“Arend… this isn’t personal. Galahad’s just asked us to keep an eye on everyone,” one of the royal guards said.

  “My sister’s very stressed out right now,” Arend insisted. “I don’t want either of you hovering around her, making her paranoid. She wants a nice, private room. Just me and her. And besides… I’m a royal knight, aren’t I?” He tapped his chest. “I can keep an eye on her. Do you have a problem with that? Do I need to remind you of our difference in rank?”

  The royal knights looked between each other. “Alright, Arend. We don’t want any trouble. Just doing our job.”

  The knights walked away, and Arend shut the door behind them. He looked back. “There you go, Dorothea.”

  “Thank you, Arend,” Dorothea said.

  Dorothea handled a bottle of poison hidden in her sleeve quite delicately. This was something that had been given to her long, long ago, ever since she first made contact with Avaria. It was intended to be taken in case one’s cover was exposed, and judgment was soon to rain down upon them. In the other hand was another vial of a different purpose.

  But I don’t want to die, Dorothea thought. There’s so much that I have yet to do.

  Her brother paced around the room nervously, obviously confused about what was happening. The winds had been taken out of his sail, but he was utterly oblivious to her inner turmoil. She should’ve known that it wouldn’t be so simple to simply sneak up on Willem. He’d probably arranged things from the beginning. He’d probably…

  Petronella, Dorothea reflected. She set me up. Lured me here, right alongside Willem. They both set me up. Now they’re getting amnesty, and I’m…

  Galahad wasn’t someone that she could avoid. Her death, it seemed, was already set in stone. But the time it took for her to reach it, and the consequences that arose because of it, were still in her hand. She ground her teeth together as blind anger rushed to her head. She didn’t intend to die on a torture rack. But perhaps… perhaps there could be some problems that arose.

  One final hurrah, before she went to her grave.

  “Arend,” she said lightly. “Arend, come here.”

  Arend walked away and kneeled by her side. “What is it?” He studied her. “You look… unwell. Pale, paler than normal. What’s wrong? Are you worried? We don’t have a thing to fear, sister. Once this blows over, provided it ends in Willem’s favor, we’ll simply rearrange to do this at another time. Time is all we’ve lost—time.”

  “There’s something that I need you to do for me,” she said. “It has to happen now.”

  “Anything,” Arend vowed. “Anything within my power.”

  Even though she’d said the words to beckon him over, she honestly didn’t know what he could do. The knights that had come were being watched over by one of the greatest spellcasters in the continent. They wouldn’t be able to break free of this entrapment, let alone make it to safety, with one aura user alone.

  “I need you to drink this,” Dorothea said, offering out the other vial.

  He took it, looking at it. “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s a good-luck potion that I bought for your duel against Willem,” Dorothea said.

  “Dory…” Arend looked at it with a smile on his face. “You shouldn’t buy stuff like that. It’s a scam.”

  “It works,” she insisted., trying not to let the true fear permeate her tone. “And I want you to drink it.”

  Arend scoffed. “Dorothea, I—”

  “Please,” she insisted. “Just drink it. For me. I’m nervous. Willem… Willem’s been planning something. And I… don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Arend took off the small cork from the bottle, and downed it at once. “There,” he said, grimacing from the taste. “That better?”

  “Much,” Dorothea said, smiling. “Remember, Arend… Willem’s responsible for this.”

  Dorothea opened her own vial, and drank it deeply.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  ***

  Viviene stood there, a little distraught but ultimately satisfied. Willem had apparently been collaborating with Avaria unintentionally, being used without his knowledge. That was all that she’d gotten from Galahad’s men. Knowing him, he must’ve figured it out once Tielman was poisoned. That had probably rattled him even deeper.

  My boy… I can’t imagine what you’ve endured while I’ve been away, she thought. Hopefully now that you and Suzanne are back together, things will look up for you. The two of you were always close, strange as that was.

  “Out of my way!” came a heart-rending shout.

  Viviene looked over to see an overwhelming amount of steely gray aura cleave through the estate. She shifted on her feet, grasping at her rapier even as the knights that Galahad had brought stormed forth. When the dust settled, she saw him stalking forth—Arend Rook, the knight that she’d prepared herself to duel with for so long.

  His gray aura swirled about him as a fell storm. The knight’s primary objective became evacuating the citizenry, and at this they excelled. They held the line as people ran for safety, and Viviene stood her ground weighing her options carefully.

