Page 110 of On Silver Winds
“Good morning, Princess,” he called as he approached.
A harmless enough greeting, but in his cold husk of a voice it almost sounded like a taunt.
“Good morning, Captain.”
That, it seemed, was to be the extent of the niceties. Captain Doran dipped an exaggerated bow, and Adeline glanced over his bent back at the clockface set above her mother’s viewing tower. It had been an hour since the beginning of Ger’s spar with Mareda. So, she had to keep the Captain fighting for a full hour, at the very least.
Adeline returned his bow, and before the Queen had closed her lips around the wordBegin, Captain Doran was lunging, yells of shock and protest rising from the crowd. But Adeline was not shocked; she was ready. It was only yesterday that she’d fought his apprentice in brutality, after all. Adeline spun away and let the Captain fall into thin air, then planted a foot into the small of his back to send him stumbling. Only he didn’t stumble - just absorbed the blow of her kick with a tight growl before spinning to meet her again, shoulders squared and spine straight.
Shit.
She was not going to keep this up for fifteen minutes, let alone an hour.
She adjusted her stance, legs wide with one foot forward, arms poised to block the next blow. Doran prowled toward her, slowly edging this way and that, looking for an opening. She should have lunged right then, and she knew it. This was her moment, while he was within reach and too arrogant to bother with a defensive stance. Attacking was a risk though; not part of the plan. She was supposed to stay standing for as long as she could, with as little damage as possible.
Don’t let your ego take over,said the voice in her head, sounding uncannily like Ger.You don’t need to win this tournament, you don’t even need to do well. You just have to be better than Mareda.
She hesitated too long. Doran came charging at her like a great grey bull, his head bent low as his squared shoulder collided with her chest and sent her sprawling. The air whooshed out of her lungs, mingling with the gasp of the cringing crowd.
“Adeline!” Someone shouted.
“On your feet, Princess!” Roared another.
But she couldn’t breathe. How long had it been, four minutes? Less? She sucked down an unsteady breath and rolled to one side. Doran was a few feet away, upright and prowling once more. He could have pinned her while she was down, but he’d walked away.
Captain Doran wanted to savour this as much as she needed to drag it out.So I’ve got that bit of spite working in my favour,she thought grimly.
She heaved to her feet, taking care to hold her weight high in her ribs and her legs wide for balance. It didn’t make much difference. After she’d narrowly dodged a series of rapid jabs, Doran finally grabbed her by the arm and threw her bodily into the wall of the arena, sending a cluster of spectators scrambling and screeching as her shoulder splintered the thin wooden barrier. She detached herself, gritting her teeth to yank a massive chunk of wood from the soft skin above her elbow. Blood ran freely down her forearm, and in a moment of blind rage, she threw her fist into Doran’s jaw.
His head rocked back like it was balanced on a spring, but when he looked down at her again his smile was smudged with her own blood.
“An excellent shot, Your Highness.”
The prick.
Don’t rise, she reminded herself.Defend.
She circled him, arms up to block her upper body from his next attack while she lured him away from the shaken onlookers, now taking their seats behind the cracked barrier. She stopped moving when Doran’s back was to the podium, and chanced a quick glance beyond him. Eight minutes. It had only been eight bloody minutes.
Doran’s brow narrowed and pinched, and she knew she had lingered too long. He followed her gaze over his shoulder, staring past the Queen’s box, up and up until he fixed on the pale clockface looming over them like a small white moon.
Dread sank through her shoulders to settle heavily in her stomach.
Strike him. Do itnow,while his focus is split.
She moved just as he turned, and his eyes glinted like a triumphant blade slashing through the air. Adeline drew her arm back and swung, but she was too slow; Doran dodged her fist, grabbed her upper arm and yanked her ahead of him. In one whip-like movement, he locked her own arm across her body, pressed his forearm to her throat. He pushed up against her chin, forcing her gaze toward the clock, just in case there was any doubt in her mind that he’d guessed her play.
“I think this has gone on long enough, don’t you?”
“Not nearly,” she managed to hiss through her crushed throat.
Adeline scrabbled for purchase on the ice, gouging at the skin of his arm with her one free hand. He only crushed her windpipe harder.
“Yield now, Princess, and you could still go out with grace.”
But she fisted her free hand and flailed, aiming blindly behind her, lungs burning while her mind flickered like a dimming candle. She tried to stomp on his feet but he’d parted them wide, tried to throw her head back against his nose but her neck was shackled in the crook of his arm. Her vision began to swim, the faces of the crowd blurring into a heaving sea. It was no use; he had her. She had no options but to tap out, or black out.
Or…
