Page 183 of Because I Killed Him
“So that’s why you refused my offer,” Irene says. “Why you wouldn’t help me find the woman my fiancé was betraying me with. Because it wasyouall along.”
I try to back away, but my foot hits the railing.
“She gave him Ernest’s Vanguard badge,” Rosamund cuts in. “That’s howdeepit goes. I always wondered why she handed it over. I thought it was a bribe at first. But now it all fits.”
I grip the railing, realizing there’s no way out. Neither of their accusations is true, but at this point, they might as well be, because they’re right. I’ve become the very woman Irene wanted me to hunt.
“It wasn’t true then,” I say, holding my voice steady. “But it is now.”
The words leave my mouth like an obscenity, and for a moment, every face around me goes slack. Then the Coppers pivot sharply, hands twitching toward their weapons as if fighting the urge to draw on me. Rosamund shudders with a fury so dark I can see her regretting that she didn’t kill me herself. Beside her, Irene’s mouth flattens into a thin, bloodless line. To her, I’m more than a traitor; I’m a humiliation. I’m a low-citizen thief who seduced her fiancé, stealing her honor with him. And now she has to reclaim it.
Irene lowers her head, shoulders rolling forward, and goes still in that dreadful, final way.
That’s when I know.
She’s going to kill me.
The Coppers leap into motion as Irene’s hand flies to the saber at her hip. Their boots pound the deck, and their arms shoot out, seizing her before she can draw. The sergeant orders her to stand down, but she resists, thrashing in their grip, lunging against them, muscles straining until the veins in her neck swell.
Her voice breaks through the commotion, righteous and certain:
“By the rights afforded me under the Civilized Constitution, I name you, Loredana Waldsten, as challenger. I invoke the rite of final contest to settle this matter by blood. Choose your witness. Choose your weapon. I have named the hour—and the hour is now.”
Irene thrusts her Blood Ring toward mine.
The scan completes before I can pull away, and my Bond flashes with a duel request.
Accept or decline: countdown, thirty seconds.
Oh, shit.
The Coppers advance, weapons lowered but ready.
“Miss Hussey, this challenge is invalid,” the sergeant growls. “You are barred from initiating a sanctioned duel with a key witness in an active case. Withdraw immediately.”
Irene spits at his feet. Her chest heaves in jagged bursts, her knuckles trembling with the effort to force her saber free of its scabbard.
My Bond screen glows brighter, urging me to choose an option. If I decline, the shame will follow me forever. It’ll be a permanent black mark on my record, cowardice written into every future that might have been mine. But the Coppers won’t let a death duel happen under these circumstances. I won’t have to fight. I just have to protect my name.
I accept.
Irene lifts her head as if she smells blood. “So, you accept?”
“Yes.”
“Enough,” the sergeant barks, shoving himself between us. “The duel is unlawful and will not proceed. Miss Waldsten, return below deck. Miss Hussey, you will follow us now or face resistance charges.”
The other Coppers continue to restrain Irene. One Copper’s hand hovers near his pistol, and though he looks prepared to draw, his darting glance reveals doubt about whether he can stop her if she truly breaks.
“This is a matter ofhonor, sergeant,” Irene declares. “Will you deny me the right to reclaim it?”
“You may submit a challenge if you are exonerated. Not before. The court proceedings must come first.”
Irene bares her teeth in a silent snarl. The heat of her fury seems to warp the air between us. “You accepted the duel challenge, Miss Waldsten. And yet you have no saber?”
“She can use mine,” Rosamund says.
Rosamund draws her saber and tries to press it toward me, but I jerk back as though the graphene itself might burn me. The blade slips from Rosamund’s hand and clatters onto the deck near my foot.
