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The impact with which his sword met hers was so strong it sent her reeling, a shock she felt down to her shoulder blades. She spun out of position, rolling out of his way just quick enough to miss the point of his blade.
It cleaved the ground in two.
The crowd gasped.
This was more than Markham’s usual skill. He’d received strength from the vial.
The spectators were stirred into a frenzy. What they must think of this man, charging after his own daughter. They’d think he wanted to hurt her.
He certainly wasn’t holding back. But although there was probably a lesson here, Juliana knew her father better than they did. He knew how fast she was. He knew when to pull back. His reflexes were finer than any fae’s—finer because of the hard, constant work he put into his training. Finer because he never took anything for granted.
The swing of his blade inches from her face still made her stomach turn, and she fought back as if there was nothing between them at all, as if he were a monster who would cut her down without mercy. She zoned out the crowd, zoned out everything—concentrated on the space around his sword and nothing else as she dipped and stumbled and twirled to avoid it.
It took her a long time to acknowledge that she couldn’t win this match, that all she was doing was delaying the inevitable.
And still she couldn’t stop. Still, she found herself knocking over barrels, scrambling in the dust and the dark and the glitter, searching for an escape, a way out—
Until Markham had destroyed the ring, until all shelter, all surprises were gone. Until there was nothing left but the two of them and their swords.
She raised hers to meet his final swing, and the blade snapped like a toothpick.
Markham held his against her chin. “Good match, daughter,” he said, “do you yield?”
Juliana unclenched her jaw. “I yield.”
The crowd erupted into cheers of applause as Markham lay down his sword and helped her to her feet, holding up their hands in a sign of victory. Juliana tried to smile, but the action was forced.
“Why did you take the vial?” she asked him, as the clapping continued.
“Why didyoutake the vial, despite my teachings?”
“I wasn’t going to beat Miriam without it. I would never have beaten you. Was this another lesson?”
“That depends on what you learned.”
I learned that the rules don’t apply to you.
Queen Maytree rose to her feet, and the applause quickly died down. “A splendid end to the tournament, Ser Markham, Juliana.”
The two of them bowed.
“It was an honour,” Markham insisted. “And a fine welcome back to court.”
More cheers went up.
“You have won yourself a boon,” the Queen continued. “Please, ask it of us. You already have knighthood for yourself, but perhaps for your daughter…”
Juliana’s heart leapt. She’d never allowed herself to believe she could win, so she hadn’t even dreamt of what she’d ask her. Knighthood? At her age? She’d be the youngest mortal knight to ever—
“Your Majesty is very gracious, and we are humbled by your generosity,” said Markham. “But I have another request in mind.”
Juliana’s heart sank.
“Name it,” said the Queen.
“I hear your son is in need of a personal guard,” Markham began.
“That seems a little beneath your talents, honoured as we would be.”
