Defy by Sara B. Larson Read Free Book Online Page B

grieve Marcel. But I must post
    notices that the competition to fill his position will take place
    tomorrow afternoon.” Deron paused, and his expression softened.
    “You know how sorry we all are.”
    Deron turned without another word and walked away.
    Even though my muscles burned with exhaustion, I forced
    myself to lift the sword and work through my forms one more
    time. Thrust, jab, parry, spin, and attack. The reason I was the
    best was because I was relentless with my training. That, and if
    Marcel was to be believed, I had been blessed with a gift. I’d
    always teased him, saying that was just his excuse for why I always
    beat him.
    But the villagers had believed him. The fact that we were
    half Blevonese didn’t make us many friends once the war started.
    I’d heard whispers that we were enemy lovers. But I didn’t love
    Blevon — I just loved my family. It didn’t matter to me where my
    parents were born. After a Blevonese sorcerer took them away from
    me, though, any love I had for my heritage had turned to hatred as
    strong as anyone else’s.
    The memories f looded up as I spun through the ring, lunging,
    crouching, fighting a whole horde of imaginary foes and ghosts of
    my past. I thought of the night when I was five and overheard my
    parents talking about the king and his war. We lived close to the
    border between Antion, King Hector’s kingdom, and Blevon,
    King Osgand’s, and the threat of attack was always likely. Papa
    began teaching Marcel how to fight, and I asked if I could watch.
    I studied them, memorized the moves. Watching Papa spar thrilled
    me in a way I couldn’t understand at that age. I only knew I had
    to do it, too — I had to learn to move like that, to spin and twist
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    and lunge, to make my sword become an extension of my body.
    Beautiful and deadly, the most intoxicating dance I’d ever seen.
    When I turned six, I asked if I could join them. Mama pro-
    tested, but Papa thought it was just for fun. He was amused by my
    interest — at first. I held back for the first few months, nervous
    that they would be mad if I was any good.
    Now, as I continued through my practice, the ghosts of my
    family seemed to surround me. I imagined sparring with Papa
    while Mama watched us, her expression hooded. I never knew if
    she was proud of how good I became or ashamed.
    Papa had called me his zhànshì nánwu¯ . Though I’d begged
    him to tell me what it meant, he never did. It was the language of
    Blevon, not Antion. His parents had been from Blevon; they’d
    moved to Antion when there was still peace between our nations.
    Before Hector came with his Dansiian army and won control of
    Antion, making himself king. Before he tore apart the alliance that
    had once existed between the two nations by declaring war after
    the queen’s death. I didn’t dare ask anyone else what zhànshì
    nánwu¯ meant. Having ties to Blevon wasn’t a good thing in
    Antion — especially not inside King Hector’s palace.
    I licked my lips and tasted the salt of my own sweat and tears.
    I hoped that if anyone still watched me, the extra moisture on my
    face would be indistinguishable from the perspiration dripping
    down my neck. My muscles were on fire, my whole body cried out
    from the exertion, but it wasn’t enough to drive the pain from my
    heart.
    I’d just grabbed a towel and wiped down my face when there
    was a shout from across the courtyard.
    “Alex! Come, quick!”
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    I turned to see Asher running toward me. The sunlight shin-
    ing on his red hair gave the illusion of his head being on fire. I
    picked up my real sword, shoving it into the scabbard hooked
    around my waist.
    “What is it?”
    He stopped halfway to where I stood, my hand instinctively
    going to the hilt of my sword again. “The guard has been sum-
    moned immediately. There’s been an attempt on the prince’s life.”
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     seven 
    P rince Damian’s chambers were in an uproar when I
    rounded the corner and rushed