The Courtesy of Kings | ☑ Queenkiller, Kingmaker #2

39.2

Three more matches passed, and by then the bell tower was ringing its midday toll. The next straws were drawn, and by the time the last peal faded in the distance, Kiet's name was called out to the crowd. His opponent's name was drowned beneath roars and thundering of boots upon benches.

Isla peered down at the walkway. 'What? Who did he draw against?'

'High Prince Temchin.' Rajini Chei smiled back at her. 'The High Khan's youngest son.'

No. She scooted up the platform and caught the man as he walked up the pit, his older brother pounding him on the chest as he passed. He looked a replica of High Prince Amargai, but with less braids in his hair and only an early growth around his jawline. He was a slighter build, too, if only by a margin. Perhaps there was hope yet for Kiet.

They performed their bows and stepped around one another. As always, Kiet was too unbothered—casual—as he watched the Napoan prince at an angle. Both his kalis and offhand remained loose at his side, while High Prince Temchin held his weapon with both hands and kept it trained to a point. Only when the latter moved in for a cut did Kiet raise his guard; a swift movement and the air was clanging with their cuts and parries, cuts and parries—Kiet's gently undulating blade against harsh Napoan steel.

It carried on for a while, the movement of their blades becoming a blur, until High Prince Temchin came in for an undercut between Kiet's rhythmic maneuvers. He stepped back, but not without the edge of the weapon taking a strip off his breastplate.

'Kiet!' Her call merged with all the other cries and whoops of the crowd.

'Calm yourself.' Rajini Chei pulled her down with a hand on her shoulder, but Isla did not sink back into her cushions until Kiet's eyes found hers and he flashed her a smile.

'That blade could have cleaved him in two!'

Down in the stage, he checked his leather plate and lifted his fingers into the air, the tips of it red. 'Your point, Prince Temchin.'

'Why is he throwing this game?' Did he mean to avoid an outright duel against Maharaj Khaisan?

'Perhaps he is simply outmatched.'

Their second encounter certainly made it look so. Emboldened, Prince Temchin kept his guard high, pushing Kiet into a defence. Again and again he took Temchin's blows, beating them away with the smallest flicks, no movement wasted, but finally High Prince Temchin used the momentum to draw back and return with a thrust.

Kiet twisted back, kalis pulled tight to his side. Steel scraped with a ringing that chafed Isla's ears. But as the distance closed, he wrenched back his sword, ripping up into the Napoan prince's forearm before shoving him away.

'Point!' Yelled the tournament master.

But Kiet, too, was nursing his side. The Napoan blade had grazed just past his waistcoat, blood peeking through the tear in his leather. 'Make that a double.'

Gods. Isla unclenched her hands.

High Prince Temchin winced through his bleeding. At least Kiet had injured him deeper with one cut than he had done through two, but both refused the therapeut's interventions. The Napoan prince rose to his feet, resumed his position, now back to a cautious posture.

One more point and he wins.

But Kiet rolled his shoulders and nodded at the prince, his own sword still held low behind his body, provoking an attack, and the High Prince Temchin did not disappoint. Down came his blade. Left, right, left again. Each time Kiet only checked it, matching his speed. Each time Temchin slipped past his guard, his weapon always struck just a hair's length out of reach. Each time he would catch Kiet in a counter, he was always just a beat too slow to deliver.