Whatever he had been about to say, the moment had slipped past and scattered. He stood staring at her, hands limp at his sides. Helpless.
“I cannot convince you to withdraw, then,” he said.
“You can’t.”
“And you will not permit me to fight in your place.”
“I won’t.”
He nodded, that scowl still clinging to his brow. “Very well. I suppose all I can ask is that you stay safe. Please.”
Kai half made as if to reach for her, but seemed to think better of it and folded his hands behind his back instead.
“We should probably talk about – the rest of it, too.”
The rest of it.
“Okay,” she said weakly, and then added; “I mean yes, we should.”
They both jumped as Ger began pounding on the door again.
Adeline crossed the room and wrenched it open. Ger stood with his hand still raised in a fist, a hint of a grin ghosting his lips.
“All done?”
???
The plan was simple; stay upright for as long as possible.
Doran would expect her to lure him into a loss, like she had with his Champion. Her best bet, she and Ger had agreed, was to stay standing as long as she could.
And not let him kill her.
Meanwhile, Ger would do whatever he could to floor Mareda in twenty minutes or less. Then all Adeline had to do was withstand Doran for longer than her sister had managed to fight.
Adeline waited alone in her tent on the outer wall of the arena, straining to hear the crowd through the thick canopy. She could just about make out their whistles and roars, but it was difficult to tell what those sounds meant – or, indeed, if it was not just the blustering wind she heard. She counted the minutes as they trickled sluggishly by. Twenty minutes, and no one came to lead her to the arena. Twenty-five minutes. Thirty. Adeline peeled away from the wall of the tent and forced herself to sit in the small armchair that had been set in one corner by a portable pewter fireplace. She picked up the book she’d brought along with her and alternated between gazing blankly at its pages and staring into the glowing grate. Forty-five minutes and Mareda was, it seemed, still holding her own against Gerard.
Fuck.
She had wildly underestimated her sister.
Just under an hour had passed before a young Gard initiate came to fetch her. She shot to her feet and hurried close on the Gard’s heels.
“What happened? Who won?”
The girl shot her a reproachful, almost pleading look and Adeline gave herself a quick mental scolding; she would have been told not to speak to Adeline, and especially not to tell her the results of the match, just as Mareda wouldn’t be permitted to watch hers.
She held her hands up; “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
The Gard led her to the edge of the arena, bowed, and disappeared beneath the stands, hurrying to put some distance between herself and the Princess.
Adeline gazed out on the mirror-smooth ice. It wasn’t too late to walk away.
Except that it was, because Mareda was that far gone. So now, she was going to have to let Doran stain the snow red with her blood – but not without putting up a fight.
A roar rose from the crowd as she moved past the entryway and cleared the stands. She walked mechanically onto the centre of the ice, her legs moving like they were set on stiff hinges. The chorus of cheers rose, and she forced herself to turn in a slow circle, one hand raised in as sunny a wave as she could muster. From this distance, hopefully they couldn’t tell a grimace from a grin.
A flicker of shadow from the corner of her eye told her that Captain Doran had entered the other end of the arena. She made herself turn from the warmth of the crowd to face him head on. She was freezing without her cloak, but the shivers hid some of that irrepressible shudder that stole through her whenever she saw the Captain, and for that she was grateful.
