Nightfall

by Shannon Messenger

  “Stop treating this like a joke,” Sophie snapped, grabbing his hands. “You realize the best-case scenario here is that you get seriously wounded, right?”

  Keefe grinned. “You really are adorable when you worry. But you don’t need to. I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t know I can handle it. See?”

  He pulled his hands free and showed her how steady they were.

  Then he gave her his cape and set to work unbuttoning his jerkin.

  “There has to be another way to settle this,” she tried, turning to the king. “How about a game of riddles? Or—”

  “This is the way I have chosen,” Dimitar interrupted, snatching a silver dagger from a long row of knives mounted on the wall. The blade was at least a foot long, with hooked barbs on the hilt, as if the weapon were designed to stab deep into an organ and tear it out.

  “Please don’t do this,” Sophie begged Keefe as he unbuttoned his undershirt.

  Any other time Sophie might’ve noticed how Keefe’s lean build showed a rather impressive amount of muscle tone when he added the shirt to the pile draped over her arm. But when he moved next to the ape-size king, it was hard to think anything other than RUN!

  “Let’s see, which one looks good for stabbing,” Keefe said, grabbing a wide black blade from the wall of weapons and testing a few swipes. His motions were somehow both sluggish and erratic, and when he tried to pivot, the weapon slipped from his grasp.

  “The grip on that one’s faulty,” Keefe mumbled, kicking the weapon aside and snatching a dagger with a palm-length blade. “This one looks perfect for sneak attacks.”

  “You can’t sneak up on him in an open ring,” Sophie argued.

  “That’s what you think.” He offered a smirk, but Sophie didn’t buy the act.

  King Dimitar studied him again, noting the way Keefe kept adjusting his grip on his miniscule dagger. “You display an uncommon amount of bravery for your species. Good to know there’s a shred of fight hidden underneath the elvin pomp and circumstance.”

  “Just because we don’t fight with blades doesn’t mean we’re afraid of battle,” Blur told him.

  Dimitar pointed his dagger toward the ring and glanced at Keefe. “Perhaps. But blades measure what truly matters.”

  “Do they?” Sophie said, reaching out with her telekinesis and floating a dozen swords toward Dimitar, each pointed at his chest.

  “Do. Not. Threaten. The. King!” Lady Cadence snapped.

  “I’m not threatening,” Sophie argued, floating another sword toward him. “I’m showing him there’s no need for this match.”

  “You think you can wield those weapons simply because you can lift them?” Dimitar asked, studying the blade he’d chosen.

  One second his eyes were on his dagger—the next he’d leaped in a sweeping spin, swinging his arm and sending each of her weapons clattering to the floor.

  “It’s as simple as this,” he said, stalking so close that Sophie was forced to take a step back. “I named the challenge. The boy accepted. Now, he must fight, or forfeit.”

  “Don’t forfeit,” Lady Cadence warned. “Whatever pains Keefe will experience in that ring are nothing compared to the punishment for that level of cowardice.”

  “She’s right,” Dimitar said, striding into the circle of salt and holding his blade toward Keefe. “Shall we?”

  Sophie grabbed Keefe’s arm. “I have a super bad feeling about this.”

  He covered her hand with his. “I know. But I’m not going to lose. And when I win,” he added, turning to Dimitar, “you will give us the starstone?”

  “You have no chance of winning,” Dimitar told him. “But if you manage to make it through this match without sniveling or groveling, I’ll allow you to take your trinket and go—after I make one strike against each of your companions. Consider their blood the price for traveling with a boy who thinks he deserves to be a Mercadir.”

  “I told you—Sophie stays out of this,” Keefe argued.

  “And I never agreed.” Dimitar stomped his foot, and four holes opened up in the floor, followed by four enormous ogres in full body armor who crawled out and blocked the only exit.

  “Like I said,” Lady Cadence mumbled, “a whole battalion is underneath us.”

  “In case anyone was getting any ideas about running,” Dimitar said. “You’re all here to witness the battle. And you’re all here to pay for the loss.”

  “The only loss will be yours!” Keefe sidestepped Sophie and charged into the ring, dagger raised, eyes wild, leaping for the ogre king.

