Jerrin seemed sincerely excited. “Well, my people have always been more apt to fight with staves, but I hear that is not so popular in Akaria.”

“Indeed,” Aven said. “Most young men focus on sword and ax, or sword and shield.”

“What about you? What was the focus of your training?”

“All of them.” Aven grinned. “We hold princes to a higher standard.”

Jerrin seemed a little flustered. “But, well, you must have a favorite.”

Aven let his smile soften, a little more puppy than wolf. He’d intimidated the man enough. “A favorite? That would be the weapons of our flag—the sword and shield. A classic combination. Shall we go for those?”

Conveniently, they would also make it easier for him to avoid killing the fool by accident.

“Yes, let’s!” Jerrin quickly agreed. “Akarian weapons for our Akarian prince! I will do my best, but do go easy on me.”

“It would not be very good hospitality to cut your arm off,” Aven laughed, “so I shall sincerely try.”

Jerrin laughed, too, but a tad uneasily. What was he after?

As they each tried a few swords and shields, Aven noticed the princess joining his mother. Aven saluted her briefly with his shield before returning to his task. He selected a sturdy, undamaged sword and shield pair. Of course, he had his own personal weapons, but it wouldn’t be fair to use those finely tuned works of art against these impersonal, public weapons. And these were much duller.

He headed for the center of the grounds and waited for Jerrin. The crowd hushed as his opponent joined him. They both bowed, solemn and respectful.

And then it began.

Jerrin mercifully began the fight with a quick lunge, easily dodged and deflected. Aven returned with a slash also conveniently easy to block with Jerrin’s shield.

The Takaran staggered back. Aven pressed forward. He dare not disappoint.

He brought down a high slash. Jerrin’s sword clashed with his, knocking it aside. Another swing from the side, this time blocked by the shield. The old man took a good stab toward Aven’s left side, which he danced away from, sidestepping.

He backed away now. For a moment, a standstill. Then Jerrin surprised him by taking the lead with several slashes easily blocked, Aven backing away each time and being nudged gradually toward one of the fire pits. He could feel the heat on his skin behind him.

Enough defense. Aven made a new charge toward the Takaran. Jerrin blocked and sidestepped away from his advances, skirting around him oddly. It brought them even closer to the bonfire.

Perhaps the ambassador has a flare for the dramatic, he thought. Or perhaps he is hoping to kill me but make it look like an accident.

Either way, he seemed to be deliberately forcing them closer and closer to the fire pit.

Aven sidestepped outward so that Jerrin was between him and the fire before lunging in again. Jerrin dodged by leaping to Aven’s left but this time brought up his shield and slammed it into Aven’s side, sending the prince staggering.

Aven caught his balance—on the edge of the fire pit, his eyes focusing just in time to see flames raging before him. Cries and mumbles were going up from the crowd.

Aven turned back and had barely enough time to block the next swing coming at him from above. Jerrin pressed on, pushing Aven back and into the side of the stone fire pit. Aven could feel the flames licking behind him, and then suddenly—to his horror—a strange wind picked up before him, sweeping the flames back, keeping him safely clear when the blaze should certainly have caught his hair alight.

No! Gods, not now.

He had to end this, and he had to end it as soon as possible, or who knew what his magic might do.

He heaved himself forward with all his might, throwing Jerrin back and knocking the man to the ground. Enough playing nice, he thought. Jerrin’s hair whipped left and right as if moved by some random, impossible gust of wind.

Before the Takaran could recover, Aven gave a swift kick, and his foe’s shield went flying.

Looking scared now, Jerrin brought up his sword before him.

Aven gathered his strength and focused his mind one last time. He knew these public practice swords well, and he knew his own strength even better. If he hit the sword just right…

He gave one mighty blow with all his strength at just the right spot midway up the sword, and it shook in Jerrin’s hands before clattering to the ground.

The crowd burst into applause. Jerrin was disarmed and therefore defeated. The ambassador looked a little shocked for a second, probably at the way he’d lost his sword, but he recovered quickly and grinned at him. Aven held out a hand to help him up.

“Well, you lived up to your reputation, young prince,” Jerrin said. “Thanks for taking a spin with an old man like me.” He clapped an arm around Aven’s shoulder.

“I am honored,” Aven said, steering him away from the fire and toward the armory. He could still feel the air whipping around them, but Jerrin did not seem to notice. “That was quite a blow from your shield! I think I must beg your pardon if I retire to recover.”

“Of course, of course. I’m sorry to surprise you there.”

“That is all the fun of sparring, is it not?”

“Thank you again, Aven. Sometimes I need to show my men I still have a bit of fight left in me,” Jerrin said with a chuckle.

But the words did not ring true. Jerrin was sincerely thankful for something, but that was not the real reason he’d wanted to fight.

Aven felt the air calm as he hung up his sword, and by the time he’d removed his chain mail, it was as still as it ever was. Inside, though, he was badly shaken.

He glanced up into the crowd, searching for his mother’s gaze. Before he could find it, he found Evana’s eyes instead. Strangely, she had risen and was speaking urgently with Jerrin.

Aven forced a smile at her. She forced a smile back, but there was something new hidden in her eyes, a secret behind their dark glitter, a deeper frostiness that hadn’t been there before.

Had she seen? Did she suspect? Could she know… ? Was she the reason why Jerrin had wanted to fight?

Suddenly, Aven felt quite sure that he had just walked into some kind of trap. And now something was in motion. But what, he had no idea.

“Have you told Father yet?” Luha asked, her walnut-brown eyes peeking around the doorframe. Hair of the same color was tied half up and matched her cloak.