Chapter 25

MY FIRST THOUGHT was that the timing of the battle had to be at least a symbolic decision in my favor because Aurora was the sword of the summer dawn. I decided to take it that way, even if it was an arbitrary choice. My second thought was that my training had just come to an abrupt end.

A flurry of activities happened after that. A tailor came to measure me—apparently they’d been working on a custom battle uniform for me to wear—and then I was ordered to go back to the mineral sauna. Marisol had brought out a secret healing stone for my last sauna session of the day.

Oliver and Jaquard came into the mineral room with me. They’d discovered who my opponent would be.

“Darion is King Periclase’s brother,” Jaquard said. “Like Periclase, he acquired spontaneous New Gargoyle blood at the Cataclysm. Unlike Periclase, Darion is able to summon full stone armor.”

“Damn,” I muttered. “So he’s thick as an ox, and he has rock armor. What kind of training’s he had?”

“Standard Duergar battle ranks,” Oliver said and paused. “And he’s been the master of arms for the past two decades.”

Ugh. That meant he was an expert in various types of weapons, as well as various flavors of hand-to-hand combat.

I leaned back against the wall of the mineral room and folded my arms. “He may not limit himself to Twilight, then.”

The two swordsmen glanced at each other.

“This is where you may have an obvious advantage,” Oliver said. “He’s definitely more comfortable with short swords. The only time he ever worked with a larger blade was in his early military days. He will be required to start the battle with Twilight, as is the custom, but he’ll probably be looking for an excuse to go to the weapons he’s comfortable with. You’re each allowed an alternate weapon on your body. Two of them if they’re shorter than a broadsword. Short swords or daggers, for example.”

“Is he allowed to just toss Twilight at any time and pull out his short sword?” I asked.

Jaquard held up his index finger. “No, and that’s the trick. He can only use an alternate weapon if you managed to knock Twilight clear of his reach.”

I tilted my gaze to the floor, thinking. “Do I try to hold him to using Twilight, a weapon he’s less comfortable with but that can potentially kill me much easier? Or let him go for the weapon he’s more skilled with but that can’t pierce my rock armor?”

“That’s the question of the day,” Oliver said. “Jaq and I have talked about it, and we think that’s a strategic decision you’re going to have to make on the battlefield.”

I looked up at the two men. “It’d be nice to have that strategy hashed out beforehand, but I think you’re right.”

“The other thing to think about is the likelihood that Oberon will call a winner before anyone gets killed,” Jaquard said. “It’s happened in every champion battle in modern history.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

He gave a small shake of his head. “No one knows for sure. Some think Oberon considers the traditional fight to the death too uncivilized for modern times.”

“But it needs to be part of your strategy too,” Oliver jumped in. “If the battle is clearly favoring either you or Darion—”

“That must factor into my decisions,” I finished. “Because if Oberon calls it early, all I need to do is show that I’m the better fighter.”

“Exactly.”

“Any other intel about Darion’s skills or weaknesses?” I asked.

“He’s got a temper,” Jaquard said. “He’s not been known to show it on the battlefield, but he’s renowned in the Duergar kingdom for his short fuse.”

One side of my mouth tilted up. “I wonder how he feels about having to fight a woman.”

“I think it’s safe to assume his attitude is what many men’s would be in this situation, if they’re not familiar with your skills,” my father said carefully. “Over-confidence. Arrogance. Perhaps he’s even insulted on some level.”

“But that’s to your advantage,” Jaquard said.

A cold, calculating smile spread over my face. “And you can be damn sure I’ll use it.”

After the mineral room, I was fitted with my battle clothing. Vera, the lead stylist who’d overseen my makeover for the trip to the Duergar kingdom, came to lend a hand.

“I didn’t know battle gear was also your department,” I said teasingly.

“Oh my goodness, it’s not,” she said. “But a warrior can still utilize style. Your opponent, and your opponent’s kinsmen, will take note of your appearance. You must give the right impression.”

