Dark Heart of Magic (Black Blade #2)(69)

The official introduced us and reviewed the rules before moving in, raising his hand, and starting the fight. Devon and I circled each other. This wasn’t the first time we’d fought, so we already knew all about each other’s strengths, weaknesses, and tendencies. But this match was for a spot in the final round, and we both knew what was at stake. Not only representing the Sinclairs well, but also having fun. Because there was nothing we both loved more than a good fight.

Finally, Devon moved in, raised his sword, and began the battle in earnest. Back and forth, we danced across the stone ring, neither one of us able to touch each other with our weapons to draw first blood. All around us, cheers and yells exploded over and over again in a continuous roar that rattled from one side of the stadium to the other. The crowd wanted a fight? Well, they were getting a good one.

A minute ticked by, then another one, and another. And still Devon and I fought, our blades clashing together over and over again, up high, down low, side to side to side, each one of us fighting as hard and fast as we could. The crowd noise faded away until it was a dull roar in the back of my mind, and the world reduced to Devon in front of me, his feet moving in elaborate patterns in the grass, his hand clenching the hilt of his sword, his green eyes narrowed in fierce concentration.

I didn’t use any of my magic on him, not my transference power and not even my soulsight to try to anticipate his next move. I wanted to win fair and square, just me and him and our fighting skills, with no magic of any kind, just like we’d promised each other.

So we fought and fought and fought, with the clash-clash and clang-clang-clang of our swords ringing out through the stadium, even louder than the crowd. At least, that’s how it seemed to me. My ponytail slapped against my shoulders, sweat streamed down my face, and my arms ached from swinging my sword over and over again, but I kept right on fighting, and so did Devon.

Finally, though, Devon made a mistake.

He got a little too close to the cold spring, and one of his feet slipped off the edge for a second before he managed to right himself. It was a small mistake, a tiny error, and could just as easily have happened to me, but it would give me the opening I needed three moves ahead, and I was going to take advantage of it.

One.

Sure enough, Devon was late in bringing up his sword to block my next blow.

Two.

Then he was late again stepping back out of the way when I sliced out with my blade. He was barely parrying my blows, and he whirled away, trying to buy himself some space to get his timing back on track.

Three.

Devon faced me and raised his sword to attack me again, but I stepped back out of his reach and pointed my sword at him. Devon glanced down at the blood dripping down his bare arm.

He bowed to me. “You win, Lila.” He straightened up and grinned. “I knew that you would.”

The crowd went wild—hooting, hollering, and cheering—knowing they’d just seen the match of the tournament. Everyone surged to their feet, giving us a standing ovation and cheering louder and longer than they had for anyone else in the entire tournament.

The official stepped into the stone ring and raised my hand high, declaring me the winner. Devon started to move back to give me the limelight, but I grinned, reached out, clasped his hand in mine, and pulled him up next to me.

He grinned back at me and tightened his grip. Together, we raised our clasped hands high to the massive roar of the crowd. Devon looked at me, all the warmth in his eyes and heart reflected back in my own.

Felix was right. Nobody had lost here today. As far as I was concerned, Devon and I had both won.



Still hand in hand, Devon and I left the stadium floor and stepped behind the chain-link fence. We were swarmed and spent the next five minutes accepting backslaps, handshakes, and congratulations from the other competitors. Poppy and Felix finally muscled their way over to us, congratulating us as well, while Oscar buzzed around and around our shoulders.

Finally, the stadium quieted again, and we turned to watch the match between Katia and Deah that would decide which of them I had to fight in the final round.

Deah nodded at Katia as they faced each other in the stone ring, but Katia didn’t return the gesture. Instead, she kept twirling and twirling her sword around and around in her hand, loosening up. Every once in a while, she would turn toward me enough that I could see the determined glint in her bright green eyes. The official called out the instructions again; then the fight began.

Katia immediately went on the offensive, moving quicker than I’d ever seen her move before, even during the obstacle course. Her movements were almost too fast to follow, and the only reason Deah was able to block her blows was because she’d long ago memorized the moves and countermoves, just as we all had.

And it wasn’t just that Katia was fast, but she also seemed stronger today, hitting Deah’s sword as hard as she could over and over again and showing no signs of stopping. I’d known that Katia was upset about losing to Deah in the tournament twice before, but she was fighting like it was a real battle and giving it everything she had. Katia had told me how much she wanted to win, and I’d felt her desire for myself, but she was really putting it all out there.

But despite all her speed, sharp blows, and determination, Katia still wasn’t able to get the best of the other girl.

Deah realized that Katia was trying to overwhelm her, and she did just enough to keep herself in the match, waiting for Katia’s initial fury to burn itself out. And it slowly did. The longer the fight continued, the slower and weaker Katia became, almost as if she’d used up all of her speed and strength with that opening round of attacks.