wielding swords rushed down all seven of the palace staircases that led to the courtyard. Falcon was weaponless, as were his students. As was everyone at this event—Sonika’s Tears had been thorough in their search at the entrance gates.
As Falcon shepherded his students behind him, he watched in horror as the men killed without mercy or bias, striking down men, women and children with ruthless focus. If chaos and murder were their objective, they had already succeeded on both counts.
Falcon’s one and only objective was to protect the students he’d been charged with teaching, so his stomach dropped to his feet when he saw Ava trying to fight through the stampeding throng to get to him. Just behind her was a large man swinging an axe, cutting down people as easily as hacking through a field of weeds.
Falcon sprang forward, shoving several people aside in the process, watching as Ava sensed the danger behind her, turning just in the nick of time, ducking under a swipe of the man’s axe, instinctively lashing out with a foot, connecting solidly with his knee, a blow that would’ve crippled a smaller man. As it was, he absorbed the impact with the barest of cringes before grabbing her by the throat and lifting her into the air, drawing his axe back for a life-ending blow.
Falcon launched himself in front of her, clutching the shaft of the axe and shoving it harmlessly down, where it sparked as it struck the stonework.
The transition from proud master to soldier occurred far swifter than Falcon could’ve ever imagined. Yes, he’d often had nightmares from the Fall of All Things, but he’d never allowed any of it to spill into real life. He counted himself lucky in that regard, as many of the Phanecians who had fought and survived on that day had been less fortunate, the memories of battle dragging them slowly down into madness.
In less than the time it took his foe to blink, he’d disarmed him and driven his own weapon deep into his chest. The man gasped, a look of surprise flashing across his expression, and then he fell, blooding bubbling from his lips.
“Go!” Falcon shouted to Ava, and she didn’t need to be told twice, scurrying away to find her fellow trainees.
The nature of the crowd was slowly changing. Those who fled—the parents and friends of the students—separated from those who stepped forward, toward danger rather than away. Falcon felt a thrill rush through him as he realized the composition of defenders. Black Tears and masters of the martial arts, all of them. The attackers—who were clearly the rebels who’d been wreaking havoc across the realm—gathered before them might’ve been masters of one art or another, but they were the invaders. The dead lay all around their feet.
Falcon saw the man who had threatened him lying in a pool of blood. Despite their differences, he felt sad.
Why must differences always end in violence?
Sonika Vaid stepped up beside Falcon. He glanced at her and she said, “For old times’ sake?”
Something about the lightness of her comment in the midst of such darkness gave him strength. “Yes,” he agreed.
On his opposite side, Shanti appeared. He had the urge to order her back to safety, but he would not do her such a disservice. He was no longer the emperor—hadn’t been for many years—and anyway, she was more capable than he in so many ways, combat included. “Sorry I missed the last battle,” she said. “Mind if I join this one?”
Sonika snorted out a laugh. Falcon said, “First one to kill ten is the winner.”
“Only ten, Falc?” Shanti said, and he could’t help but to love the familiarity between them. “Looks like you’ll come in last place.”
The men pressed forward now, so he didn’t have time for a retort, gripping the handle of the axe he’d stolen, wishing his ankles and wrists were strapped with blades.
The attackers charged, and soon the clash of steel on steel filled the air, many of the combatants springing lithely off hands and feet, twisting and turning acrobatically throught the air.
Falcon slid beneath one such aerial attack, his foe’s blade slashing at his throat but missing wildly. Falcon turned and swung at the man’s legs as he landed, cutting them out from under him. He went down with a cry, dropping his own weapon. Falcon had the awareness to whip back around as another attack came from the back. A blade slashed against the shaft of the axe as he brought it up to defend himself. There was a vicious crack, but the shaft held strong enough to save his life. Still, it was broken beyond further use so he flung it down. Instead of fleeing like his opponent might expect, he threw himself forward recklessly, punching him sharply in the face thrice in short succession before wrenching the sword from his grip.
A single slash and the man died. Falcon spun, seeking out his next enemy, but found most of them were down already. Several of the defenders had fallen too, but—
Not Sonika, who was finishing off the last of the rebels. And—
Not Shanti, who drew her blade out of the chest of a man, tossing it aside with an expression akin to disgust. Falcon exhaled slowly, taking in the carnage around him. Rebels and innocents alike were scattered across the courtyard, and he couldn’t help but remember that day all those years ago. Then, Roan Loren had used his lifemark to save hundreds who would’ve died. Today, however, there was no saving them.
Is any of this world worth fighting for? he thought, hating the defeatist nature of his own mind. They finally had peace and yet there were still those who were not satisfied. So long as there were differences of opinion, there would be violence and unrest. That was reality. That was the harsh truth of a world he loved most of the time.
Not now. Now he hated it. Now he wanted to curl up in his bed with a book and hide from it in someone else’s story. Now he wanted—
Shanti collided with him so hard he dropped his blade, nearly impaling his own foot.
Her arms wrapped around him and she squeezed to the point where he found it hard to breathe. Not that he cared. Not that he would ever care if he breathed again, so long as Shanti was in his arms.
And then, as swiftly as she had arrived, she pulled away, striding off in the direction of the palace gates. Most likely, he suspected, she was going to check on her students, a faithful teacher to the end.
Later that night, Falcon found he couldn’t escape into the pages of a book like he’d hoped. He kept reliving the horrifying scenes of the rebel attack. And, though he knew it was selfish, he kept reliving the warmth of Shanti’s body pressed against his as she hugged him.
Every half hour he would ch
eck her cave, but she had yet to return.
His stomach grumbled, but doing something as mundane as preparing supper felt inappropriate under the circumstances. He wouldn’t die from missing a meal. Those who’d already perished on this day would never get to eat again.
A form appeared at the entrance to his cave and his heart skipped a beat.
“Shanti,” he said, her name sounding like a prayer on his lips.
She didn’t move, just stood there, watching him. “I—I’m sorry,” she said.
Falcon tried to understand her words. What could she possibly be apologizing for? Before he could respond, however, she continued. “Have I ever told you that?”
“I—I don’t know.” He rose to his feet, the stone ground cool against his heels. He felt strange, like his body wasn’t his own.
“I should have. Many times. I wanted to. I needed to. But apologizing to you felt cheap. As if a word could make up for my many sins.”
“Shanti, you don’t—”
“No,” she interrupted. “You don’t get to excuse my mistakes. Not anymore. They are mine to bear, and only I get to decide when my penance is done.”
“That’s not what I was going to say,” Falcon said. “You already know how I feel about the past—there’s no need to repeat myself.”
Shanti finally stepped forward, into the lanternlight. Falcon’s breath caught. Gods, she’s beautiful. He wanted to run to her, to touch her, to make certain she was real. It took all his effort to anchor himself in place. I won’t ruin what we have. That hug was nothing, just a gut reaction to a near-death experience. We cannot touch ever again. Not like that.
“What were you going to say?” Shanti asked.
Falcon’s head swam. He couldn’t remember. Oh. Yes. “I was going to say that I should apologize too.”
“For what?”