Circling him slowly, I calculated my move. Daggers had been a mistake. He was faster, stronger. Spears were better.
Lunging, I extended the spear, stepping into the strike. He dodged out of it. “Don’t make the mistake of assuming I won’t grab that spear right out of your hands.”
I ignored his taunting, certain he was doing it to fluster me. I spun, leaping toward him with a finesse and speed that had served me well before in the past. The tip of my spear grazed his shoulder as he dodged out of the way again.
Then I flipped toward him. He retreated a step, and I swiped his legs, forcing him to jump over the spear.
His teasing vanished, his eyes never leaving me.
But he was still flawless.
I lunged again and he side-stepped, then charged. Swinging out, I drove the shaft of the spear into the side of his head. He caught the spear by the shaft, stopping it cold.
Shit.
Using my momentum, I flipped out of reach and let go. I landed on one knee, behind him.
“And now I have your spear.” He turned toward me, slowly.
I rose, breath steadying.
Rykr gripped the shaft, eyes glinting. “Word to the wise. Don’t hit your opponent in the side of the head with it. Stab them through the eyes with the pointy end and make it count.” With an effortless motion, he snapped the spear clean over his knee. “But you did a better job blocking out the crowd.”
He was right. I hadn’t heard anything they’d been saying or their responses to my movements—until then.
The noise all crashed back in an instant, a cacophony to my ears.
He flew in the air toward me, stopping the tip of the broken spear just above my heart. “Strike two.”
My eyes narrowed at him. “Godsdamn you, Rykr.”
“Who says they haven’t already?” His voice was dry and unamused.
I was ready to be done. He’d embarrassed me enough.
My defeat must have shown in my face, or he’d heard it.
“Don’t give up now.” His order was flat, without goading. “It’s going to be much worse than this in the trial.”
“It’s already over.” Exhaustion weighed down my throbbing limbs. I needed sleep.
Rykr came closer. “Fight me. You’re one strike away from winning.”
“What’s the point, Rykr?”
“The point is that you don’t stop fighting until it’s over. You go down swinging.” He tossed the spear away. “Or we both die.”
I sighed. “There’s no winning with you.”
He frowned. Then he swung at me.
Instinct took over. I blocked him.
A sharp kick followed, which I dodged, followed by another punch.
The more he pressed, the less I thought. My body moved on its own, muscles responding in fluid, automatic precision. I fought him back like he knew I would. But I still wasn’t on the offensive.
His hand caught my shirt and he hauled my back against his chest, his bleeding forearm snugly pushing back against my breasts. “Fight me,” he growled in my ear.