I chuckled. “Fair enough.”

My outfit was made of a thick woven material that glinted with metal threads. It wasn’t quite armor—I’d never fought with the weight of true armor and didn’t want to start now—but it would offer some protection. It was tight-fitting, with extra-thick layers around my torso and back and over my thighs, shoulders, and upper arms. The sleeves extended down over the tops of my hands, with loops to go around my fingers and hold the sleeves in place. Light gloves of the same metal-laced fabric would give me protection and additional grip.

An ultralight and closefitting helmet was made of a flexible alloy with interior padding. It wouldn’t prevent getting my bell rung if I took a blow to the head, but it would keep a blade from slicing through my skull. An oblong oval opening allowed me to see unobstructed.

Shoes that looked like low-profile track sneakers had hidden metal plates over the arches and toes.

The whole getup was in the white-accented grays of the Stone Order, and it transformed me into a high-tech knight. Over it I added my scabbard that held Mort. The beat-up strap didn’t exactly match with the rest of the outfit, but the familiar pull of it across my chest and the weight of my shadowsteel spellblade made it feel complete.

I took the battle clothing off so the tailors could make a few final adjustments, and I put my regular clothes back on. Then it was off to a dinner meeting with Maxen so he could brief me on protocol.

We met in his quarters, which was a nice change from the flurry of the public spaces. We ate standing up at his kitchen counter and looking down at the tablet where he’d pulled up some images.

“This is the stadium of Oberon’s High Court,” he said, pointing at the picture. “Oberon and Titania will be in the royal box with their court and any special guests on either side and behind. The New Gargoyles will be on this side, and the Duergar on that side.”

“Do I get comped any tickets? Because I’d like them now so I can scalp them for rent money,” I said, deadpan.

He turned his sapphire gaze on me and slowly straightened. “All you have to do is say the word and you can come back to the fortress. This is your home, Petra.”

“This was my childhood home,” I said quietly. “That’s the thing. I can’t save my mother. No one was able to save her. But hunting down criminal vamps feels like the only connection I have to her. The only way to do right by her. Plus, you know how I feel about being under monarch rule every waking minute. I’ll do what I can for the Order—I am doing it—but I can’t just drop my Guild work. It’s important to me, too.”

I expected him to try his usual persuasion, but he just nodded once and went back to the tablet. He ran through a few more details.

“You and your opponent will enter the stadium through here.” He indicated a tunnel. “You’ll go to the royal box and bow. Oberon will read the rules of the challenge. Then you’ll separate to your marks, which will be chalked on the dirt.”

“No sweat,” I said. “I don’t even have to try to curtsy.”

He gave me a faint grin. “We’ve also arranged for you to stay in upgraded quarters tonight. You’ll be under guard. After the servitor attack, we just want to make sure you’re secure. The fortress is at your service, Petra. If there’s anything at all you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”

With the official duties out of the way, he seemed to relax slightly. “Can you believe you’re going to wield Aurora in front of Oberon tomorrow?” He shook his head slowly. “I mean, that’s . . . bad ass.”

I grinned. “Does it make me sound insane if I say there’s a part of me that can’t fucking wait?”

He laughed. “I’d expect nothing less from Petra Maguire.” Then he sobered somewhat. “But if anything happens to you . . .”

“I’m not going to die.” It seemed like I was saying that a lot lately.

Emmaline arrived to take me to my fancy-ass quarters, where there was a fire crackling in the fireplace of the insanely huge bedroom that featured a king-sized four-poster bed. My battle clothing was hanging in an armoire.

“Anything I can do for you tonight?” she asked, her eyes big and her expression drawn.

“For one thing, relax. Your face is making me tense.”

She snorted. “Sorry. I just want to do what I can to help.”

I took her by the shoulders. “I’m. Not. Going. To. Die.”

“No, Oberon won’t let it go that far,” she said firmly, and I got the feeling it was more to reassure herself than me.

