But even if I married Hardesh, we wouldn’t be allowed to have children together because of the rationing law. That’s why I’d thought Hardesh was such an odd choice on my father’s part. He knew the importance of heirs better than anyone. But I took it as a sign he knew I’d beat this challenger as I had the others.

Hardesh and I reached the center of the arena at the same time. Our shadows melted around our feet as though being swallowed by quicksand.

“Born of noble birth,” my father shouted from his seat in the stands, “both are equals by blood in the arena. Only their skill will separate them.”

The crowd erupted.

I studied Hardesh. Weathered hands fidgeted with his sword hilt, and his eyes kept flicking between my sword and my face. He had a chink in his armor close to the collar on his right side, which meant that Rodric had been right. That side was weaker.

“Should he win,” my father called, “he will wed Princess Kateri at the feast this afternoon, but should he lose, he will be banished to the desert. Do you agree to these terms Hardesh, son of Hamic?”

Hardesh didn’t take his eyes off me. He lifted his sword into the air, signaling his agreement.

I kept the smile off my face. When he’d lifted his arm, he’d revealed several more scratches down the right side of his breastplate.

This would be easier than I thought—not like when I faced my third opponent during the middle of a sandstorm. I’d assumed we’d wait a day for the storm to end, but my father said we had to deal with whatever the desert sent us if we wanted to be masters of it.

But I’d won that fight easily, and this one wouldn’t be half so difficult. I dug my feet into the sand, sword at the ready, and waited.

“Begin!”

The roar of the arena fell away. Blood rushed through my body.

We circled, studying the other’s movements—the only sound the swish of the sand as it scattered beneath our feet.

Sweat dripped down my back.

Hardesh brought his shield up to cover most of his face. The other hand gripped and ungripped the hilt of his sword. Perspiration stained his brow.

He feinted forward but pulled back.

I watched Hardesh’s eyes the way my father had taught me as a child. Hardesh looked down before rushing forward and swiping his blade toward my legs. Anticipating the move, I surged forward. I leapt over his sword and swung mine around, glancing off his shield and sliding across the armor on his back.

He cried out, staggered, but didn’t fall. “You’ve been practicing since your last fight, I see. You’re better than I expected,” he said.

“You’re not,” I retorted. I brought my sword around and sliced through the leather cuff on his wrist. It snapped in half and fluttered to the ground.

He kicked the leather away. “You’re not the delicate flower everyone describes,” he said. “You’re more like a cactus, prickly all over.”