Page 124 of The Only Way Out Is Up

“Stubborn,” he says, raising his blade in a little salute. “I’ll give you that, student of mine.”

“I’d say I learned it from you,” Ky says, “but Father always told me I was born like this.”

“Stubbornness is a fine thing, until it gets you killed.” Gestian shakes his head. “I’m sorry it has to be like this, you know.”

“No, you’re not,” Ky snaps.

“No,” he admits, with a punchable smile. “I’m not.”

He lunges for her, feinting left, swinging right, nearly too fast for my eyes to follow. But Ky is up to the challenge, her thin blade meeting his heavier one, the edges shedding fat white sparks. They circle, swords flickering. Ky takes a cut to her sword arm and my breath catches, but she grits her teeth and counterattacks, driving Gestian briefly backward.

Which means, as she’s carefully maneuvered him around, back in my direction. Amid the rubble of the boxes I’ve found what I’m looking for. Now I have a long, ugly shard of wood in my right hand, narrowing to a vicious point. When Gestian turns his back on me, I level the thing and charge.

I very nearly lose my head for my trouble; Gestian isn’t called a swordmaster for nothing. He hears me coming, drives Ky back with a wide slash, and spins into a cut that would have decapitated me if I hadn’t been coming in low. My splinter grazes his thigh, but that’s all. In response he sweeps his blade down to cut me in half. But I’m already running for it, after dropping what I carry in my left hand—a metal sphere that Star left behind for me in the wreckage.

I don’t know if Gestian recognizes the weapon or just makes an informed guess, but he runs, too, in the opposite direction. Three seconds later the timer runs out and the BLAST detonates with a roar. I throw myself flat, feeling heat lick at my back and splinters whizz by overhead. A moment later I roll over—ow ow ow my ribs—and climb back to my feet, looking through the smoke for the swordsman.

He’s on the ground, too, and for the moment he’s staying there. Ky, forewarned, kept well away before the weapon exploded. Now she’s taken the opportunity to rush back in, putting her foot on Gestian’s sword and her blade at his throat.

I love it when a plan works out neatly.

I hurry over, ears ringing, while somewhere else in the arena the rampaging runics reduce another tower of crates to splinters. Gestian and Ky stare at each other with mutual loathing, both panting.

“Well?” Gestian says. “What are you waiting for?”

“Who killed my father?”

“You want me to say it?” the swordsman spits. “I killed him. You know I did. A dagger in the back in a cloakroom. You want to know how he died? If he begged for mercy?”

“I want to know who gave you the order,” Ky says. “You’re not smart enough to plan a coup.”

“Go fuck yourself, girl,” Gestian says hoarsely. “You won’t let me live, so why should I—”

“Taj,” Ky snaps without looking up, “stomp on his fingers.”

I comply, and happily. There was a point when I said I wasn’t Ky’s thug, but I make an exception for smarmy assholes who try to kill me.

“I don’t want to let you live,” Ky says while he howls. “But I will. Because ultimately you don’t matter, Gestian. You’re not important. You’re the knife, and I want the hand. Was it Devon Dreikin? You jumped in his lap happily enough. Or did the du Freis get tired of being scavengers and decide to go for the kill? Or—”

“It wasn’t them,” Gestian gasps. “Not anyone on the Council.”

“Then who?” Ky is practically screaming. “Don’t lie to me!”

“None of them!” he shrieks. I press down harder, and Gestian’s voice rises in pitch. “The order came from Above!”

“Above?” Ky seems utterly at a loss. “Why? Why would Above want to kill my father?!”

[Warning: Taj, run!]

I glance up, grab Ky’s arm, and drag her into a sprint. An instant later, Vripiai crashes down where the three of us had been standing, tons of metal coils obliterating the screaming Gestian like a child crushing an anthill.

THIRTY-NINE

Star skids to a halt beside us. He’s in bad shape, two legs missing, his carapace battered and leaking sparks. Vripiai also bears wounds, but none of them seem to slow it down. The snake’s body coils around itself, the scratched and shattered enamel now tinted red by a film of gore. Its tail, spiked and vicious, lifts up behind its head.

Do you see Quech?

[Analysis: no. But some of my optics are damaged.]