The Queen and the Dagger

The Queen and the Dagger - Chapter Twelve

A gong sounded. Shouts and eager speculation rose around them, the placing of bets and the cries of encouragement growing steadily louder. Indigo walked out to the center of the grounds and watched Kalmara take her place.

They had sparred countless times. But this, both knew, would be different. This would shatter what tenuous familial affection remained between them. They regarded each other, the wind tugging and clawing at their fur, their garments.

"The Bird shall not grant mercy, Princess. Royal blood or no," Kalmara said, her voice soft so only Indigo could hear.

Indigo gripped her sword hard. "I shall not ask for it."

Kalmara gave the hint of a smile. "I wouldn't expect you to, niece." She signaled to the gong striker, and the instrument boomed once more.

The two combatants circled each other. Though Indigo knew her aunt's sword play better than almost anyone, she had never truly fought her. She knew the regent meant what she said: she would give no leeway.

Like a hawk, Kalmara struck, sword raised.

The first thunderclap of wood on wood reverberated up Indigo's arm and into the base of her skull.

She forced herself to block out the shouts and taunts that assailed her from the sidelines. Her aunt lunged, and Indigo's distraction meant she missed the telltale shift in Kalmara's body signaling a feint. She dodged the practice blade's sharp end but couldn't escape her aunt's free paw ploughing into her shoulder. A collective roar went up from the audience, though Indigo couldn't make out the supporters from the doubters.

The Bird was enjoying this, Indigo realized. As Borla had always said, Kalmara only chose fights that she was certain to win. And public wins were particularly sweet, especially when so much was at stake.

Kalmara shifted the blade in her paw and swooped. Indigo took it as a good sign that the Bird was constantly bringing the fight to her rather than waiting for Indigo to tire herself. She parried, trying to see the plan behind her aunt's movements—a good fighter must always have a plan. The best ones plan at least five moves in advance.

Indigo kept her sword close to her body, knowing the Bird's specialty was to find openings when least anticipated. One mistimed attack, and Kalmara would have her blade tickling Indigo's ribcage.

She parried several thrusts before realizing her aunt was trying to tire her out on her weaker side—her left. And it was working. Even though the Bird danced and flitted constantly, while Indigo tried to stay more grounded, her arms were growing sore, her back burned, and her legs were threatening cramps. The wind wasn't helping either—it battered her in the face, stung her eyes. She couldn't help thinking of everything she would be losing: the throne, her mother's legacy, her identity, her home. She needed to get the regent off her own weak side, and soon. But how?

The wind shifted, chasing a mass of clouds across the sun. Shadows fled and shrank as objects and faces became whitewashed for the few breaths the sun broke through.

The Wind.

The Wind had won his bride by covering the sun.

Good or bad, it was a plan. Indigo made a deliberately clumsy swing, careful not to leave herself undefended. Kalmara easily blocked her with the sword's forte, before lunging in for several blindingly fast cuts. Indigo retreated, making a show of breathing heavily and giving all indications of buying time. Which was true, up to a point.

With a look that was almost disappointment at impending victory, Kalmara advanced. Indigo kept retreating, giving weaker resistance as she moved in a semicircle. A few jeers reached her.