  Dimitar grabbed him by his shoulders and threw him to the ground, placing one giant foot on Keefe’s neck, closing off his windpipe.

  “Two other things we should be clear on,” he said, as Keefe turned a purple-sort-of-red. “Number one: I will limit your wounds to treatable injuries, so long as you extend me the same courtesy. Come at me with a fatal attack—however flawed it may be—and you’ll be dead before you swing your blade. And number two: Your friends are not allowed to assist.”

  “If you’re going to take his loss out on us, we should be allowed to help him win,” Sophie argued.

  “That definitely would be fairer. But I don’t play fair,” Dimitar said, removing his foot from Keefe’s throat. “Which is why the sparring begins now.”

  Thirty-three

  BEFORE KEEFE CAUGHT his breath, Dimitar had dragged his blade across Keefe’s shoulder with a sickening squish.

  “That’s one,” he called over Keefe’s guttural cry.

  Sophie’s vision blurred as red streamed down Keefe’s chest.

  “I can’t decide what I’m enjoying more, beating the boy—or having the girl watch me do it,” Dimitar said with a cold smile. “Be glad I’m not kicking salt into his wound.”

  “I’m fine,” Keefe promised, stumbling to his feet.

  He didn’t look fine. He looked pale and wobbly, and Sophie had to press her fist under her ribs to keep her stored emotions under control. Every fiber of her being wanted to let her darkness rain on the ogre king. But if she let that happen, she’d unleash the pain on everyone.

  Keefe shrugged his shoulder, testing the motion. “It’s really not that deep.”

  “It’s not,” Dimitar agreed. “But the next two will be.”

  He lunged again, fast and deadly—but that time Keefe managed to launch his body into the air, hovering out of the king’s reach.

  “Stay up there as long as you can!” Blur advised.

  “Uh, duh,” Keefe told him. His levitation was shaky, but he managed to keep himself afloat and pull his body to the opposite end of the room. “You said I couldn’t step outside the salt, but you didn’t say I couldn’t hover above it.”

  “I suppose I didn’t,” Dimitar said as he moved as close to Keefe as the salt ring allowed. “Keep in mind, though, that for every minute you drag out this match, my next blow gets stronger—and I aim for a far more inconvenient place.”

  “You have to catch me first,” Keefe told him.

  “I intend to.” Dimitar leaped in an arc, slicing for Keefe’s feet before he twisted his body around, landing on the very edge of the ring—and it almost worked.

  The blade shredded the sole of Keefe’s shoe, but didn’t hit skin.

  “Good thing I wore the thick boots,” Keefe said, tucking his legs up against his chest.

  But his concentration was fading, his form bobbing unevenly through the air.

  “Get back over the ring,” Blur warned. “In case you lose your hold.”

  Keefe took his advice, dragging himself to the far end of the circle—and just in time. He plummeted, and Dimitar leaped toward him, blade slashing.

  Sophie closed her eyes, bracing for Keefe’s scream. But the only sounds were an angry grunt and a chorus of startled gasps.

  “That’s one,” Keefe said, and when Sophie opened her eyes he was levitating again, while King Dimitar stared at the maroon blood streaming down his ribs.

  It wasn’t a
large strike—barely more than a nick, just below the king’s clavicle. But Dimitar’s eyes were wide. His barrel chest heaving.

  Which was probably why Keefe wasn’t ready when Dimitar launched toward him with a mighty leap, dragging him down by his ankles and slamming Keefe into the ring with a bone-crunching thud. He slashed his blade under Keefe’s ribs, a long, deep stroke that sent red spraying before he flipped Keefe over and shoved him into the salt.

  “That’s two,” he snarled over Keefe’s agonized groan.

  “Let him up!” Sophie screamed.

  “He’ll get up on his own, or I’ll finish this now.”

  Red was soaking the salt all around Keefe’s torso, but somehow he managed to twist and kick Dimitar back, giving himself the seconds he needed to rise to his feet.

  “I’m still fine,” he promised. But Sophie noticed he kept his left arm pressed under his ribs to keep pressure on the wound—not that it did much to stop the bleeding.

