Geneva leapt back—away from the blade, away from Ferdinand. He stumbled back on the other side, and in a flash, Koldo grabbed the reins with the hand that also held her sword and offered her free hand to her son. He took it and with all her momentum and strength, Koldo yanked him onto his feet. Then, with one practiced motion, she released the stirrups.
“Mount!” she screamed at him, and he immediately honed in on the open stirrup on his side, sliding a foot in and throwing a long leg over the horse. He couldn’t fit upon the saddle with her on it—they were both far too large—but Koldo never meant to share.
As her steed stamped and snorted, she slid off, shoved the reins in Ferdinand’s surprised hands, and looked him in the eye.
“I love you.”
The general spun the horse due west and smacked the animal’s flank so hard she took off like a shooting star. Out of range of Geneva’s blades, out of the battle altogether, toward the open belly of central Torrence if the horse just kept running.
As the sand grit swelled into a cloud and then sank back to the parched earth, Koldo faced Geneva—already standing, ten paces away, her plain clothes smudged with the russet kiss of the Torrence desert.
Twin swords up and ready for a fight, Geneva’s smile was hard and undeniable. “I hoped we would meet again.”
“You will wish we did not.”
Koldo’s answer was purposefully flat and nonemotional. This made Geneva’s nostrils flare and grin widen. She took a step toward the general. Koldo raised her sword.
“No,I do.” Geneva pitched a dark eyebrow. “I told Sendoa as much that day he met me in the Warlord’s tent.”
Koldo knew nearly everything that was said in that meeting. She did not agree.
“You,” Geneva continued, “knew it was me in the Warlord’s tent. Just like you knew where Ferdinand was. Andnowyou rescue him! A little late, aren’t we? You had years upon years to do it. I know you visited our camp. Sneaking in, drawing close, gaping at Ferdinand from beyond the firepit. You blame me because he didn’t grow up knowing you and Sendoa, but the truth is you both could’ve stolen him at any time.”
“That is not the truth.” Koldo advanced. The rest of the battle was falling away. All that was there now in the dark tunnel of her vision was this woman and the massive Hand jutting from the earth beyond. “I couldn’t take the chance that you would harm him—punish him if I was successful, punish him if I was not and he remained in camp.”
Geneva had the gall to scoff.
“You tell yourself that but the excuse doesn’t line up with the promises I made in all the letters you conveniently burned despite them being in cipher. My word and honor were right there on the pages—I can’t help that you incinerated the proof you could have used to make sure I stayed accountable.”
“You have no honor.”
Geneva’s eyes flashed. “We’ll have to disagree on that opinion.”
“If you have honor, you will fight me with a single sword—not with both. An equal match.”
“My honor has nothing to do with my current advantage.” Geneva raised her weapons in a showy cross.
“Fine.”
With one lunging slash, Koldo’s wide blade smashed into Geneva’s weak-side wrist. She’d used the flat side of the weapon but rapped Geneva’s knuckles with perfect precision with the very tip of her sword. The force of the strike, the location, and the particular sting of Basilican steel reverberating off bone sent the sword in that hand flying. It spun through the sand and out of reach.
Stunned, Geneva reset with both hands upon her single blade, backpedaling and sweeping laterally—she wanted to move the fight around the base of the Hand. It did not matter what she wanted, though, because Koldo dove for that weak side. Geneva parried and swept and dodged—she was smaller, had no visible armor, and was more agile.
“I never thought I’d get the chance to kill you myself,” Geneva seethed as their swords met with a clang, their bodies a quarter turn around the Hand now. “I always assumed Sendoa would do it. Not that he would wield the blade, but that your feelings for him would lead you down a path paved with enough stupidity and assumed bravery that you’d reach your grave.”
“You thought wrong.”
Cross. Hanging parry. Strike. Koldo’s blade came close enough to Geneva’s collarbone for a superficial slash. About as distracting as Geneva’s attempts at conversation. The Warlord’s eyes caught upon her own blood, bright red and seeping into the linen of her shirt. The brilliant blue of her eyes squished into crescents as she went for a high, slicing strike.
“Tell me, Koldo—how was it, watching Sendoadie? Did you realize you really loved him as the light left his eyes? Did you rush to tell him that after all those years you should’ve accepted his proposals?”
Koldo was just annoyed enough to answer. “Sendoa knew I loved him, just as well as I know he loved me. Still does, in the stars.”
“How doyouknow?” Geneva arched a mocking brow. “I believed he loved me, too, until the day you bore his son.”
“A person is capable of more than one love.”
Geneva’s expression twisted crudely, her tone flip under the strain of their crossed swords. “Is that why you never married him? Is that truly why? Do you have some muscle-bound whelp whose orders include attending to your chambers?”
