Isabelle gripped the rail so tightly that the wood bent and splintered. She prayed Marie had some strategy—

Vexatious lunged, her whole body extended like a spear. Marie missed the parry, the blade hit her ribs. The blade lanced out the back of her blouse. She fell.

“No!” Isabelle shot to her feet.

But as she fell, Marie twisted, locked her arm around Vexatious’s sword arm, bore her to the ground, and elbowed her in the face. Vexatious lost her sword and tried to squirm away, but Marie twisted her arm and locked it, driving her face into the floor of the arena.

“Yield,” she demanded breathlessly.

Vexatious strained against the hold but could not break it. “I yield.”

The crowd whooped and hollered, delighted to be entertained. From the Tall Clouds section, came a chant, “Fellhand Marie. Fellhand Marie!”

Preetah looked like a game hen that had been chocked too full of stuffing.

Marie stood up and extended an arm to Vexatious, who took it and rose to her feet. Then Marie stretched up and whispered something in the other woman’s ear that made her laugh.

Only then, from a better angle, did Isabelle see the rent in Marie’s blouse, and the glittering corset of chainmail she wore underneath.

“Only nine more to go,” Feng said.

As Vexatious left the arena, and Gath’s clansmen dragged his still-unconscious body away, Marie limped to the center.

Barnabus said, “Three victories to Fellhand Marie, but who would you challenge next? Three more, or shall you attempt four?”

“Just one,” Marie said. Slowly she turned, lifted her chin, and said, “Fellhand Ghetorix of the Moon Catcher clan, champion of champions and lord of the arena!”

The watchful champion stepped into the arena. Isabelle thought she understood what Marie was about, and prayed she had judged the situation aright. Ghetorix faced the choir and in a low voice that somehow filled the room said, “I have no objection to Fellhand Marie, daughter of Jackhand Djordji. I withdraw my challenge.”

The stadium erupted in pandemonium.

CHAPTER

Twenty-Five

Isabelle barely had time to congratulate Marie on her victory before the ebullient crowd swept her up and carried her off to a great bring-what-you-can feast. She’d won Flotsam’s heart, at least for today. Isabelle made sure Marie’s wounds were tended and that Preetah acknowledged her as Djordji’s heir, but then got out of the way and let Marie enjoy the adoration of her newfound clan.

The Saint Asne arrived in port. Isabelle went to guarantee landing rights for her crew before setting them loose to join the party. The resulting evacuation left the ship very quiet, which suited her mood. Her skin had grown as tight as a sausage casing. Past life experience suggested this meant that the long, aggravating transformation was approaching its conclusion.