  “You need to get to a physician,” Sophie told him, checking her pockets to find the Panakes blossoms she’d remembered to bring, wondering if she should make him eat them or press the petals into the wound. Probably both.

  “I’ve got time,” Keefe promised.

  “And we’re almost done,” Dimitar added with an asplike strike.

  Keefe managed to retreat to the air.

  “Back to hiding like a coward?” the king called.

  “Why not? It smells better up here.”

  Red rained from Keefe’s wound, and Sophie had to fight back a gag. She kept herself in control by tearing Keefe’s cape into strips, ready to use for bandages.

  “Keep wasting my time and I’ll slice something off,” Dimitar shouted at him. “You don’t need all of your fingers.”

  “Tempting, but I’m really kind of attached to them,” Keefe said. “See what I did there?”

  He smiled, but his words were slurred, probably from the blood loss. And as Dimitar rolled his eyes, Keefe seemed to collapse, toppling toward the ring with flailing arms.

  Sophie gasped, sure he’d lost control—but he flipped around when he neared the king, a primal roar blasting from his lips as he crashed into Dimitar, knocking him over and pinning the king’s shoulders with his knees.

  Salt flew.

  Limbs thrashed.

  And there were so many growls and snarls it sounded like feral beasts had entered the room.

  Dimitar’s guards pressed closer, their movements cautious, as if they weren’t sure whether or not to aid their king. But Dimitar managed to fling Keefe off and send him skidding across the salt.

  He swung his blade for Keefe’s face, but his arm froze midswipe.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” Keefe told him, sweat dripping down his brow.

  It took Sophie a second to realize he was using telekinesis to stay the king’s hand.

  “That was three.” Keefe pointed to the maroon streaming from a small cut near the top of the king’s metal diaper.

  “Two,” Dimitar corrected. “And you’ll regret that miscount.”

  “No,” Lady Cadence said, her eyes wide as she pointed to the side of Dimitar’s face.

  One of the yellow stones was now missing from his earlobe. And small drips of maroon trickled down the king’s neck.

  Keefe released Dimitar’s arm so he could reach up and feel the wound. “Like I said. That’s three.”

  “You did this with your bare hand,” Dimitar said quietly.

  Keefe nodded, holding up the splattered yellow stone with a shaky grip. “You never said the strikes had to be from the blade. Just that they had to draw blood.”

  Silence followed.

  Then slow clapping filled the cavern, and Sophie turned to see Blur’s solidified hands creating the applause. Lady Cadence cautiously joined him, but Sophie couldn’t bring herself to celebrate—or even look in the king’s direction—as she sprinted to Keefe’s side, bandages at the ready.

  She shoved a Panakes blossom into Keefe’s mouth and ordered him to swallow it.

  “It looks worse than it is,” he told her, choking on the colorful petals.

  But he wouldn’t let her peel back the arm he held under his ribs.

  “Come on, Keefe, I need to press the blossoms into the wound.”

  “Nah, I’m good. And hey, I got you a souvenir!”

  He offered her the bloody yellow stone.

  She shook her head, not realizing her eyes were blurry with tears until the wetness spilled over.

  “Seriously,” Keefe said, when she tried to move his arm. “No need to get blood on your gloves—or Dex’s very special cuffs.”

  She sighed. “Show me.”

  “If you wanted to check out my abs—”

  “Show me.”

  Keefe cringed and slowly pulled back his arm, revealing a deep gash that ran from one side of his stomach clear to the other.

  “Told you he’d be crawling to the Physician.” Dimitar flashed a particularly vicious smile, and whatever bond had been holding Sophie’s knotted emotions in check finally snapped.

  Cold darkness unraveled inside her, mixing with burning rage, the two like catalysts, blasting the searing ice through her veins.

  A tiny voice in the back of her mind warned she was losing control, and that if she didn’t stop, everyone in the room would suffer. But that voice was drowned out by the thunderous fury.

  Red rimmed her vision. Her body shook—though it didn’t feel like it was hers anymore. It was as if she’d been shoved far away, buried under the thick black hate that kept bubbling and churning, ready to drown the world—until a cool rush breezed through her.

  Calm, it seemed to say.

