Chapter 58

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The morning Nyle was to duel Naru was cold enough that a coating of hoarfrost had collected on everything, thick and sparkling. The city glittered like diamonds in the sunlight when he and Lillian left the inn, so bright he had to shield his eyes. Lillian held tightly to his gloved hand as they walked the streets, and he tried with little success to calm the nervous energy rattling around in his chest. They both knew there was a very good chance he was walking to face his death.

The stadium the Cassarian council had designated for their duel was in an undestroyed corner of Erilian, and Nyle knew it immediately when they passed through the entrance and came to stand on a balcony overlooking the rest of the seats and the floor far below. Though it was empty today save for the members of the Cassarian council, it was the same place Agnir had hosted the celebration after defeating the Nemaru, the place at which Naru had challenged and killed him. The place where, ironically, Naru himself had declared Nyle to be the heir to the throne. The parallels today held were almost sickening.

Lillian went with him as he descended into the bowels of the arena to prepare. She quietly helped him strap on what little armor he was allowed--only a chestplate made of stiff leather--and handed him the belt on which his sword hung. When there was nothing left to do, she stood before him, her hand lingering on his chest.

"Hey," he said, taking her face in his hands and smoothing her hair back. She closed her eyes, and he wrapped her in a fierce embrace. He didn't dare promise he'd be all right, didn't dare reassure her.

She squeezed him tighter when he moved to pull away, and he tucked his nose into her hair and let her warmth soak into him. "Don't die out there, okay?" she whispered, muffled by his chest, and he laughed a little.

"Okay," he said softly, pulling back. She straightened his chestplate and looked up at him, then hooked her fingers under the edges on his shoulders and went on her tiptoes to kiss him. It was fierce and passionate, a promise, a plea. Then she let him go with a smile that gave away her bravery, and he left her standing there and stepped out into the sun-warmed sand to face Naru.

Nyle's opponent was already in the center of the arena, standing tall and proud. They hadn't given him new clothes--his tattered shirt fluttered in the wind, and he shivered. But he'd washed his face clean, and he wore a chestplate identical to Nyle's, as well as a sword that hung in a sheath at his hip. He drew it when Nyle approached, unfastening the belt from around his waist. It coiled to the ground like a snake.

Nyle drew his blade as well, wary as he stopped a few feet from Naru. "Corin," he said, using the name Craventi and Chad had called him by.

"Prince," Naru replied mildly, reaching out lazily with his sword and knocking the flat of his blade against Nyle's before looking up. There was unmasked exhaustion on his face, and his posture held no conviction. It was a farce; it had to be. His hatred for the Serpentine was frightening. He wouldn't let it go now, not when he had a chance to make such a spectacle. "Shall we get on with it, then? It won't look terribly convincing if we stand here chatting for a while."

Why would he worry about it looking convincing? "Are you so disgustingly confident that you're that sure you'll beat me?" Nyle shot back, stepping backwards when Naru cocked his head. "You haven't won this yet, you murderer."

"Murderer," Naru repeated slowly, rolling it over in his mouth. "So many have called me that. It's true, I suppose. More now than ever. I think I'd do it all over if I could anyway." Swinging his sword in a arc in front of him, he met Nyle's gaze. "You mistake my intentions, Galleon. Or is it Longfellow, now that you've married Lillian? The Nemaru customs always did puzzle me."

Nyle hissed a breath through his teeth, his muscles tense with the promise of a fight. He had come to duel, not talk. "Then what are your intentions, and why are you stalling?"

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