“Get some sleep,” I said. “It’s a big day for you tomorrow, too, squire.”

Emmaline left, and I lowered the lights and stretched out on the bed, staring at the fire and running through battle scenarios in my mind. Eventually, the adrenaline of anticipation gave way to fatigue, and I slipped into the hard sleep that comes after many hours of physical training.

I awoke with a start in the dark room with the smell of a log fire hanging in the air. Purplish pre-dawn light filtered through the curtains. I pushed myself up and rolled over to check the time. Ten minutes till my quarters became a whirlwind of preparation.

By the time people began arriving, I had my shower-damp hair pulled into a tight braid that ran down the middle of my back.

Emmaline came into my bedroom to help me put on the battle clothing. She was dressed in squire’s clothing that matched the colors I wore. Her serious demeanor had returned, and her hands trembled just a little at first. But she held her chin up as she surveyed me in full battle dress, her lavender eyes fierce.

“You look like a legend,” she said sincerely.

“Now all I have to do is fight like one.”

We went out to the living room area, where it seemed like half the Order had gathered. Everyone was in formal dress, and you could practically smell the tension in the air.

The murmur of conversation went quiet as people noticed I’d emerged.

I stretched my hands in front of me, cracking my knuckles. “Seems like a good day to kick some Duergar ass,” I said loud enough to carry through the room.

There were some chuckles and a few shouts of agreement, and some of the pressure in the room dissipated.

Marisol was there, looking regal as always. Her eyes were tired, though. I couldn’t deny the larger implications of this battle for the Stone Order. It shone a spotlight on us, and it was a chance to show that we wouldn’t be pushed around by the established kingdoms. I blew out a slow breath and began pulling in my focus. Emmaline stood at my left, and the crowd allowed us some space.

Oliver appeared at my other side. “Remember your strategy, Petra,” he said to me quietly. “Remember what you talked about with me and Jaquard. Most of all, remember who you are, and know without doubt what you’re capable of. You can win this. You will win.”

I nodded, my gaze only flicking to his for a split second. I appreciated his support, but I couldn’t get emotional. This was the time to go within. For all the bravado I’d displayed the past few days, I knew there was a possibility this battle would be the last thing I ever did. Darion wasn’t going to take it easy on me. After all, his pride and his kingdom’s honor were at stake, and Periclase had originally called for my head.

I let the others float around me like a cloud as I was led out of my quarters, through the fortress, and into the gardens. I was aware of them, and the words being spoken, but kept myself apart by my silence. We’d be using the doorway there to get to Oberon’s stadium. The complete stillness of the void was a welcome though brief respite, further helping me sink into my mental preparation.

When I emerged at a doorway outside the stadium adorned with the banners of all the Fae kingdoms and orders, the New Gargoyle officials who were accompanying me lined up in formation. Emmaline went first, with me behind her and the rest marching like my own personal military.

As we filed toward the tunnel with the New Garg geometric insignia flying over it, I glanced over to see the Duergar doing the same. I caught sight of my opponent, a big man who in his battle gear appeared larger even than Periclase. Darion glowered at me. I gave him a little wink just before he disappeared from sight.

King Periclase went in right behind his brother, but not before sending me a hard, unblinking look. In the rank and file accompanying Darion, I spotted the flash of Jasper’s golden eyes. Even from a distance, I could see that his face was clouded. His eyes flicked over my battle clothing, and he gave me the slightest of nods.

I wasn’t sure what it meant—perhaps a wish of good luck? It didn’t matter. I pulled in my focus again as we marched into the tunnel.

Horns blared flourishes. My people continued on to the right, going up a staircase that would lead them to their seats. I avoided their glances, keeping my gaze forward.

Emmaline and I stayed behind, standing alone in the dark tunnel as the first warm light of dawn began to illuminate the circular open doorway ahead that led into the arena.

I slowed my breathing and curled my hands inside my gloves.

The horns went silent and then started again. A cheer went up from the crowd. Oberon had arrived.