“I suppose it’s fitting,” she said, “that it comes down to you and me, after all this time. Sometimes I feel like I should have died that day we fought in the Dublin Sanctuary. I think that blade of yours was meant to kill me six years ago. Now, maybe Fate was looking the other way, or maybe it just changed its mind, but I survived. I always survive. And I always will.”

Then she turned and she ran.

The Black Cleaver stayed where he was for a moment, probably expecting some cunning new attack. When he realised she wasn’t turning round, he gave chase. But instead of leading him towards people, towards sorcerers and Cleavers, she led him to the quieter parts of the Sanctuary.

He caught up to her outside the Cleaver Barracks. Blades clashed once more. She backed up through the doorway into the training arena. Whether or not the Black Cleaver guessed her plan, she had no way of knowing. Similarly unknown to her was whether or not her plan even had the slightest chance of working. She was about to pit the Black Cleaver’s training against his new master’s orders.

Tanith edged her way into the Combat Circle, defending all the while. Her arms were tired. Her muscles screamed. Her sword got heavier with each parry.

She broke off, skipped back a few steps, giving herself room, and the Black Cleaver looked down, noticing where they now stood. He looked at her, and she took one hand from the sword and started to pull off her coat. It was just like she’d told Valkyrie, and like Darquesse had repeated to her. When someone steps into the circle, the challenge has to be met. No armour. No clothes. That’s the rule.

Yet the Black Cleaver stayed where he was.

When the coat was off, she dropped it outside the circle. Then she knelt on one knee, slowly put the sword on the ground beside her, and started on her boots. When they were off, she stood, looked at the Black Cleaver, and said, “Come and have a go. If you think you’re hard enough.”

The Black Cleaver watched her for a moment, then laid down his scythe and opened his coat.

90

Valkyrie heard them. She crossed a ruined street, then another. Saw them coming. They looked tired. Frantic, scared, and tired. Her mum held out her arms, and her dad passed Alice to her. They were taking turns carrying her.

Valkyrie stepped back, out of sight. Her insides were cold. Her thoughts were jagged and awkward, and they fumbled around the options in her head, unable to come up with anything new, with anything better. She was locked on a course and for once she couldn’t think her way out of it.