Dawn Study (Soulfinders #3)(126)

“It was nice knowing ya.” Gerik closed his eyes.

Valek unlocked the door into the short hallway that contained only two doors that faced each other. Valek’s suite was on the right and the Commander’s on the left. He paused as sorrow swelled. Twenty-four years together, and they ended up right back where they started.

The Commander’s door was unlocked. Keeping the knife in his hand, Valek entered without knocking, then drew the second blade. Ambrose sat in his favorite armchair by the hearth, sipping brandy. Valek’s knives rested on the table in front of him.

Not surprised to see Valek, the Commander smiled instead. “I’ve been waiting for you.” He gestured to an empty glass. “Drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“All right, then.” The Commander set his drink down and snatched the daggers from the table in one fluid motion. He stood. “Shall we?” He inclined his head toward the right side of the living area. The Commander had cleared away all the furniture.

“Can I convince you not to invade Sitia?” Valek asked.

“No.”

“Then we shall.” Keeping the Commander in sight, he moved to the cleared area. “I wish to reclaim my knives.”

“Oh, you’ll get them back soon enough.” The Commander attacked.

When they had sparred before, the Commander preferred to remain on the defensive for the first series of exchanges, testing Valek. Not this time. Ambrose lunged, aiming for Valek’s throat with the intent to kill in his cold hard gaze.

Valek shuffled back and blocked. The impact reverberated through Valek’s bones. The grim knowledge that this fight wouldn’t last long coiled around his heart and tightened, evicting the fear and doubt that had been dwelling there. Pure determination pulsed inside him as the Commander increased the pace, striking with unrelenting quick jabs—a brutal street style that Valek hadn’t expected.

Unable to match the superfast speed, Valek scrambled to block but remained a hair too slow. The edges of Ambrose’s blades sliced the skin on Valek’s arms. Pain burned, but he ignored it. Valek had a much bigger problem. He was running out of room to maneuver. If that happened, Valek would leave a smear of blood on the wall as he sank to his death.

Deflecting the Commander’s double thrust up instead of to the side, he kicked the Commander in the stomach. The solid impact pushed Ambrose back a few steps, giving Valek a little more room.

Valek sidestepped and dropped to one knee, thrusting his knife toward the Commander’s thigh, aiming for the femoral artery. Ambrose dodged the attack and once again Valek was on the defensive. As the fight lengthened, Valek’s energy ebbed. He sucked in air and his throat burned with the effort.

Valek rallied and tried a number of offensive techniques. Familiar with each of them, the Commander countered with ease. The man wasn’t even sweating.

After a few more exchanges, Valek sensed he was about to reach the limit of his skills. The certainty of failure brought desperation, which reminded Valek of his rooftop fight with Onora. It was clear there was no way he’d beat the Commander. Not with his knives. And not using conventional fighting tactics.

Bracing for pain, Valek blocked a double jab to his midsection, then dropped his weapons. He grabbed the Commander’s wrists and found the pressure points. The tip of a blade pierced Valek’s left bicep, but he clamped down hard, pressing his fingers and thumbs on the points.

Ambrose yelled as the all-consuming pain traveled up his arms. Using a pressure point created a unique sensation that dominated the entire body and scattered all thought and reason in the victim. Devlen had taught them to Valek a year ago. In any other fight, Valek would never have resorted to using them, because in any other fight, Valek wouldn’t need them to save his own life and ensure his family’s safety.

The Commander’s weapons clattered to the floor. Valek kept his hold until the Commander sank to his knees. Then Valek released one wrist. He picked up the closest knife and rested the sharp edge on the Commander’s neck. Valek let go of the man’s other wrist. The fog of pain cleared from Ambrose’s golden gaze. He stared at Valek, waiting for death. No fear shone in his eyes. No requests for mercy. No promise to stop the invasion of Sitia in exchange for his life. Not his style.

Valek tensed, preparing to end the Commander’s life. But he was unable to execute that final move. Valek couldn’t kill him. If he slit the Commander’s throat, Valek would regret it. They’d shared too much history, friendship and even love. Ambrose was a part of Valek’s family. Owen had ruined everything between them, but Valek wouldn’t let the dead magician force his hand.

“Finish it, Valek,” Ambrose said. “If you let me live, I’m going to invade Sitia.”

And Valek would have to live with the consequences. War and death and no hope for a peaceful life. Or was there hope? Valek’s comments to Leif about trust came to mind. Perhaps he should trust the Sitians. They’d certainly proven their resourcefulness in the past. Valek released the Commander. “You can try. Sitia will surprise you.”

“Then why the assassination attempt?”

“Because I forgot.”

“You forgot what?”

“That I’m a Sitian now, and we don’t solve our problems by assassination.” Valek found his knives and sheathed them. “I’m retiring as Chief of Security. Effective immediately.” Valek headed for the door. He only had a few days to warn Sitia.