Page 43

“That’s good. I’m not a gentleman.”

“Shocking.”

The man laughed, and the sound fed my specter, solidifying its contours.

“Since you’re friendly with the empress,” he said, cracking his knuckles, “tell me: Is it true that she’s only so spiteful because her specter is weaker than an infant’s?”

“Perhaps you could tell me.” I looked pointedly over his muscles. “It seems as though you know quite a bit about overcompensation.”

His smile dropped.

And then his specter slammed into mine.

The force rattled my teeth, but my specter held strong against the blow. So strong that the man jolted, as though his power had recoiled back to him.

Shock rippled across the crowd as the man’s eyes widened.

Then began his true assault.

His specter slammed against mine again and again, each blow landing with the sensation of a punch. But even as his friends shouted around us, I kept my focus, my power holding solid through every strike.

I knew from the ripples of this man’s power that his specter wasn’t as mighty as Goren’s. That I was capable of running sharp tendrils across it, ending this fight in an instant.

But I hadn’t shaped my power into a tendril since that night at Erik’s palace, and I wasn’t prepared to attempt it now. So I would wait him out. Let him run his own specter to tatters as he lashed it against the iron wall of mine.

As I bore the next blow, almost losing my footing, I noticed it: His knuckles whitening before every surge of power. His tell.

“Finish it, Lockpicker,” Lye called. Because he probably saw the sweat plastering my blouse against my back. He knew that my opponent wasn’t the only one tiring.

Just before the man’s knuckles tightened again, I drove my wave of power forward. First toward his shoulder, eliciting a roar. Then toward his left knee, buckling him.

The workroom exploded with anger. Something zipped sharply through my specter, and I gasped at the sudden pain.

Keil’s voice boomed out, fuming, but I couldn’t make out his words. Because during the brief second of my distraction, my opponent had somehow grabbed a saw.

And now he was barreling straight toward me.

I lurched back, panicked, thrusting another wave at him on instinct. But he swung his saw before my power touched him—and the sensation ripped the breath from my lungs.

My power recoiled so violently that I plunged backward onto the floor. The impact reverberated up my tailbone, watering my eyes. The ceiling swayed above me and the crowd cheered, a deafening roar above my thundering heartbeat.

Then the man’s body blocked the light; his blade whooshed toward my head—

And flew out of his grasp.

There was a unanimous cry of outrage.

“That’s cheating!” my opponent barked as I blinked dark spots from my vision. I might as well have been in that Verenian tavern, dizzy-drunk, three breaths away from being held up by a scowling Garret.

But it was Keil who scooped me to my feet now, his hands steady and warm. “So is that,” he replied, nodding toward a dayglass arrowhead on the floor. Someone must have thrown it at me.

“Better luck next time, highborn,” Raff drawled.

I pushed the hair off my face, seething. “I won that fight!”

“Really? Then let me know where to send the medal.” He turned, his ponytail swishing away. “Back to work!”

I surged after him, only to rebound off Lye’s chest.