Page 34 of Starside

Pieces of rock fly around me, coating me in dust.

He’s right behind me.

I take off again, darting toward the next stretch of trees. A twig snaps just behind me, and I whirl around.

Only to find myself face-to-face with Cadoc.

I gasp as his sword settles against my throat. In a flash, he turns me against him. His arms band around my body.

I want to retch. I want to run.

I go very still. I’m not breathing.

“Now. Was it worth—”

I throw my head back as hard as possible and hear a crunch. Before his blade can slit my throat, I slip away, grateful for his clear lack of practice. Reflexes aren’t learned easily. They’re developed with training. Not by hiding behind guards.

If I thought a broken nose would delay him, I was wrong. I turn my head, and he’s right behind me. Chasing. Teeth bared.

The look costs me.

I stumble over a rock, my knees hit the ground, and by the time I stand, I’m surrounded. Every direction I try is blocked by one of his relatives or one of the towering Enders. There’s no way out.

And he’s already raising his weapon.

I swallow. There’s nothing to do but lift my own lesser metal. My hands shake around the hilt. Stellan made this. I should be proud of it. Stellan made me the warrior I am, who won duels against men double my size in the desert tournaments, winning a prize that fed us for a month.

I might be better than Cadoc at wielding a sword. But it doesn’t matter. The king was right. Silver is silver.

“You should have taken the king up on his offer,” Cadoc says through his teeth, coated in blood pouring from his nose. He wastes no time now. His sword arcs through the air. I lift my own to block it. His silver hits my titanium—

And it shatters.

The last piece of Stellan I have. Gone.

I’m knocked onto my back with the force, head just missing an ancient gravestone that has crumbled into ruins.

He takes a step toward me. A smile crawls across his face as he spits out blood. Sword lifted high, he pauses. He reaches his other hand into his pocket.

And pulls out a dagger. Stellan’s dagger.

No.

His smile widens. “Thank you for showing this to me,” he says, taking another step, twirling the Starside steel in his hand. His smooth, noble fingers touch the etchings I painstakingly made over years. The flames. The flames that cost me everything. The carvings I touched every morning when I woke up before Stellan to train, to remind myself of my fury. The reason I’m so eager to run full speed toward an almost-guaranteed death. I guess I’ve found it now. “I’m going to use it to carve my name into your corpse.”

Carved names.

My fists curl with anger. He gets even closer.

No one is going to help me. I’m surrounded. I don’t have a weapon. The hilt of my broken blade falls to the ground, useless.

But behind Cadoc’s head, something glimmers. One of the ancient swords stuck in the trees. Of course.

I reach up desperately to see if any of those blades might claim me. I reach out with every shred of fury, and pain, and desperation.

Nothing happens.

Cadoc laughs, the sound pealing through the forest. “Did you really think that would work?” His friends laugh with him. “Did you really think you were worthy of any of those swords, when we weren’t?”