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“It doesn’t matter if you have the necklace,” I told him, huffing amusedly at his petty attempts. “It won’t give you my magic.”

“You insolent girl!” he shouted. “You stupid, arrogant child! I’ll cut it out of you!” He took another irate step. “You think you can kill me? You can’t! Just like your father couldn’t because he was weak, like you’re weak!”

I’d been afraid on my way down the dungeon steps, and I’d been nervous, but not now. Not since I’d caught my first glimpse of Hazlitt’s face and been reminded of everything he put me through. Everything he put Ava through. I wasn’t afraid of him. He was power hungry, and greedy, and desperate. He was pathetic.

“I could say the same for you,” I told him. “Why didn’t you kill me outside of Ronan?” I paused, waiting a few moments for him to answer while his jaw worked back and forth with fury. “You were afraid. You’re still afraid because you overreached, because you’re trapped here and there’s nowhere to go. I told you that you’d answer for all you’ve done. Your treachery ends today.”

Hazlitt’s upper lip curled as he transferred the grip of his sword to both hands. “I’m going to make your death slow, and agonizing, and gruesome.” He smirked again through his sneer, so that his face was darker and more terrifying than I’d ever seen it. “And I think I’ll make Ava watch.”

My teeth clenched. If he’d been trying to get a reaction out of me, he got it. I spark jumped across the entire dungeon, landing behind him with my sword already raised high above my head. But as I brought it down, Hazlitt turned, blocking the blow with the length of his own weapon.

“If you think I haven’t heard of what you can do,” he said, bringing his massive sword around to heave it down at me, “then you are gravely mistaken.”

I met his swing, but he was so much larger, and there was so much force behind it that it sent me back a step. He followed, bringing his sword around the other way. I countered again, feeling his strength in the clash of metal on metal that sang through my bones, not getting a single moment to balance myself before he was slicing his sword center. I spark jumped out of the way, landing on the opposite side of which he’d swung. Experience told me that shooting current into an armored opponent wouldn’t shock them to death, but it would hurt them, and I’d take every edge I could get against Hazlitt. I grabbed his steel shoulder and let the current flow through me, but the sparks met steel and turned back on me, biting at my fingers so painfully that I yelped.

I’d have stumbled back, but Hazlitt grabbed me by the arm, turning on me with a cold grin. “Warded against lightning, thanks to a Ronan mage.”

His other fist met my cheek, an agonizing mix of steel and bone, and I forgot all about the stinging sparks in my hand as he let me go. I ignored the pain in my face too as I fell, spark jumping away from him so I landed on my back on the opposite side of the dungeon. Right when I hit the ground, Hazlitt hurled another dark sphere of energy at me, and this time I was too disoriented to dodge it. It collided with my chest as I sat up, and everything went dark for a brief moment as a long and wheezing breath was forced from my lungs, bringing with it the copper taste of blood.

Then I realized that everything was dark because there was a shadow in front of my eyes. It was coming from me, being drawn out of me with the breath and blood it took. And it took shape. It got deeper and darker as it gained human form at my feet, until it was familiar. It was a silhouette of me, with a shadowed sword and gleaming red eyes. Those eyes fixed on me, and I didn’t even get a chance to process what was happening before that sword was being thrust at me.

I dodged sideways just quick enough not to be stuck with it, but it caught the side of my arm, slashing through my flesh even though nothing about this figure was solid. The shadow raised its weapon, bringing it crashing down as I somersaulted backward, so that it hit the floor with so much force that it cracked the stone. I scrambled to my feet, raising my sword defensively while I glanced across the dungeon to see where Hazlitt was. He hadn’t moved. He was watching as though entertained.

The figure advanced, grabbing its sword in both hands and preparing to strike, but my mind was working now. This was evil magic. All of Hazlitt’s magic was, and so I reached out with a hand at the shadow of myself, and I manipulated the magic to change its target. The figure shifted course, turning around and picking up pace to start sprinting toward Hazlitt. He didn’t look alarmed. He waved his hand and the figure disappeared, and it hit me then that he wasn’t yet taking this seriously.

“Your lightning is ineffective,” Hazlitt called across the dungeon, striding slowly forward. “Your sword skill is clumsy at best.” He stayed quiet until he’d crossed the dungeon and stood only feet in front of me, and though he had his sword held carelessly at his side, I wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to strike. He was clearly waiting for it. “I must admit, I thought you were going to make this difficult for me.”

Hazlitt struck first. He slashed diagonally with his sword, and it didn’t matter that he was only holding it with one hand, he was so strong that it sent me staggering sideways when I blocked. Deflect, I told myself as I raised my sword to meet his next blow. But Hazlitt was faster and more tenacious than I’d ever trained for. Deflecting wasn’t engrained in the memory of my muscles like it was for my sword instructor in the caves, or for Ava. I needed time to think, time to prepare, but I wasn’t getting time. Hazlitt was raining blow after blow on me, beating me back so that all I could do was meet each swing to keep it from cutting me in half.

He drove me all the way to the wall of the cave, and when my back hit it I spark jumped away, landing at the center while the crash of his sword against the wall echoed throughout the dungeon. He turned to glare at me, but he wasn’t angry.

“Getting tired?” he asked, because I was panting for air, and my muscles were burning and fatigued already from protecting myself against his weapon. “You’re in over your head.”

“Am I?” I breathed, gulping as much air as I could. I was tired, and my cheek was swollen and my arm was bleeding, but I wasn’t done fighting. Not nearly. “Where’s all this magic you worked so hard to find?”

He sneered and gestured at me with his hand. I prepared myself to catch and manipulate whatever he threw at me, but he hadn’t thrown anything at me. There was a dull ringing in my head, which grew steadily louder for a few moments before…

“Kiena,” came a childish sob. My focus shot to the source, to Nilson. He was chained to the wall beside the king and queen, higher than he was tall so that he was dangling by his wrists. He was beaten and bloody, taking rapid, stunted breaths through his sobs like he was in immense pain.

It’s not real. I swallowed hard as tears filled my eyes. It’s not real. But it looked real, it sounded real, and instantly my heart was in agony and my stomach queasy.

“Kiena,” pleaded another familiar voice. A weak whisper. I didn’t want to look, I tried so hard not to, but I couldn’t help it. My eyes followed the sound into one of the many cages, to my mother. Lying on the dirty dungeon floor, pale arm stretched toward me, her other hand clutching at the bars of the cell as if clutching for dear life.

I knew it wasn’t real, but it was so striking and agonizing that I couldn’t think of what to do. Couldn’t focus on manipulating the darkness that fueled these visions because all I could feel was the instinct to protect. To rescue.

“This is their fate,” Hazlitt snarled, “should you fail to kill me today.” I turned my furious gaze on him while he paced to the king and unlocked the man’s chains. “Let’s see if you want me bad enough to kill an innocent man.” The king fell to the floor with weakness. “That magic I found means I no longer need the blood ritual for possession.”