I kept my pace slow and steady and concentrated on the feel of my mom’s sword in my hand, more determined to win than ever before. As Devon had said, this was my chance to take something from the Draconis for a change, especially from Victor, and I wasn’t about to screw it up by not paying attention to what mattered most right now.
My opponent.
Deah reached the stone ring before I did, her sword down and out by her side, just like mine was. Sunlight glinted off her weapon, and I finally got a good look at the symbols carved into the sword.
Stars covered the black blade.
I blinked, wondering if I was imagining things, but I wasn’t. Five-pointed stars covered the blade of her sword, clustered together in tight groups, just the way they were on mine, almost as if her weapon was a twin to my own.
Or a sword that a mother had passed down to her daughter.
Shock zipped through me. My heart clenched tight, and in that instant, I knew that everything Seleste said was true. She was my aunt, which made Deah my cousin, and Deah had a Sterling Family sword to prove it.
More and more questions crowded into my mind. Mo . . . he had to know about this. So did Claudia. After all, they’d been friends with my mom and Seleste. So why hadn’t they ever told me about Seleste and Deah?
But I pushed all the questions and revelations aside. Just because we shared the same DNA didn’t make us family. Not really. It didn’t matter if I was related to Seleste and Deah. It didn’t have any bearing on the tournament at all. Because Deah was my opponent, the person standing between me and what I wanted, and I wasn’t about to go easy on her just because some secret had been dragged out into the light.
So I stepped forward and listened to the official go through the rules a final time, even though everyone had already heard them before. Deah looked up at the Draconi box, and so did I. Seleste was sitting there, front and center, and she gave a big, cheery wave to her daughter before her gaze moved to me. She hesitated, then waved at me as well, although not as enthusiastically.
Victor was also in the box, sitting and talking to Blake, the two of them totally ignoring Deah, even though this was her big moment. Or maybe they were so sure she was going to win that they didn’t even have to watch the match.
I looked into Deah’s eyes, feeling all of her tight, pinching hurt. She desperately wanted her father’s love and approval, and she never felt she had it, no matter what she did or how much she accomplished. Not even now, when she was in the spotlight, poised to bring such glory to the Draconis and win the Tournament of Blades for the third straight year.
It made me feel sad for her.
My mom might be dead, but she’d never ignored me the way Victor and Blake were ignoring Deah. She might still have both her parents, but in her own way, she was as alone as I was. Katia had been wrong. Deah Draconi didn’t win at everything, and she certainly didn’t have everything.
She didn’t have very much at all.
Seleste noticed that Victor and Blake were ignoring Deah, so she waved to her daughter again, a big, happy smile on her face. I sensed that some of the hurt eased in Deah’s heart, and she waved back to her mom. Then she dropped her gaze from the box and focused on her sword, swinging it around and around in her hand, gearing up for the fight.
I stared up at Seleste, and she looked at me again. Our gazes locked, letting me feel her aching desperation for me to throw the match and let Deah win. I wondered why it was so important and why she thought it was the only way that Deah and I could save each other. Even if I did throw the match, it wasn’t like Deah and I would automatically become besties. It wasn’t like we would ever be friends. Not when she was a Draconi and I was a Sinclair.
Not when her father had murdered my mother.
So I turned away from Seleste and looked over at the Sinclair box. Devon, Felix, Claudia, Angelo, Reginald, and Mo were all up there, with Oscar zip-zip-zipping around faster than ever before. All of them were looking at me, grinning, clapping, and flashing me thumbs-ups, but I focused on Devon. Our gazes locked, and his warm pride filled me from head to toe. Win or lose, friends or something more, he’d always be there to support me.
That knowledge shattered the last part of the shell around my heart, letting all the feelings I had for Devon pour in. I just stood there, with all these emotions flooding my body. Warm happiness. Rock-hard certainty. And a hot, dizzying rush that made my heart soar. But for once, they weren’t someone else’s emotions—they were mine.
Once again, Devon had stormed past all of my defenses without even trying, just by being the good guy that he truly was. Word by word, smile by smile, thoughtful thing by thoughtful thing, Devon had chipped away at the cold, brittle shell that coated my heart, the one that had encased it ever since my mom had died. I wanted to tell him that—and so much more.
But now wasn’t the time for Devon and me, so I dropped my gaze from his and focused on Deah again.
“Good luck,” she said in a soft voice. “May the best fighter win.”
“Yeah,” I said, tightening my grip on my sword. “You too.”
The official lifted his hand, then dropped it.
Deah and I both raised our weapons and charged at each other.
My sword met Deah’s, the resulting clang so loud that you could hear it throughout the stadium. This wasn’t just about two people fighting each other to win a contest; it was representative of our two Families fighting as well, and the epic clash that had been going on between the Sinclairs and Draconis for years.
Deah and I stood in the middle of the stone ring, our swords locked together, each one of us trying to throw the other off, neither one of us having any success. Neither of us had speed or strength Talents, so we were evenly matched. I’d have to fight her with my wits and skills, like I had Devon.
I didn’t have a problem with that.
