The Girl King (The Girl King #1)(117)

Warriors don’t make excuses, Yuri’s voice scoffed in her head. They find what scraps they can in a bad situation and build it into victory.

They pulled apart with a chime of steel. Lu circled her cousin, searching for weaknesses. His face was livid. Dark shadows rimmed his eyes, and his handsome face was blotched with dirt and dust. He spat at her feet and—was that wine she smelled on his sour breath?

He was as unprepared for this fight as she was, Lu realized. They were well matched in training and skill, but also exhaustion. The outcome would go to whoever could last longer.

She lunged, keeping her eyes trained at his neck as though she meant to strike there. He moved to block her and at the last moment she bobbed and swung low, toward his gut. He spun, and her blade swiped empty air—but just barely. Not giving him a moment’s reprieve, she closed the distance between them and thrust her sword at his chest—

He moved, and her blade glanced off his breastplate. She heard the metallic shiver of chain mail beneath. She was suddenly keenly aware of her own bare arms, the thin silk tunic that was the only barrier between his sword and her flesh. Panic prickled down her spine as they pulled apart.

“Surrender and I’ll let you live,” he panted.

Lu laughed, sounding stronger than she felt. “You expect me to believe that?”

Set feinted, bounced back on light feet as she parried. “Maybe you’re not as dumb as I thought. It’s true you’re not much use to me alive anymore.”

She lunged toward his back leg, forcing him to pivot.

“I already have your empire,” he continued, jaw tight. “I have your crown. Your sister. But I bet I can find more to take from you. It might be fun to try.”

As he spoke, his gaze flicked behind her. Before she could understand, he lunged for Nokhai.

A wordless scream tore out of her. Set brought down his blade in an inelegant hack. It clashed against the stone floor; Nokhai had leaped out of the way. In a flash, the wolf rebounded and lunged. He caught her cousin’s forearm in his jaws, teeth screeching against Set’s armor.

“Nokhai, get out of there!” she yelled.

The wolf wouldn’t be able to pierce the armor, no more than she’d been able to. But perhaps piercing it wasn’t the answer . . .

She ran at Set, swinging wildly at his chest. He whipped around and blocked her.

“Leave Nokhai alone,” she seethed.

“I’ll kill you both!” he shrieked, hacking at her.

“Are you sure about that? You can’t even seem to manage one of us. Not back then—and not now.” Lu blocked his blade with a hard parry, sending him reeling past her.

She spun to face him as he aimed a wild slash at her belly. She leaped back, using the agility that was her only advantage, all the while picking apart his armor with her eyes.

The knees. The gaps at his knees.

He raised his sword and came. “Why can’t you see you’ve lost?” He punctuated this last word with another slash of his blade.

She blocked it and forced herself to grin, easy and cruel. “That’s not how it works, cousin. In order for me to lose, you have to win. And you’re never, ever going to win. It’s not in your nature.”

He ran at her with a wild, animal cry of rage. She waited until the last possible moment, then slipped to the side. As he passed her, she swung hard and true—fitting her blade into the gap in his armor, just behind the knees.

Her cousin screamed as he went down, blood soaking his golden breeches fast and red.

“No!” The anguished cry came from far off—Lu didn’t take her eyes off Set, but some part of her registered it was Min’s voice.

The scream died out and the only sound left was Set’s furious gasping—a terrible, primal hybrid of seething and weeping. His fingers clawed at the stone floor of the Heart.

She walked over to him, the roar of blood growing in her ears. There was movement among the Hana now, but it felt impossibly far away.

Lu put a foot to his shoulder and gave a hard push, rolling him over onto his back.

“What’s wrong with you?” he gritted out, his face so contorted with rage and pain she scarcely recognized him. “Why are you like this—?”

Lu bent over him. He fought as soon as she was in range, flailing his arms, getting in a solid punch that bloodied her lip. But she managed to yank off his helmet. Loosened his gorget. She replaced it with her foot, crushing his throat, pinning him to the ground. His eyes bulged, and his pale lips fluttered—a comical fish’s gape. Breathing hard, Lu stooped again to pull the ornate dagger hanging from his belt, considering its ruby-and-carnelian jeweled handle for a moment. She let off her foot and crouched beside him.

Breath rushed back into Set’s body with a ghastly wheeze. “Why did the gods make you like this? Just to torment me?”

Hot fury lanced her gut. “I wasn’t made to torment you,” she snarled. “I wasn’t made for you at all. I was made for me.”

She plunged the dagger into the exposed base of his throat. Yanking it free took more effort; she felt the hard, grainy crunch of his trachea, the sucking clench of muscle as it withdrew. Blood shot like a fountain from the hole she’d made.

Easy, she thought deliriously, watching the color drain from her cousin’s face, the life ebb from his eyes. His flailing faded into a full-body quake into a tremor into nothing. Too easy. She almost wanted to do it again, just to be sure. Just to be certain she’d truly—