  “Catharina,” she called out, looking behind her. “Lead the others to safety. You!” she shouted at a knight. “Go inside that damned portal, and bring back Galahad.”

  “I’ll kill him!” Arend shouted again, cleaving through a great crowd of knights as they approached to subdue him. They had auras of their own, but before the rage of a royal knight, it proved feeble.

  Fortunately, Viviene didn’t need to utter commands twice. Her daughter and the knight she’d singled out heeded her words without questioning them, while Viviene herself strode toward the swirling tempest of aura. The man was out of his mind, it looked like—he wasn’t using his aura deliberately at all, merely swinging it about like a mad beast.

  When Viviene spotted an opportunity in his mad charge, she thrust her rapier forth, and it collided with that great tempest of swirling aura around him. The Rook family aura was incredibly difficult to pierce, even poorly-utilized as it was. Her attack bounced away harmlessly. Still…

  Still, I’ve been training for this, Viviene reflected.

  The mad beast, tried once, regarded Viviene evenly. Now that formidable enough competition had stepped in his way, he fell back upon old training, assuming a sloppy defensive stance common among those in the Rook family. The sheer intensity of his rage made his aura swell—a phenomenon that some families like to use voluntarily, which they called the Berserk State.

  Arend lashed out at her with his sword, and a great curtain of gray light swept toward her with overwhelming power. She ducked under it just in time for another to swing by, threateningly close to her other eye. She wove through it, keeping her practiced footwork in the top of her mind.

  Dodging, dodging, dodging, she advanced. Every inch that she neared, she looked for an opportunity to deliver a blow. It was as though a tornado of shields surrounded Arend—almost unbreakable. Almost. But she had learned well the ways of the Dubois family, and they were well-accustomed to dealing with brutish displays of strength.

  When Arend finally thrusted instead of swinging, Viviene danced backward along with the blow. She ducked low to the floor, bracing her legs like tightly compressed springs. She brought all of her aura to the tip of her rapier, then lunged forth with the most speed she could recall ever using. Arend’s aura naturally rose to defend, but a sharp enough point and tremendous speed was almost made for shattering defenses.

  Viviene’s rapier pierced through, jamming itself right into the sword arm of Arend. His weapon clattered to the floor, and his aura faltered somewhat as his channeling method failed. She gathered her aura in her free hand, prepared to subdue him alive that he might be taken in for questioning. Then, as if something snapped within him, his strength redoubled. He gathered tremendous amounts of aura in his hand and lunged at her.

  Angled awkwardly, Viviene was forced to release her rapier to avoid being grappled. If she was grabbed, that would’ve been the end. She slid back smoothly, kicking out Arend’s feet as he pursued. He collapsed to the floor, and she delivered a sharp, aura-infused kick into his stomach. He slid backward, scrabbling to his feet.

  Viviene produced a dagger from her boot and faced him, prepared to take him down. Then, a great flash of light consumed her vision. The next thing she saw, Arend was spasming wildly, electricity coursing through him. Galahad bridged the gap, spurred by wind magic, and slammed the bottom of his staff into Arend’s temple.

  The royal knight collapsed to the ground. Viviene stood there, the tension refusing to drain from her body. It permeated her like nothing else, demanding every fiber of her attention.

  A voice finally broke her thoughts. “Mother!”

  She couldn’t confuse that voice with another. When Suzanne’s arms wrapped around her torso, she looked at her girl without words.

  “Are you hurt?” Suzanne demanded. “Are you hurt?!”

  “I’m fine,” Viviene said quietly. Her natural instinct was to push the girl away harshly, but after all that she’d been through with Willem… she stood there quietly, accepting the affection of her daughter.

  “What in the name of the goddess was he thinking?” Galahad mused as he crouched over his fallen from. “Suzanne, stop fretting over your mother. She had nearly won on her own. Focus your attention on the wounded. Lives can yet be saved.”

  “Right,” Suzanne said.

  Viviene leaned up against the wall. As the adrenaline drained from her, she felt nothing more than exhausted, but she refused to show too much weakness. Deep in the back of her mind, there was something else other than exhaustion: a small sense of pride. It was the pride of victory. It hadn’t been in the way she’d imagined it, perhaps, but she’d fought against Arend Rook, a royal knight, and emerged victorious.

  “The Belle of the Blade,” she heard a distant knight mutter.

  Viviene blinked, hearing that. How long had it been since she heard that name?