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It occurred to her that Dillon could actually win. He was stronger than her even if he lacked her speed, and resourceful, too—she’d seen him flick dirt into an opponent’s eye earlier. He had good stamina.
Flirting her way into a position of power actually didn’t seem like a bad idea.
She flitted behind one of the shelters. “You’re stronger than I remember,” she whispered coyly.
A blade swung over her head.
“You’re faster,” he said, as she rolled out of the way.
“Am I prettier than you remember, too?”
A brief pause before another swipe, a pinkness in his cheeks, not from the exercise. “Definitely,” he said.
She rolled under his arm, jabbed him in the side, and leapt onto his back. She let her breath tickle his cheek as he tried to shuck her off.
“Feel like yielding?” she asked.
“No,” he said, groaning as she gripped his neck. He moved towards the edge of the ring, attempting to fling her out of it. She held on, tighter.
“I don’tparticularlywant to hurt you,” she said. “Would put quite the dampener on our relationship.”
“Relationship?” he croaked.
She waited until his attempts to remove her got weaker. If he fell, but she landed outside the circle, he’d still win if she hit the ground first. She detached her legs from around his middle, found her footing on his back, and vaulted over his shoulders. Whilst he was struggling to stay upright, she rolled over the ring, snatched up her blade, and placed it to his throat.
“Sorry,” she said, “no hard feelings?”
He smiled at her, massaging his neck. “None whatsoever.”
“Drink later? On me?”
“I look forward to it.”
Juliana glanced up to the stands, and found Hawthorn smiling even less.
The number of remaining contestants was dwindling. As the tournament progressed into the final few rounds, new rules came into effect. The barrels and hay bales were replaced with powerful glamours. Some fulfilled the same function as before, other obstacles would turn to sludge at the slightest touch, or dissolve into bubbles. Some containers would spill open butterflies, others bees, and contestants would have to risk the potency of the glamour or charge through them regardless.
At the beginning of each round, competitors would be offered three vials, each offering a different skill or handicap. Some housed potions for extreme strength, speed, flight… others made an arm go numb, covered a person with boils, made their fingers turn to leaves, slowed them down to a snail-like pace, rendered them half blind, doubled everything in weight or turned their blade to rubber.
Once, in the past, Juliana had watched a body-swap mid match. It started an hour-long argument about who had won; the soul inside the victorious body, or the victorious body itself.
They hadn’t used that one since.
“Never take the vials,” her father had warned her. “You have no need of a boon. The risk is not worth it.”
Juliana always found herself agreeing when she witnessed a fight where a seasoned warrior found themselves stumbling around the ring, eyes streaming with uncontrollable tears while their opponent shook the ground with quakes, but her mind quickly changed whenever she witnessed someone with super-strength split apart the obstacles, searching for their opponent imbued with super-speed.
And, when she found herself facing Miriam in the semi-finals, she knew exactly what she needed to do.
The vials were presented to both of them. Miriam watched carefully, waiting for Juliana to decide first.
I can’t win without a gift,Juliana knew. At best, she could hope not to be defeated straight away, to put up a good fight. Maybe Miriam would allow her that. Juliana could not achieve a victory, not against a woman of her skill and prowess. She’d be a pebble against a wave. But with a gift, maybe… just maybe…
She glanced up at her father, saw him shaking his head.
She seized one of the vials.
The crowd ‘ooed’ again, but their clamouring increased when Miriam reached out a steel-gloved hand and took one as well.