Finally, we both backed off, untangling our swords and circling around and around each other. Then we both charged at each other again, whipping our swords back and forth, and back and forth, and falling into the steps we’d both danced to a thousand times before.
All the while, the crowd was going crazy, cheering, yelling, clapping, and screaming with every move Deah and I made, with every clang of our swords and every smash of our feet in the trampled grass. This was the last match of the tournament, and they wanted it to be a good one. Well, I planned to give them their money’s worth—before I beat Deah.
But the longer we fought, the brighter Deah’s blue eyes glowed, and the more her movements became exactly like . . . mine. The way she held her sword, the way she moved, even the snarl of her lips—it was all like a mirror image of myself—and I realized that she was using her mimic power.
The cold chill of her magic radiated off her body, and my own transference power stirred weakly in response. But unless she actually used her power on me in some tangible way—hit me, tripped me, whatever—then I couldn’t absorb her magic and use it against her. I couldn’t use her magic to make myself stronger. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but I found it more frustrating than ever before because if I was just a little bit stronger, I could overpower her and win the match.
So the fight dragged on . . . and on . . . and on....
Since I was more or less fighting myself at this point, I couldn’t win, but neither could Deah. One minute passed, then two, then three, and we fought on, both of us starting to suck wind. With every blow we landed, the crowd gasped, thinking that this was going to be the moment when one of us cut the other and drew first blood. But I blocked her blows, and she thwarted mine, and the fight raged on.
But the longer we fought, the more I realized I had one small advantage over Deah. She might be able to use her Talent to mimic my every move, but she didn’t actually have my magic. She didn’t have my transference power, and she especially didn’t have my soulsight. However her magic worked, she could see the moves I was making, how I held my sword, how my feet shifted around
and around, and she could copy all of that right down to the squint of my eyes and the tilt of my head.
But she couldn’t see into me the way that I could into her.
She couldn’t feel my emotions, and most important, she couldn’t anticipate what I was going to do next. Not exactly, not precisely, not for sure every single time the way I could with her.
And I finally knew how I could win.
Deah had been staring at me the whole time, looking into my eyes the same way I was staring into hers. I wondered if that’s how her magic worked, if her mimic Talent was a form of sight. Did she have to see a person in order to copy their fighting style and everything else about them? It made sense, especially since it seemed that all the other women in our family had some sort of sight Talent. If that was how her power worked, then all I had to do was not look at her, not let her peer into my eyes.
So that’s what I did.
I dropped my gaze from Deah’s, instead focusing on her sword and the way the sun glinted on the metal, the warm rays highlighting all the stars carved into the hilt of her black blade—her Sterling Family sword.
For a moment, guilt surged through me, but I shook it off and went on the attack, whipping my sword back and forth and pressing forward with renewed energy.
And slowly, I began to take control of the fight.
At first, it was small things: Deah not putting her foot down exactly how I did mine, holding her sword a fraction of an inch lower than mine, gripping the hilt just a little too high. But slowly, all those little things started to add up. Deah was still a great fighter—one of the best I’d ever seen—but I was just a smidge better, someone she couldn’t overcome without her mimic magic.
And she knew it too.
Her blows became quicker and more desperate and reckless. I couldn’t see the future like Seleste could, but I knew with crystal clarity how the rest of the fight would play out. Five more moves and she would overreach, and then I could slice my sword across her arm and win the Tournament of Blades, just as my mom had before me. The thought made me so happy that I smiled and stared directly into Deah’s eyes.
Her hot, sweaty desperation slammed into my gut so hard that I blinked and stumbled back from the force of it. I stared into her eyes again, and I realized desperation wasn’t all she was feeling.
Deah was afraid.
Fear churned and churned like acid in her stomach. She knew that I was the better fighter and that she was seconds away from losing the match and the tournament. And she was afraid of what her father would do to her and Seleste when she lost.
It was weird, but in that moment, I almost felt I could see into Deah. That was nothing new, but I wasn’t just feeling her emotions—I was actually seeing all the memories she had of growing up. Training so hard all the time so she could be the best fighter possible. Running after Seleste, trying to keep her from wandering off and displeasing Victor and Blake. Doing everything she possibly could to win her father’s love and approval and knowing that nothing she did was ever truly good enough for him. That Victor preferred Blake and always would.
One after another, the memories flooded my mind until it was all that I could do to keep swinging my sword. How did Deah live like that? Training so hard, worrying about her mom, being hurt by Victor’s cruel words time and time again? How did she function when she knew that her own father didn’t even love her? Neither did Blake, who saw her as just another tool he could use to do their father’s bidding.
In that moment, I felt sorrier for Deah Draconi than I ever had before.
I could win the match, but for the first time, I didn’t want to because I knew what it would cost her. I didn’t like Deah, but I didn’t want her or Seleste to suffer because of me. I’d never wanted that, but if the fight kept going the way it was, that was exactly what was going to happen. Deah and her mom would suffer miserably at Victor’s hands, and there would be nothing that I or anyone else could do about it, since it would happen behind closed doors at the Draconi estate. No one there would dare to interfere with Victor and Blake, and none of the other Families would care enough to get involved, except for Claudia. But even then, I didn’t know what Claudia could do to help them, since the Sinclairs and the Draconis were on the verge of going to war anyway.
