Shadows and Steel | ✓

chapter thirty-nine

-39-

Elle stared at his calloused palm, white with chalk for grip. For a moment, she couldn't find any words. The man waited, not taking no for an answer. A curt nod, then she grasped his hand. Wincing slightly as he added a second hand over her cut, Rand held the grip and looked her dead in the eyes.

Pumping it up and down a few times before giving it a squeeze, he planted a kiss on the back, right next to the cut.

The assassin detached herself from Rand's sickly sweetness. He went to grab his weapon. Elle searched the room and found Tan, getting up from where she sat. The girl shot her a venomous smile. Cerid tugged them to the ring, muttering something about stalling too long.

A squeaky sound of chalk being added to the board made her turn. With meticulous precision, the man on the stepladder wrote Rand's name next to Elle's. Cerid looked at her knowingly, "be careful. You've won your place in DETRA, even if you lose."

She felt no triumph, no celebration at winning her place in DETRA. If she was a half-assed assassin she would have been more worried. Fighting was her life. It was what she did. No...this match was different. Elle Hallor couldn't lose to piss-poor recruit Rand.

"Stop worrying," she replied, placing a hand on his cheek.

It had all come down to this.

Rand was going to kill her if he had the chance. And every time he'd tried she had managed to slip out of his hold. Her stomach performed acrobatics as she stood at the edge.

Eyeing the man's weapon, Rand made a show of slicing and twisting it, much to the audience's delight. Bets were made on the spot. Elle didn't fail to note that most weren't in her favour. His longsword had a blood-red grip, bejewelled with a single white stone in its hilt. He had taken good care of the weapon. The blade looked menacing under the light of the ring. No wonder the audience were so enthralled.

A dagger, even a longer one like Ravaryn wouldn't hold against a beast thing like that.

Cerid had calculated this as well, unsheathing the sword at his hip. "Vhiena, use this." He handed it to her. She chewed on her lip as she tested its weight, practicing a few strikes.

"Are you certain?"

"You aren't going to be able to get close enough to use your dagger efficiently." His serious face cracked slightly, allowing for a shrug and a grin. "Besides, when you win I want it to be with my weapon."

Huffing a laugh, she held it into the light. A beauty. His father had held onto Guardian but Cerid's was by no means a shabby make. Some smith had dedicated hours to welding the blade. It cut through the air seamlessly. She nodded gratefully at the heir, shaking her head at the magnificent sword. "I might have to get myself one of these," she muttered.

Cracking her knuckles, she faced Rand. Breathing. In, out, in out.

The final starting cry sounded alien in her ears. People around her faded into nothing as Rand barrelled towards her—suddenly she was reminded of Jax, their first fight. Their fighting styles were similar. All brawn and little craft.

Muscular arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her back. Elle's head hit the hard floor first. Light and darkness mottled her vision. The big agent was on top of her, his straddle crushing her ribcage like a collapsing fortress.

Through her pounding headache, she heard voices screaming encouragement. The spectators spat down on the competition, writhing in their masses like snakes.