Chapter 41

“What were you thinking then?” he whispers.

He decimated me. Obviously I suck at melodics. Or maybe everyone’s right and melodics don’t hold up. “I’m beginning to doubt that there’s any way I could possibly beat her.”

“You probably can’t,” he says.

I shove him off me, ignoring the slice to the side of my neck that results, and healing as I curl onto my side. “Then why bother?”

He rocks back on his heels and stands. “I want you to have a choice. I didn’t have one. But you already know what I think you should do.”

“I just don’t...”

He spins away from me and walks toward the door. “You find me repulsive. I’m your horrid sister’s ex. I know.”

I sit down, deflated by his words. “I don’t. Find you repulsive, I mean. It’s not that.”

He pivots on his heel to face me. “Then what? Why are you considering your only options to be a suicide mission or abdication?”

I meet his eyes, hoping he can understand. “I want to be good enough myself. It’s dumb to pick a ruler like this, but it’s what we do. If I can’t defeat her myself, how will anyone ever see me as anything but an easy target? You might be able to defeat her for me, but how can you protect me from the entire world?”

Muscles in Edam’s jaw contract. After a moment of silence, he nods. “That’s a reason I respect.”

“You think it’s naive.”

“Not naive. Hopeful.”

“Stupidly hopeful?” My heart catches in my throat and I work to swallow. I shouldn’t care this much about what he thinks.

“Not stupid, no. And who knows? Maybe you’ll defeat her.”

I nearly choke on my desperation. “You think I could?”

“If you decide that’s truly what you want and stop pulling all your punches, maybe. But you don’t even want to beat her, not really. I don’t think you want to defeat anyone.”

I close my eyes and envision my sword connecting with Edam’s side or his arm. I shudder. “I don’t know if I can change who I am. I’m not like her, and I never will be. I’m not a conqueror. I’m pretty much the opposite.”

He shakes his head. “You’re whoever you want to be.” He reaches out a hand to pull me back to my feet.

I take his hand and stand up.

“Let’s make some real progress.” Edam hands me a new sword that gleams beautifully. The hilt is ornamented with fancy Cyrillic letters.

I take it and swing it around a bit. “This blade sucks.”

He grins. “It’s pretty.”

I arch one brow. “The balance is terrible.” When I run my finger down the right edge, it doesn’t even break the skin. “And it’s dull. Like calculus.”

He suppresses his grin, but it reaches his eyes anyway and they sparkle. “And this one?” He hands me the plain sword he just annihilated me with, its hilt wrapped with black cloth.

I shift it in my hand. The balance is much better, but even with my recent accelerated training, it’s far too heavy.

“I can’t use this one.”

“Why not?”

“My arm will tire, which will slow me down. Maybe not a lot, but enough.”

He nods. “Good. Your mother didn’t neglect weapons basics.”

“Oh we analyzed lots of weapons, and even spent a little time doing bladed movements.”

“Bladed movements?” Edam asks. “Do I even want to know?”

“You’d call it dancing with a sword as a prop, probably.”

He mutters so quietly I can’t make out the words. He snatches the black-wrapped hilt of the heavy broadsword back, and our fingers brush.

My shoulder blades twitch and sweat slides down the skin over my sternum. I shiver. Edam’s eyes meet mine and for a moment, for one brief moment, I wonder what he would do if I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his. He proposed to me, but we haven’t even kissed. Doesn’t it bother him?

He gestures gruffly at the weapons rack and grunts. “Pick something else, then.”

The moment evaporates and my heart sinks back into my chest where it belongs.

I select a curved blade, as heavy as I can reasonably handle, but balanced well and honed to a fine edge. It’s clear how little my knowledge of blades matters when Edam comes at me like he’s carving a roasted turkey after a week-long fast. He decimates me, and then when I stand up, he does it again, in a new way. And again, the third time, spraying blood all the way up to the frescoes on the ceiling.

Alora’s not going to like it. In fact, as I look around at the room, I realize that if the producers of Kill Bill and Walking Dead made a cinematic baby, the set would look like Alora’s ballroom. Although, there aren’t any corpses.

Yet.

I feel terrible for whoever has to clean up after us.

“Your healing times are improving dramatically,” Edam says.

They had nowhere to go but up. Even so, he’s right. What used to take concentration happens without thought now. It’s not enough, but I’m getting better.

“I guess Judica was right—I didn’t know the meaning of pain. Mom almost never wounded me. Since she kept me ensconced in bubble wrap, I never had to practice healing.”

“You scored a few hits on me, too,” Edam says approvingly.

