Markswoman (Asiana #1)(79)

In three days it wouldn’t matter how he felt. She would be gone from their lives, one way or another. If she won the duel, as he hoped and prayed she would, she would return in triumph to her Order, and they would not meet again, except in the most formal of circumstances. If she lost . . . but here his mind refused to go.

There was nothing he could do about it, nothing. Except—he could be a witness to the last. He owed her that much. Samant thought so. Barkav did too, not that he had said anything outright. But Rustan could still remember the disappointed look the Maji-khan had given him when he’d asked for another assignment. What had he said? Don’t delude yourself. You cannot run away, no matter how far you go.

In Herat, after inadvertantly confessing his feelings to Samant, Rustan had known he had to come back. There was no way he could influence the course of the duel. But he would be there for Kyra till the end. He would give her—give himself—that.





Chapter 28

Compulsion




Kyra walked along the gallery to her room, humming, cradling the lovely roll of Jili silk Rustan had insisted on purchasing for her, despite her protests. But it wasn’t the silk that made her happy; it was the fact that Rustan had been unable to hide his pleasure at seeing her again.

“Never mind,” he had said about the silk, with a smile that made her heart flutter in the most alarming way. “Perhaps you will find an occasion to wear it one day.”

It was foolish, of course. She would never wear that silk. She would never wear anything but the robes of her Order as long as she lived. But she couldn’t help running her hands over the delicate material, imagining how it would feel against her skin. Imagining how Rustan might feel, seeing her in it, how it might make him want to touch her the same way she was now stroking the fabric.

They had returned to the Jewel of Kashi together, the mule following them through the narrow streets. At the guesthouse they shared a brief midday meal, which Kyra was not able to taste or remember. She was too aware of Rustan’s eyes lingering on her face. Finally he left to run some errands for Barkav, reminding Kyra that she needed to practice before the duel with the Maji-khan.

The rest of the day dragged by. Kyra tried to concentrate on the forms of internal strength, but her thoughts kept returning to Rustan, and the way he had looked at her when he bought the green silk.

When Aram knocked at her door that evening and told her Barkav was waiting for her, Kyra woke from her daydreams with a guilty start. She hastily tied her hair and tightened the belt across her robe, trying to overcome her nervousness. She followed Aram down the stairs and into one of the empty stalls facing the courtyard. To her dismay, Shurik, Rustan, Ishtul, Saninda, and Ghasil were also present, standing just outside the stall, blocking it from the view of curious onlookers.

The elders gave her a brief nod, but otherwise remained expressionless. Rustan gave her an encouraging smile. As her teacher, this was as much his test as hers, but he did not look unduly worried about it. Shurik, on the other hand, could barely disguise his anxiety. Good luck, he mouthed at her. Kyra bowed to the elders, and gave a reassuring look to her friend. It’s all right. I know what I’m doing.

And then she entered the stall and faced the Maji-khan. Her heart quailed. He stood in a pool of light cast by two oil lamps hanging at the entrance, immovable and solid as a mountain, his face like granite. He was at least twice her size. But Chintil had taught her that size had nothing to do with the outcome of a duel. You could use someone’s strength against them, if you had the skill.

Kyra bowed to the Maji-khan, and he inclined his head.

“I could break you in two like a twig,” he said, his deep voice booming in the empy stall. “Are you worthy of my katari?” He made a tiny movement, and a soft golden-yellow light appeared in his hand.

Kyra swallowed. He was testing her will and courage. “I am as unbreakable as my blade,” she said, keeping her voice steady. She unsheathed her own katari, and felt its warmth travel up her arm.

He moved forward, so fast that she almost stumbled back in fear, and thrust his katari toward her throat in a sudden, upward strike. Behind her, she heard Shurik gasp. But Kyra had no time to spare a thought for him. She blocked the Maji-khan’s katari with her forearm, wincing as she hit the flat of his blade. If this wasn’t a mock duel, the katari would have sliced her arm in half. She brought her own katari slashing down on Barkav’s shoulder. At the last moment, she twisted it so it glanced off harmlessly, and at the same time hooked her right leg around his left leg to try to sweep him off his feet.

It was like trying to fell a gigantic pile of rock.

Barkav grabbed hold of her right leg and twisted it so she fell on her face. She steadied herself with both hands before she hit the ground, losing her katari in the process, and jabbed her left foot up in the direction of his face. The foot connected, and she was rewarded by a surprised grunt. But then Barkav grabbed hold of her other leg as well and hauled her up so she hung upside down, the blood rushing to her face as she tried in vain to scrabble for her katari.

“Not bad,” said Barkav, chuckling. “Can’t remember the last time someone managed to hit my nose. But let us see if you can handle a surprise attack better than that.”

He released her gently and allowed her to get to her feet. As she bent to retrieve her katari, she caught Rustan’s gaze. He gave her the same encouraging smile as before, as if determined not to betray any other emotion. The elders looked grim, as if they were witnessing a funeral. But Shurik turned and strode away before she could see his expression. Probably can’t stomach seeing me beaten, she thought wryly.