"Gerard," Marlena said, in a whisper-soft voice and a white-knuckled grip on his arm.
“I have no intention of lowering myself to meet such a childish provocation,” Gerard said, resting his hand over hers for a brief moment before removing it with a gentle squeeze. He turned his attention back to Antoine. “If you can prove that what you have to offer holds any value or merit, I can justify turning a blind eye towards your presence just this once.”
Antoine crossed his arms, rocking back on his heels as he studied Gerard’s expression. “How seriously do you wish for me to take this, Duke Vanquise?”
“As if your life depends on it, Antoine. Because it does.” Gerard’s face was dark with tension. “I won’t be pulling any punches, nor will I be sparing you if you fall.”
“Then you should do the same,” Antoine said coolly. “I'm far from the child you remember.”
Gerard crossed his arms, mirroring Antoine’s body language. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Elana took a half-step back as her brother’s eyes landed on her, but he only nodded in her direction. “As should you, when the time comes,” he added. “Your life, too, depends on it.”
The training grounds, when they came upon them, were conspicuously empty. There were signs of recent activity. Abandoned practice swords, traces of resonant magic still glowing on tattered practice dummies, fresh blood on the floor of the stone courtyard used for sparring and mock-battles.
The knights that had been using it had cleared out in a hurry. Had someone tipped them off to their approach? Elana frowned. If only one brave—or foolish—knight had dared to bar the banished heir’s entry, had the rest simply… vacated?
Apart from Elana herself, none of the others seemed to find it odd. Instead, upon arriving at the training grounds, both Antoine and Gerard had split off to warm up.
“Your Grace,” Elana said, hesitating as she turned towards the duchess. “Did something happen between father and Antoine?”
To Elana’s surprise, Marlena didn’t pretend not to hear the question. Instead, the duchess’ brow furrowed as she turned to face Elana. “That question would be better directed to your father,” she said, fidgeting uncharacteristically with the locket she wore around her neck.
Valkyrie, who had, up to that point, been a quiet shadow in their wake, snorted. “Coward.” Her lip curled with disgust. “You can’t even say?”
Marlena’s expression went cold, her eyes narrowing icily at the younger woman. “Pardon?”
“Valkyrie,” Antoine’s voice cut through the courtyard. “Leave it.”
Valkyrie’s mouth snapped shut and she resumed her silent vigil.
What was that? Elana thought to herself, her eyes shifting from Valkyrie to her mother. Valkyrie was still glaring daggers at the duchess, who had gone stiff except for a faint tremble in her hands. There was more going on here, and everyone but her seemed to know.
Marlena, catching her eye, hesitated. Valkyrie’s comment must have gotten under her skin. Elana had never seen her mother hesitate, in anything.
“He and I are of a different mind,” Marlena said, quieter than Elana had ever heard her, “but we share similar sentiments about the matter. That’s as much as I can say.”
“Marlena.” This time it was Gerard’s voice that echoed across the courtyard. “On your mark.”
Marlena stepped forward, murmuring a quiet incantation beneath her breath. As she touched the ground, a sphere of interlocked tetrahedrons swallowed it whole. Until it was deactivated, it would keep Gerard and Antoine, as well as their magic, contained.
Elana had seen the magic barrier activated countless times, but this was the first time she had seen one so advanced. She looked at Marlena, but it was Valkyrie who answered her silent question.
“It’s necessary,” the female knight said, with no shortage of smugness. “He’s the best of the best.”
Antoine and Gerard both stood in a ready stance in the dead center of the courtyard, feet apart from one another.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Antoine said, facing Gerard with his sword in a neutral, resting position.
Gerard ran his thumb over the edge of his sword, letting it bite into his skin. The ritual was smooth and well practiced as he smeared his blood across the top of the honed black steel, priming it with dark magic. As quickly as he bled, the blade greedily consumed it.
Flames darker than a moonless night danced along the edge of his blade. One swing and they surged forward in a clean arc. They crashed against Antoine’s energetic shield, scattering.
Plumes of black fire spread from each of the resulting embers, obscuring the field.
Antoine met Gerard’s next blow with a clean parry, a spell on his lips as he shoved back his father’s sword. Lightning sparked from Antoine’s hand, crashing against Gerard’s mana barrier.
“You’ve gotten stronger,” Gerard grunted. “I almost felt that.”
“Your skills haven’t aged a day.”
Gerard snorted. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The two spared no further time for banter, meeting each other with swords raised. On one side, bursts of lightning arced through the air. On the other, torrential darkness, growing steadily with Gerard’s blood.
Comments (3)
See all