“One hit. I sliced your forearm.”

He shrugs. “Either way, I’m starving after all that work. You must be about to fall over.”

“Food. I definitely need food.”

Edam bobs his head. “We’re done. Go ahead and go.”

After I shower and change, I jog downstairs. A dozen pizza boxes are stacked on Alora’s pristine marble countertop.

“She figured with all the training you two would be ravenously hungry,” Lark says from the corner of the room. She’s leaning against the swirly, golden marble countertops.

“She was right.” I flip the top box’s lid up and snag a slice. Before I can take a single bite, Edam walks through the door and practically jumps across the room. His fingers clamp on my wrist and I nearly drop my food.

In a split second, my hunger takes a turn. Suddenly instead of pizza, I want Edam. I look from his strong fingers upward, to his face. His eyes sparkle at me and my breathing hitches. My heart rate spikes. Even Lark can hear it, I’m sure.

“Not so fast.” Edam’s hand slides over my wrist and takes my pizza slice. “You need a taster, Your Majesty.”

I gulp. I need a taste. That’s true.

“I tested it already,” Lark says.

Edam startles and looks at Lark as if he didn’t realize she was there. He tosses the piece on the table. It lands with a thump, and he backs away like I’m toxic.

I can’t keep up with his moods. “Great, good.” I snatch the slice of pepperoni pizza and stuff a bite in my mouth so I can pretend I’m not confused.

The cheese is so hot it burns the tip of my tongue, just the way I like it. The tomato sauce explodes in my mouth and the edges of the pepperoni are crisp, while the center is chewy. Edam and Lark each grab a box and shift toward opposite ends of the room. The kitchen is utterly quiet, other than the sound of three heartbeats, and the noises from Edam, Lark, and me chewing.

I don’t pause until I’ve downed two large pizzas. I polish off three slices of a third before I wad up my napkin and toss it into the trash, along with half my fourth slice.

“Lightweight,” Edam says.

“I’m not even offended, greasy fingers. Because while you pig out, Lark and I have more videos from Inara to watch.”

Edam leans over my shoulder so he can see too.

I try to ignore it, but I hear snatches of Judica’s fight song even more strongly in the first few fights, despite the lack of anything in the videos resembling actual music. Sharp chords, dire and dramatic sounds. I’m trying to figure out what it might mean when Edam interrupts.

“You see? There.” He points. “She’s holding back here, favoring that side after a major offensive. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there. And here.” He watches with me. “Here she’s striking repeatedly, but always from the same arm.”

“That’s pretty thin,” Lark says. “It’s not even an actual weakness. It’s a preference.”

“It’s what we have to work with,” Edam grumbles. “She doesn’t have any actual flaws. I trained her.”

“How would you beat her?” I ask. “Using your knowledge of her preferences?”

He laughs, but he doesn’t sound amused. “No, I’d beat her because I have no weaknesses or preferences. I’m also faster, stronger, and have greater reach.”

I don’t think before I act. My foot shoots out and kicks the leg out from under the front of his chair. Edam tumbles forward, face down. He catches himself on his elbows, but his slice of pizza lands face down on Alora’s wood floor with a slap.

Frederick and Alora race into the ballroom, eyes frantically searching the room for danger. Their faces are priceless.

“Faster, huh?” I ask.

Edam’s arm flies out and strikes my chair leg and it shatters, toppling me forward too. I land on his pizza slice and slide toward him, our faces inches apart when I stop.

“That was a waste of food,” Edam whispers.

I swallow hard and stand up, the pizza sauce and cheese smeared down the front of my shirt.

I need to change my clothes, and I need some time to think. Because I’m starting to let Edam affect my decision making, and that’s not smart. I leap to my feet. “Thanks for dinner, Alora.”

Her eyes widen and she bobs her head. “Of course.”

“I better go clean up.”

Edam’s already standing when I turn toward the door. Lark’s watching us from her chair with round eyes and a slightly open mouth.

“I’ll walk you up,” Edam says.

“I think I can find my room alone,” I snap.

Edam follows me out anyway. “What did I do to piss you off?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m just on edge.”

He walks next to me until we reach the hall where our rooms branch off on opposite sides.

“She won’t hesitate,” Edam says.

I force myself to meet his gaze. “I know she won’t hesitate to slice me in pieces, but I will. And I’m not sure I’d want to be someone who wouldn’t, even if it means I die.”

“Your empathy is one of the things I admire.” Edam’s voice is low, rough.

But my empathy will get me killed. Unless I take him up on his offer. Heaven help me, but I want to, and not only because it’s my best chance to win.