I suck in my breath and slam my forehead into his. With a grunt of surprise, he releases me. My hands whip up, grab two fistfuls of his hair, and give a vicious yank. His head snaps back. Before he can recover, I smash my knuckles into his jaw. He stumbles away, and the shadows loosen enough for me to untangle my legs and put space between us.

“You fight dirty.” He rubs his jaw. He doesn’t sound upset about it.

“Only dead men fight fair. Now, tell me honestly. Do you think invoking my magic will make any difference against the Dead Wood?”

The question seems to surprise him, because his eyes narrow. “How do you expect to prevent war between the kingdoms if you don’t even have the conviction to summon your craft?”

It annoys me that he knows what Ronin wants of me. But I suppose it’s not difficult to work out if he’s aware of what a soulguide can do. “Make all the assumptions you want about my conviction, I assume the only reason you agreed to this is because you want Ronin’s favor. You need something from him.”

Footsteps rush down the castle stairs. Phaut pauses near the bottom, taking in the shadows writhing at Theyen’s feet. She unsheathes my swords for me.

I extend my hands, and she tosses my weapons. I catch them both by the hilt. Brandishing my swords, I lower my center of gravity into the first stance of the Wyvern’s Dance.

“You’re not wrong,” Theyen says. “Our motives aren’t so different.”

Shadows circle me again. Sharp steel slices through the shadow snakes, which snap like stretched leather. Theyen draws his own dagger and charges. He’s even faster with his blade.

“I find that hard to believe,” I say. Metal screeches against metal as I fend him off with one sword and the shadows with the other. They swarm around me, no longer merely snakes lying in wait.

Shadowy forms rise from the earth. They don’t waver like flimsy, weak things. They’re solid and sturdy, faceless bodies of black and nothingness. My sword arms tremble as I cut through them.

The creatures are unnerving. The warmth of magic ignites inside me as the predawn sky begins to chase away the night. Theyen slashes at my head, the tip of his dagger narrowly missing my cheek. He attacks hard, fast, and unrelentingly. His shadows continue to merge and multiply, moving in perfect balance to his strikes. Black fingers slither around my arms before my blade slices them away.

“If you knew anything about the politics between Kazahyn and the Nuvalyn Empire, then you would know that I’m engaged to the Ember Princess.”

This surprises me enough that I nearly miss blocking his next attack. He’s deliberately trying to distract me.