Genevieve cried out as a blade passed near her, ducking to avoid it and keeping moving as another burst of the battle came too close to her. Olivia pulled her aside, out of reach of the brawling soldiers.
“Be careful,” Olivia said. “We’ve still got a long way to—”
“Look out!” Genevieve called out, pointing as one of Altfor’s soldiers ran at them.
Olivia turned to face him, but he slammed into her and her grip on his wrist was the only thing that stopped him from hacking at her with a sword. Not knowing what to do, Genevieve swung blindly at him with her sword, barely able to bring herself to do it. Even so, it was enough to make him turn, trying to use his own blade to parry. Olivia took the opportunity to push him off, and then stabbed him as he started to stand up again.
“If they’re coming for you, you need to fight,” Olivia said.
“I know that,” Genevieve said. “I just… I don’t know if I can kill someone.”
“This is a battlefield,” Olivia replied. “We might have to, and I need your help to get across it. Come on, Genevieve.”
“Okay,” Genevieve said. “I’ll try.”
They pushed on, trying to make their way through the battlefield. They aimed for the spaces where there was less fighting, the empty spaces between the melees where men pushed against one another, stabbing and killing. Even so, there were some places where the conflict was simply unavoidable, the violence spilling out beyond those cores toward them.
Another soldier ran at Genevieve and she swung the sword she held, making him jump back. She and Olivia pushed their way through a fight between a dozen Picti and some of Altfor’s archers, trying to keep from being killed in the whirl of axes and daggers. One of the Picti spun toward her with a razor-sharp sickle raised, then seemed to realize that she wasn’t an enemy and let her pass. In that moment, Genevieve saw an enemy archer plunge a dagger into his side.
“This way, we’re almost clear,” Olivia shouted.
They came out on the line of a small stream, whose banks would provide cover most of the way back to the lines of Royce’s army. They hurried along that line, keeping their heads down, and it seemed to Genevieve that most of the enemy army’s soldiers were too worried about the battle to focus on them.
One figure rode forward though, mounted on a horse and with a long knife in her hand. Genevieve recognized Moira instantly. She rode for them as if she meant to run them down with her horse.
“Run!” Genevieve cried, abandoning the stream and running straight for the safety of Royce’s army. Olivia didn’t argue, but ran with her.
Moira was faster, because there was no way to outrun a horse. She reached them out on the open ground, and all Genevieve could do at that point was throw herself to one side. Olivia did the same, and Genevieve saw her borrowed sword go spinning away.
Moira turned her horse, pausing only long enough to snatch a sword from one of the dead, and then rode at them again. Genevieve raised her borrowed shield, taking the impact of the sword stroke on it. It was enough to make her stumble, and she had to fight hard to keep her footing.
Moira wheeled the horse again, and Genevieve realized that she was never really going to strike back with the sword she held, so she dropped it point down in the dirt and readied herself. This time, when Moira struck out with her weapon, Genevieve blocked the blow and grabbed for her, dragging her from the saddle.
They went down in a struggling mess and Moira came up on top, her hands grabbing for Genevieve’s throat. Somewhere in the fall, she’d lost her own blade, and now the two struggled barehanded, Moira trying to strangle Genevieve, Genevieve trying to buck her off. Strangely, Genevieve found her eyes drawn to the ring that Moira was wearing, which was so striking and distinctive that Genevieve remembered it clearly.
It was the same one Olivia had been wearing when she’d tried to kill her.
“This isn’t you!” Genevieve tried to say, clawing at the hands that tried to strangle her.
“No, it’s about you,” Moira snarled at her. “You’re the one who’s always in the way. You’re the one standing between me and Altfor. Once you’re gone, I’ll—”
She cried out as Olivia slammed into the side of her, kicking her away from Genevieve. Genevieve managed to stand, but now Moira was grabbing for a sword again. Genevieve got to it first, kicking it aside, but Moira turned back to her, trying to grab hold of her once more.
Olivia pushed her aside, but Moira’s fury was so great it seemed to lend her strength and she just charged back in toward them. This time, it took both Genevieve and Olivia to push her aside.
“She’s wearing the same ring you were!” Genevieve warned Olivia as Moira snatched up a sword again.
“Then there won’t be any reasoning with her,” Olivia said. “Not unless we can get that ring off her finger.”
Genevieve snatched up the shield she’d held before. “Then we need to get it.”
“Surviving is probably the first part,” Olivia pointed out. She grabbed the sword that Genevieve had dropped.
Moira ran at them then, striking with all the fury of some berserk Picti, swinging the blade again and again. She didn’t seem to care when Olivia thrust the sword she held at her, only partly deflecting it, ignoring the shallow wound it scored across her side. In return, she hacked at Genevieve with such force that the shield she held cracked slightly.
Olivia had to parry the next blow, so it seemed to take both of them just to fend Moira off. Blow after blow fell on them, the two of them barely managing to keep the attacks at bay between them.