I sighed, knowing what I had to do. It was the exact same thing my mom would have done. She’d always tried to protect people who needed help, and she’d never once complained about it. I wasn’t as good or noble as she had been, but I knew a hard truth. That sometimes, doing the right thing sucked out loud, and this was definitely going to be one of those times.
So I sighed again, lowered my sword just a fraction, and slowly lessened my pace, as though I was exhausted and finally fading. Deah pressed her advantage, and I made my blows weaker and weaker, letting her get a little closer to cutting me every single time. I could have recovered, I could have taken her out, but I decided not to.
Besides, maybe Seleste’s prophecy was right and Deah and I needed each other to survive. Either way, I wasn’t going to win this fight. Not now. I wasn’t going to be the cause of someone else’s misery—especially not someone who had as much hurt in her battered, broken heart as I did.
So I counted down the moves in my head, wondering if she would take the opening I was going to give her.
And she did.
I pretended to trip on the edge of the water and stumbled past Deah. An instant later, I felt her black blade slice into my arm, and the hot spatter of blood sliding down my skin.
Just like that, it was over.
I sighed, lowered my sword, and turned around. Deah stared at me, dumbstruck, as though she couldn’t believe that she’d actually, finally won.
The official hurried over, grabbed her hand, and raised it high. “And the winner of the Tournament of Blades is Deah Draconi!”
The crowd erupted into loud, roaring cheers, each one like a sword slicing my heart to ribbons. They should have been cheering for me. They should have been yelling and clapping for me. They should have been chanting my name over and over again, not hers.
I dropped my head, trying to ignore all the jubilation, as though I was exhausted and disgusted with myself. Not too much of a stretch right now.
Yeah, sometimes, doing the right thing was the most painful feeling in the entire world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The members of the Draconi Family stampeded down the bleachers and stormed onto the field, shoving everyone aside, including me. Blake hoisted Deah up onto his shoulder. A Draconi guard stepped up on Deah’s other side, and he and Blake carried her around and around. All of the Draconis were clapping, cheering, and yelling—except for Deah.
She kept glancing back over her shoulder at me, her eyes dark and troubled. She knew I’d let her win, but she didn’t know why. Well, I wasn’t about to tell her.
But I’d made my choice, and the fight was over. There was no taking it back, so I trudged over to the fence at the edge of the grass. Devon and Felix were already waiting for me, their faces filled with sympathy that I didn’t want to see and especially didn’t want to feel right now.
“Um, good match, Lila,” Felix said, wincing, obviously torn between consoling me and being happy that Deah had won. “You’ll get her next year.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Next year.”
Devon frowned, suspicion flaring in his eyes. He realized that I’d thrown the fight, but he didn’t ask me about it. Maybe he knew I didn’t want to talk about it right now. That I never, ever wanted to talk about it. That I just wanted to go back to the mansion, hole up in my room, and not come out for the rest of the summer. Maybe by then all the talk about the stupid tournament would finally be over. Yeah, right. It would never be over. Blake and the rest of the Draconis would gleefully rub my defeat in my face for as long as I stayed in Cloudburst Falls.
The Sinclair guards climbed down from the bleachers and headed over to us. I plastered a smile on my face and gritted my teeth through
everyone’s congratulations and condolences. The guards quickly drifted away, and Claudia, Mo, Reginald, Angelo, and Oscar came down from the Family box and gathered around me. Reginald and Angelo wore sympathetic expressions, but Mo and especially Claudia seemed much more thoughtful. Oscar was absolutely crestfallen, barely twitching his wings enough to hover in the air beside me.
I turned to Mo. “Sorry I didn’t win. I hope I didn’t cost you too much money.”
He grinned and slung his arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Easy come, easy go.” His black eyes narrowed. “Besides, you did your best, right? That’s all anyone can ask of you.”
“My best. Right.”
Mo stared at me, and I realized that he knew I’d thrown the match as well. But apparently he decided not to call me on it in front of the others.
“Besides,” he continued. “I might have . . . hedged a few of my bets, so to speak, just in case things didn’t go the way I wanted them to. If you can’t win, you might as well break even, right?”
I frowned. Something about his words bothered me, although I couldn’t say exactly what it was. Something about hedging your bets and trying to stack the odds in your favor, although I supposed that everyone in the tournament had tried to do that as much as they could over the past few days—even if Devon had told me that there was no way to cheat in the one-on-one matches.
I frowned. Or was there a way to cheat? Maybe all you needed was—
“You did well, Lila,” Claudia said, interrupting my train of thought. “I’m proud of you, regardless of the outcome of the match, and so is everyone else.”
Sincerity flashed in her eyes, but her mouth was set in a hard line, telling me that she, too, realized I’d thrown the fight. I was sure she wanted to know why, although she was polite enough not to demand an answer in front of everyone.
But my friends’ suspicions were nothing compared to having to watch Deah bask in the winner’s glory.
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