The morning of The Claming, there was a decided chill in the refectory when Xandrie came down for breakfast. She’d gotten used to eating alone in her own quarters, but now that she was a contender in The Claiming, she was to break bread with the women who’d won their preliminaries.

Saskia, who Xandrie had fought on Demelza’s behalf, was icy and aloof, which was to be expected. Xandrie had kicked Saskia’s ass; she had every right to shun her. But the fact the other women were looking down their snooty snouts at her was a bit disconcerting. She could see them sneaking glances at her and tittering. One unabashed snot even cut her off when she reached for the tongs to ladle some black pudding onto her plate. It was no accident. The woman elbowed her way around Xandrie, almost standing on Claws’ tail.

The tiger growled, low and menacing.

“Keep your beast in check.” The woman didn’t even do her the courtesy of looking at her.

“Don’t mind them.” The voice behind her was friendly, in total contrast to everyone else at breakfast. The woman – a burnished Amazon, with hair of gold and eyes that danced and smiled – held out her hand. “Janive,” she introduced herself. “I’m a friend of Demelza’s.”

Xandrie shook her hand. “What was her problem, do you think?”

“The crowd loves you, and you’re favored by the King,” Janive told her, “but you can’t expect your competitors to be happy that you’re in the mix.”

Xandrie was relieved that Janive was so frank. Pretending something wasn’t happening, when it clearly was, only made for headaches and sleepless nights. Yet something deep down told her to be careful; she didn’t quite buy Janive’s friendliness.

When they made it down to the Arena, they were met by a clerk, who said, “For this round, you’ll be fighting guards from other houses.”

Xandrie cocked her head. “How does that make any sense? No guards fight for the King’s hand.”

“It’s a test of skill. You’ll be awarded points for technique.”

She nodded; sounded fair, and she’d rather spar with guards, in all honesty. At least they didn’t look like they’d enjoy bleeding her for fun.

Xandrie took her place in the competitors’ pit, adjacent to the ring.

Saskia was first to enter. She was fast on her feet and Melnak, the blade the King had given her, sang. Xandrie studied her. She had a tell: right before she went in for the kill shot, she feigned right. Every time.

That might be useful.

The air was filled with grunts and clashes, punctuated by sighs and applause from the crowd. When Saskia and her opponent put up their swords, a page stepped forward with Saskia’s score: nine out of ten. Saskia nodded at Xandrie as she passed, but it was more of a “screw you” nod than a greeting.

Contestant after contestant took to the ring and was dispatched by the guards with ease. No one came close to Saskia’s score.

When Demelza finally stepped forward, Xandrie felt her stomach clench. Her friend assured her that her arm was healed and she’d be able to fight, but it had only been a month since Saskia had ripped into her and Xandrie was sure the palace mages didn’t have half the skill her sisters had when it came to healing. She wanted to close her eyes and look away, but honor dictated she must not. Even if Demelza failed miserably, as the women who’d gone before her had, Xandrie had to bear witness to her fierce spirit and total unwillingness to yield.

Claws nudged his head under her hand, as he always did when she was tense. She was glad of his soft, warm presence and did her best not to clench his fur in her fists each time the guard lunged at Demelza. She needn’t have worried. Demelza was every bit the kickass warrior Xandrie knew her to be. She fought with her usual ferocity and skill and left the ring with a stunning score of seven.

“Not too shabby for someone with a gimpy arm, right?” she teased her, amused by her worry.

Xandrie clutched Demelza and squeezed her tight. “I am so proud of you.”

Janive was up next. She smiled at Xandrie and Demelza on her way past, and she shed her good girl image the second the flag was dropped.

She went after her opponent with rage and skill; Xandrie could hear Vincent, who stood behind them, exclaim, and it took a lot to impress her weapons instructor, so she knew Janive must be doing well. None of them were prepared for a perfect score, though. When the page held up her card and the crowd saw a ten, they went wild.

Xandrie felt her heart thumping way up in her throat. She stepped into the ring, determined not to disgrace herself. She’d do her best, damn it. She didn’t need a ten - she just needed to get high enough to get through to the semi-final.

She didn’t dare look to the King’s box, not wanting that distraction.

She pushed the world out of her mind and drew her spirit in tight. The crowd fell away, Vincent fell away, even Rhey fell away. All she could see was her sword and her enemy. She lunged, she swiped, she tried to make the blade an extension of her arm, then her heart, remembering the dance Rhey had taught her one night, so long ago. Her footwork was shoddy compared to his, she missed as many times as she landed a hit, and she was a sweaty mess by the time the bout was over. She wanted to hang her head, but Demelza’s words rang in her ears: “Show no weakness.”

She lifted her eyes to the royal box and waited on the page. The Elders conferred for longer than usual. Was it possible to earn a negative score? She felt the shame rise and spread throughout her. The page stepped forward and turned over the card.

The crowd exploded.

Vincent ran into the ring and threw his arms around her. She could hear Demelza screaming her name, but she could hardly see for the tears. She’d scored a nine.

The rest of the afternoon zoomed by in a flurry of knives and swords, lunges and feints, but by nightfall it was decided: she, Saskia, Janive, and Althara, a woman she hadn’t even seen fight, were through to the semi-finals.

Demelza didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

The songs of victory reverberated throughout the entire compound. Xandrie was victorious and the entire city - the entire Kingdom - seemed to roar its approval.