Page 190 of Harbinger

This time, I attack first. The high slash is meant to drive her back as I pivot to the side, aiming for her shoulder. She parries every move, like she can anticipate them, and when I hesitate, torn between lunging and feinting, she spins, crossing our swords at an angle that forces mine from my hand.

“That’s two,” Taliesin says, keeping track like everyone can’t see who is winning.

I might be here, but my head is still back in that courtyard. I force myself to focus and close the distance, trying to knock Shea off-balance. But I’m too fucking slow, and she sidesteps. She presses forward, sending me into retreat. I try to counter with a thrust to her shoulder, but she blocks the move like she expects it. Bishop hates when I do that. The thought costs me. Shea locks our blades and shoves hard enough that I stumble again—and wind up back in the mud.

“Three,” Taliesin says, his voice a bit quieter.

Heat floods my face as I push onto my feet, anger rising through me. The trouble is I want to aim it at the person who caused it. Not Shea. We keep sparring. I lose every point until finally Taliesin says, “I think that’s enough.”

“Still friends?” Shea asks as we hang the training swords up.

I rub the sore spot on my rear. “That depends on how big this bruise is.”

“We could hit the baths,” she suggests.

Even if I was comfortable, the offer only brings back too many memories.

Before I can tell her no, her gaze catches on something over my shoulder. “I think he wants to talk to you.”

I turn to find Taliesin leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

“I’ll catch up with you in a second,” I say. Shea nods, shooting me an encouraging smile before she leaves me to face my next beatdown.

I force myself to walk toward him, even though I know what he’s going to say.

“In a real fight, you’d be dead,” Taliesin says. “Many times over.”

It’s a reminder that I don’t need. “Thanks for the feedback.”

“You lost before you even stepped into the arena,” he says, ignoring my sarcasm.

I clench my fists, trying to distract myself from the pressure behind my ribs. “I thought the point was to train.”

“The point is to stay alive. You know what gets people killed?” He lets the silence stretch until I’m squirming. “Distraction. Thinking about something else—about someone else—instead of the opponent in front of you.”

“Or maybe Shea is just better than I am,” I say coolly.

“She is.” He nods. “But you weren’t fighting her today. You were fighting yourself.”

I want to protest that it was just an off day, but he’s right. My head wasn’t in the fight. “I understand.”

He leans in, voice dropping as conscripts walk by. “Do you? Because they’ve come for you on Marius land now. They’re tired of waiting to kill you. And next time, you won’t get multiple rounds. You won’t get a second chance. If you can’t be present in the fight, you won’t survive.”

The words land harder than any of Shea’s blows, because they’re true. But I’m not about to lose another round. Not after letting Shea kick my ass, and especially not after what happened with Bishop. “I was poisoned at a party,” I say. “I’m not sure a sword would have helped.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not everyone who wants you dead will be so civilized in their attempts.”

“I’m the one who nearly died,” I spit back, “and there was nothing civilized about it.”

But he doesn’t bother with sympathy. “Whatever this thing is with Bishop,” Taliesin says, disregarding how I bristle at the mention of his name, “you need to decide if it’s worth dying for.”

I stare at him, unable to muster a response. Maybe it was once, but Bishop is the one who gave up. Who resurrected the boundary between us. If Bishop wants distance, he can have it. I’m through hiding.

Taliesin pushes off the wall and straightens to his full height. “Keep the personal shit out of the fight. If you can’t, go dig a new grave next to your friend.”

When I finally find Shea near the entrance to the baths, Taliesin’s words are still echoing in my head:

Dig a new grave.