Then Moira tangled her blade with Olivia’s, wrenching it from her grip once more.
She struck at Olivia again, and Genevieve barely managed to get her shield in the way in time. This time, it shattered, leaving her and Olivia standing defenseless in front of Moira while Moira hefted her blade, ready to strike. Worse, what seemed like half a regiment of the most disreputable-looking figures she could imagine were approaching, blood coated and armed with the most hideous collection of weapons Genevieve could imagine.
In that moment, Genevieve knew that both she and Olivia were going to die. If Moira didn’t kill them in the next few seconds, then this advancing group would cut them to pieces, killing them quickly only if they were lucky.
Then Genevieve saw the figure at the heart of that group, advancing with a look of determination on her face.
“Sheila,” she breathed, and some of her relief must have come across to Moira, because her one-time rival looked round.
Olivia hit her in that moment, then hit her again, and this wasn’t some ladylike slap, but a full-blooded punch. Moira went down for a moment, and Genevieve rushed forward to wrench the sword away from her.
In spite of it, Moira struggled to stand, her rage too great. She lunged at Genevieve again, reaching out for her.
Sheila was there then, grabbing Moira and pulling her away. Two of the thugs around her held Moira, one holding either of her arms, while the rest of them spread out in a circle designed to protect against the rest of the battle. Genevieve saw her chance and rushed over, grabbing the ring from Moira’s finger.
She held it for a moment, and even in that moment, she could feel the hatred rising in her. She wanted to kill everyone who was her rival, everyone who would stop her from being with Royce, everyone—
With a shout, Genevieve threw the ring as far from herself as she could, not caring where it landed in the battle beyond.
“Sheila, you came back?” Genevieve said, and hugged her sister.
“You were in danger,” Sheila said. “I wasn’t going to stay away.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Genevieve said.
“It looks as though I came just in time,” Sheila said, with a nod toward the spot where Moira stood, still held in place.
“Sheila, who are all of these people?” Genevieve asked, gesturing to the tough-looking men and women who surrounded them.
“You sent me to Fallsport with money to make contacts. I managed to do it. It turns out that the city’s criminals are willing to do a lot for people with money who know the right secrets.”
Genevieve didn’t know whether to be proud of all her sister had achieved then, or worried about the kinds of people she’d achieved it with.
“Do you want to kill her?” Sheila asked, with a nod toward Moira. She had a knife out, offering it to Genevieve hilt first. Genevieve took it carefully.
Did she want to kill Moira? After all, the noblewoman had done plenty more than simply try to kill her under the influence of the ring. She had betrayed Genevieve and sided with Altfor, helped to make her life hell. Genevieve couldn’t feel any spark of kindness or warmth toward her now.
Even so, she didn’t want to kill her; Genevieve didn’t want to kill anyone.
“No,” she said. “We’ll keep her as a prisoner. If she’s committed crimes, she can pay for them properly, after all of this, but I’m not just going to kill someone like this.”
“It’s your choice,” Sheila said, although Genevieve suspected that her sister would have happily killed Moira just for being on the wrong side. “But we’re supposed to drag some dangerous prisoner who hates you across a battlefield?”
“She’s not wearing the ring now,” Genevieve said. “She should be safe.”
“You think I hate you because a ring made me?” Moira demanded, dragging Genevieve’s attention back to her. “You think that it’s just magic that makes me want to kill you? You’re my enemy, and you always have been. From the first moment I met you, I knew I would have to kill you one day to get what I wanted. And if you think you’re dragging me back for whatever kind of justice Royce thinks I deserve…”
She twisted and somehow wrenched her way clear of the people holding her. She managed to grab a blade from one of the sheaths at their belts and ran for Genevieve, the blade held high. Genevieve reached for her, and it was only as Moira thudded into her that she realized she’d done it with the hand that still held the knife.
Moira gasped, so close to her that they could have been the sisters hugging. Genevieve saw the dagger falling from Moira’s fingers, saw the shock in her eyes that this had happened at all.
“You… you stabbed me!” she managed, turning it into an accusation as she staggered back. Genevieve still held the bloody knife, looking from it to Moira and back.
Moira fell to her knees, her hands obviously trying to hold in the blood. She started to say something else, but only a gasp came out. Genevieve didn’t know what to think as she watched: she’d given Moira every chance she could, but even so, it was hard to watch her dying like this.
She was dying, and Genevieve went to kneel beside her, wanting to offer her some hint of comfort. Moira only stared up at her in hatred; stared up until at last her gaze turned glassy, and Genevieve knew that she was gone. Genevieve knelt there for a few more seconds, trying to think of something, anything, she could have done differently.
Olivia and Sheila both took her shoulders.
“We have to go,” Olivia said.
Genevieve nodded numbly. She knew they did. There was still a battle raging around them, and they still needed to find a way to get clear of it, or they would all die.