Last Stand (The Black Mage #4)(65)

I can do this. I kept my eyes on his blade as I backed away, withdrawing a blade of my own. He’s not a mage or even a knight.

Then why was I afraid?

“I would ask you how you made it this far, but I suspect my dear, sweet brother has something to do with the circumstances of your escape.” Blayne’s eyes swept along our surroundings to the dark passage leading to the kennels, and his lips curled into a sneer. “The moment I heard he pulled Mira into some ludicrous meeting, I knew. I sent guards to check the dungeon.” Paige had been right, the alarm sounded early. “And after that, it was simply a process of elimination.”

The king took another step forward, and I inched back along the wall, the blade shaking in my hand. It was lighter, I realized, slender instead of thick, a rapier when I needed a broadsword.

“I thought I’d try the kennels,” Blayne continued. “After all, it was the place he and I used to hide when we were boys, and that passage, well, it was my first guess.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, trying to hold my ground. “You don’t have to be your father, Blayne. You don’t have to do this.”

The king cut me off with a laugh. “I’m not my father, Ryiah. I’m better.”

I was back against the wooden fence. There was nowhere I could retreat, and to turn around and climb would be inviting a blade to my back.

Blayne didn’t leave me a choice; he lunged.

I ducked left and parried right, clashing blades. The air shook with a resounding screech.

My blade was not the caliber of the king’s own.

I withdrew and ducked, narrowly avoiding a swing that would have cut me from navel to chest.

Then I parried again at another slash aimed for my head.

Every muscle burned. I could not keep up the deflections forever, or even for long. I could call on my magic, whatever little I had recovered in two days alone in my cell without Mira’s ministrations, but it wouldn’t be enough for me to outlast Blayne.

Another twist and turn. Another deflection with only seconds to spare.

I caught his leg with a low sweep, but then I made a sloppy block. The impact rattled my bones.

I might have been the better swordswoman, but now? He had the better sword.

Blayne continued his advance with an onslaught of attacks. There was no chance to recover, no chance to think. It was his sword against mine in a series of thrusts with every intention to kill.

With every counter I lost stamina. Sweat beaded my brow and I was hot—too hot. My heart beat like a drum against my ribs. I counted the minutes ticking by, trickling away the last moments of my life.

Slash and cut. Parry. Dance.

The next charge brought a deep cut to my arm. I switched grips as my teeth gritted against pain. I would have to fight left-handed. I couldn’t afford my fingers to slip now.

I wasn’t as good with my left.

Blayne pressed the advantage, his boots stirring up a swell of dust and straw as he advanced.

I was cornered between the wall and the fence.

Another slash, and this time, I had no choice—I drew too slowly with the sword.

My magic swarmed out like a whip. A phantom blade met the king’s just in time. Instinct. A moment later, my real blade met its target, just as the magic fettered away.

Blayne pushed back.

My sword quivered; I didn’t have much magic left to cast. My whole body shook under the pressure. It cost me just to hold, just to think.

Buckling under the king’s weight, I felt Blayne digging down with his heels and the arching of his legs as he pressed forward.

He was trying to breach my defense.

No. I was not going to let this tyrant win. I’d worked too hard for it to end like this.

I shoved with everything I had, every fiber of my being.

Blayne stumbled back, and I charged.

Swing left and then up. Down. Right. Half-crescent spin. Another shallow cut at his waist. Parry and shuffle. Block again and strike. Cut.

Blood. Blood. And more blood.

I would cut the boy until he was a walking river of blood.

I pressed on, my eyes locked on the king as he fell back, one step at a time. Blayne ducked and staggered, and I was closing the distance, thriving in hate. How could this monster destroy everything I loved? How could I let his crimes go unpunished?

Someone had to be the hero, I wasn’t sure that someone was me, but I was certainly going to try. I’d been holding back for Darren’s sake, but what did it matter now?

Who cared if Blayne was a broken boy with monsters in his past? Blayne was a villain now.

Vaguely, I felt my energy depleting with each step I took, but I was no longer concerned. If I died alongside him, so be it. I wouldn’t let Blayne walk out of this kennel alive.

Too late, my swing missed, a misstep from drilling too many days with the right arm instead of the left. A first-year’s mistake, driven by adrenaline and emotion instead of the calm I needed to keep.

Blayne’s counter caught my left shoulder on a downward sweep.

My sword clattered to the floor.

The king raised his blade to my throat.

My casting rose.

And something behind me let out a raging howl.

Wolf.

Blayne froze as a shadow leaped across the divide; the king couldn’t hold off two attackers at once. His indecision cost him, and the dog sank its jaws into his leg.

Blayne swore as the dog evaded his kick and bristled, growling and snapping at my side.