He fell silent as they entered the field. People stamped their feet, a slow roar rumbling through the arena as drummers responded to the crowd, dhols building the beat. The sun hung just above, washing the arena with a soft pink hue.
Elena crouched, and when the rhythm broke, when the crowd erupted, she launched forward.
She swung her slingsword, but Samson blocked her attack and moved to her left. She spun, blade arcing down, nearly swiping his feet. Samson stumbled back. He stared at her for a moment, hesitating.
“Would you, Samson?” she whispered.
He switched the blade to his other hand, sighing. And then he shot forward.
She lunged back, using his momentum to her advantage to dive and release her blade up, catching him by the hilt.
But Samson switched hands at the last second, and her blade caught only air.
She pulled back, spinning, when Samson suddenly made to dart to her left. She slammed her arm down, blade singing. But it had been a feint.
Samson rushed her on her right, and her balance was off. She stumbled as his blade grazed the padding on her leg, tearing the cloth.
And then she felt a breath stir the hair on her neck. She turned and nearly yelped. Samson stood directly behind her; she hadn’t even heard him approach.
A smile crept across his face. He was so close that she could see the dark depths of his eyes, deep blue like the uncharted seas.
“You were saying?”
It was as if his words had melted the ice lodged between her joints. Elena tackled him, and though she was not large enough to knock him down, the movement took Samson by surprise. He stumbled back, and it was enough. She spun around him, blade slicing up as he realized the play and brought his own sword to block her attack.
Her blade hovered inches above his throat as he pushed back.
The crowd gasped, some hooting, others crying for her to finish him.
“Three more minutes,” she said, breathing hard.
Sweat streaked down Samson’s face, but he looked up, flashing her a smile. Above, in the box, she saw Jangir arguing with Varun while Yassen stood apart, watching them, arms crossed.
“I’ve lasted longer.” Samson grinned and pushed away.
She hopped back, but Samson was faster. He rushed forward, slicing down, and her blade met his.
He feinted right, but this time, she anticipated his move, rolling to the left, their blades connecting again in an overhead strike.
“When I say go,” he said as he pressed down against her sword, “shoot toward the box and reel yourself toward the ledge.”
She grinned thinly, arms shaking as she held her own blade inches from her face. “On your mark, then.”
She brought her foot around and twisted from beneath his slingsword. Samson sidestepped, bringing his sword to her leg, but she grabbed his elbow, pinching the nerves. Samson let out a cry, dropping his sword. And then a ripple went through the crowd.
A falter in the cheers and hoots.
As Elena broke away, she saw a woman raise her holopod in the seats, mumbling as she read.
It’s begun.
Samson nodded, angling himself toward the box. She pulled the trigger, and her blade zipped through the air, cracking through the wooden support beam. Jangir cried out. Varun fell back as she ran and leapt, pushing off Samson’s hand and launching into the air.
The sun flashed in her eyes as she pulled the reel and swung up, crashing through the box. She rolled onto her feet, spinning. Jangir cowered in the corner, eyes wide, hands shaking as he held a pod projecting the reports.
The one she had slipped in Varun’s pocket.
“You, you made these false reports!” Jangir shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Varun. “The outlets are saying they came from an unnamed source, but these messages. These messages to reporters were sent from your pod,you fucking traitor.” And with a roar, he launched himself at Varun.
