The grin fades. Ana’s eyebrows shift, ever so slightly, toward each other. Not quite a furrow, but something close to it.

“Because I need you to be yourself again.”

I stare at her for a beat. I don’t know what to say, so I go with honesty. “I don’t know if that girl exists anymore.”

The words sound hollow to my own ears. Again, those copper brows twitch.

“She does. And I need her to wake up.”

That is the last thing Ana says before she charges me.

Ana

Alejandro was the first to let us handle these particular swords. That’s the reason I’ve chosen them for this little exercise. We were too young, too small, too weak to be able to properly use any of these blades then. But we grew. And now, we can wield them as good as any man. Better, even.

Kiki is not quite herself yet. Her arms are sluggish, but that’s to be expected. Spending several days straight in bed without eating a single bite of food isn’t the best way to build muscle and maintain agility. Her footwork is a goddamn mess. I’d point it out to her, but I can tell from every grimace, every bitten-back curse, every trembling exhalation that she knows.

Eustaquia de Sonza has lost her edge.

And I, Ana Lezama de Urinza, am here to help her get it back.

She is going to need it.

We are going to need it.

If we are ever going to find justice for our fallen brother, then she will need all her strength and then some. She will need to remember who she is. What she is capable of.

I lunge. She parries. I thrust. She dances out of the way. Or at least, she tries to.

The seconds tick by into minutes. Minutes into hours. Her strength should be depleting, but I can see it returning, inch by fragile inch. Her shirt clings to her chest with sweat. Her muscles quiver with exertion. I can see the moment she stops thinking about the past few weeks—about the ball and Alejandro and the great and terrible hole left at the heart of this family—and starts thinking only about the fight. About the movement of her body through space. About the sword in her hand and the sword in mine.

Slowly, her feet remember how to move. How to sidestep an oncoming blow. How to trick my eye into thinking she’s going one way when she’s actually going the other.

She is not herself. Not yet. She’s getting there though. She’s trying. And that counts for everything.

But all it takes to bring down an opponent is one small misstep.

It happens too fast for a sluggish Kiki to counter. My blade connects with hers at just the right angle. The hilt slips from her hand. My heel hooks around her ankle and I pull.

“Ana—!”