Seven Black Diamonds (Seven Black Diamonds #1)(57)

After another hour, they had gained the one watcher whose favor mattered most. The queen strode across the well-trod ground with barely a glance to her left or right. No one attempted to catch her attention. Seeing the queen at the courtyard was always a treat. For all of the doubts that the fae sometimes had in the silence of their homes, none among them ever doubted her prowess in a fight. Her daily armor was on, the leather appearing closer to ruby than midnight in the sunlight. Even here, she cut a figure that inspired awe.

“How is she?” Endellion asked.

“I would stand beside her on the field of battle,” Rhys said. He bowed to their mother, even though he technically didn’t have to do so.

Eilidh followed his example.

“Indeed?” Endellion murmured.

“She is not as fast as I am, but her arrows all fly true. Every one has been a kill shot.” Rhys gestured to the targets. “She is your daughter.”

“And with a blade?”

Eilidh’s brief moment of pride faded. She didn’t have the strength to fight her brother and fare as well as she needed to do in front of their people. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Rhys replied before she could, “I’ve not yet tried her. I have observed her often enough to know that for her age she is skilled.”

Endellion nodded at her. Then she looked away from her daughter and announced, “I have need of exercise.”

The queen was already drawing her sword. It was a thing of darkness, the blade etched with runes and symbols so ancient that no one understood all of them. It was blackened, as if fire had touched it often, and sometimes glints of red flickered in that strange metal. If there existed a blade that were strengthened by blood, this would be the one.

Eilidh didn’t want to ask what truths hid in those softly spoken stories. There were questions best left unanswered, especially where the queen was concerned. All that truly mattered was that her mother was a warrior who had earned respect, and Eilidh was resolved not to fail her.

Although Eilidh wouldn’t leave the courtyard, her time in practice was clearly at an end. She lowered her bow and walked to the wall to put it away. She would watch her mother demonstrate the skill that she herself couldn’t master satisfactorily.

Before she was three steps away, Rhys said, “You do your family proud, sister.”

The queen stilled. It was the first time she’d heard her son speak so to her heir. If Endellion were anyone else, she might ask what had transpired to have Rhys call her sister in such a tone. As it was, all she did was say, “She is my heir, Rhys. Of course she does us proud.”

Eilidh looked back at Rhys as he bowed his head deeply and said, “I meant no slight.”

Endellion attacked. Her sword was a two-handed one, made for larger warriors. The harsh black blade was heavy in the air, and Rhys barely had time to stop its swing. The clang of metal on metal was loud.

Rhys drew his second weapon, a shorter blade to stab as he blocked with his sword, and with a ferocity none save the king would even dream to dare, he attacked the queen.

The clash of steel and grunt of exertion continued as the two warriors crossed blades time and again. At several minutes in, Rhys lost his sword. It hit the ground with a thunk. He was left only with a poignard, and that shorter blade wouldn’t do as much good against a weapon with long reach like the queen’s claymore.

But within another ten minutes, the queen had a cut on her shoulder.

“Tired, Mother?” Rhys teased.

“Momentarily distracted by worry that you are only half armed,” she countered with a wide smile.

“As if.” Rhys angled so that he was moving closer to the wall of weapons. “Your reach is absurdly far with that beast.”

“Some of us aren’t worried about pretty fights,” she returned, slashing at her only son with the kind of force that made the fight look far too real.

Rhys snorted. “Not all of us need a claymore to feel intimidating.”

The queen laughed and lowered her sword. “Daggers? Hand to hand? Sickles?”

“Ladies’ choice,” Rhys said as he lowered his poignard. He slid it into a scabbard and walked over to pick up the one she’d knocked out of his hand.

While his back was turned, the queen kicked out at his knee, drawing gasps from the crowd and Eilidh’s exclamation of “Rhys!”

He turned and grabbed the queen’s ankle.

Endellion dropped to the ground, pulling him off balance and swinging her other foot up and out to kick his forearm.

Rhys’ muffled grunt of pain was all but lost under the queen’s words. “You forget your childhood lessons,” she said as she scrabbled back to her feet.

“Never turn your back on the enemy,” Rhys recited as he pushed to his feet without use of his hands.

Eilidh couldn’t tell if he’d fractured his wrist or simply bruised it. All she knew was that he had the implacable look she had seen so often on his face. He wouldn’t cede defeat though. It wasn’t Rhys’ way, and their mother would be furious if he did so.

The sheer stupidity of what Eilidh was about to do should’ve stopped her, but if she was going to be regarded as the future queen, she needed to prove it. She felt like she was half-asleep as she reached out for a handful of throwing knives.

“Mother,” she said, giving warning at least.

But Endellion didn’t even glance at Eilidh.