  Steady.

  Relax.

  And Sophie’s mind obeyed.

  Black and red faded to gray. Then to a dusky blue that grew brighter and brighter as the shaking eased and her mind cleared and she found herself staring into a pair of eyes the exact same icy shade.

  “There you are,” Keefe whispered, his breath warm on her cheeks. “You’re good now, right?”

  Pressure tightened on her hands and she glanced down to see his fingers twined with hers.

  Her gloveless fingers.

  Dex’s crush cuffs were gone too.

  “I took them off,” he whispered, glancing down to where they were piled in his lap. “Didn’t think it’d be a good idea to let you rage out on King Dimitar. And I didn’t know how else to get through.”

  “I’m assuming you’re not going to explain what you two are doing?” King Dimitar asked.

  Sophie wasn’t sure herself. It felt like Keefe had controlled her emotions—but he couldn’t do that, could he?

  Keefe must’ve thought so. He told the king, “Let’s just say I’m saving you from one beast of a headache.”

  “And now we need to get you to Elwin,” Lady Cadence added as she crouched next to Keefe and tried to wrap his arm around her shoulder.

  “Not yet,” Keefe said. “Starstone first.”

  Dimitar was still stroking his wounded ear, and his fisted hand made Sophie wonder if he would betray their bargain. But he lumbered to his throne, retrieved the hairpin, and handed it to Keefe—who slipped it into one of the pockets of his trousers.

  “It pains me to admit that your mother was correct,” Dimitar told him.

  “What are you talking about?” Sophie asked.

  He retrieved the black scroll from the waistband of his diaper. “She told me to challenge her son and let him prove that he’s not worthless like the others.”

  “Awesome,” Keefe grumbled, sucking air through his teeth as Lady Cadence gently pulled him upright. “My mom’s love notes are the sweetest, aren’t they?”

  “You may find them lacking sentiment, but she’s done you a great service. She requested a specific favor—which I’ve now decided to grant.”

  Dimitar slipped two fingers between his lips and made a screechy sort of whistle that left Sophie’s whole head ringing.

  The othe
r four ogres dropped to their knees as the floor rumbled and a fifth ogre crawled out of a narrow opening in the center of the salt pit.

  The young female warrior had a leaner build than the other ogres, but her body was pure muscle, accentuated by the metal breastplate she wore paired with a metal diaper of her own—which was studded with spikes. She looked almost stylish with her chin-length ashy hair, the thick black lines painted across her silver eyes, and the blue stone set into one of her nostrils. And yet, something about the fluid way she moved made Sophie suspect she was the most dangerous ogre in the room—aside from Dimitar.

  Sophie had just noticed the thin tattoos circling the girl’s forehead when Lady Cadence dropped to one knee, bowed her head, and said, “Good to see you again, Princess.”

  “Yes,” Dimitar said, his gaze on Sophie. “I have a daughter—who happens to be one of my most powerful soldiers. Romhilda has—”

  “Ro,” his daughter corrected, twisting her blue nose piercing. “Romhilda is Grandma’s name—and it’s gross.”

  Dimitar gritted his teeth. “Fine. Ro has been training for battle since she was one month old.”

  Ro crossed her muscled arms as she turned to study Sophie and Keefe, her nose crinkling with distaste. “These scrawny kids are seriously the elves who flooded the city?”

  “The water girl isn’t with them,” Dimitar told her, a growl creeping into his voice. “But yes, they are. And I need you to let that go, because they were not the ones who truly betrayed us that day. The real blame belongs to those cloak-wearing liars. Which is why I have an assignment for you.”

  He stalked toward his daughter, murmuring something Sophie couldn’t hear—but she was too worried about how much blood Keefe was losing to care why Ro was there. “What’s the fastest way to get him home?” she asked Lady Cadence.

  “You should take him to Foxfire,” Lady Cadence told her. “Elwin’s already working in the Healing Center, prepping for when sessions resume. And you’ll be able to leap there as soon as we’re clear of the King’s Path. I can sail Riverdrift home myself.”

  “Hmm, a boat ride and my first light leap,” Ro said. “At least this is going to be entertaining!”