Kyen distanced himself from the group of Blades. He stood, his whole body stark with tension, at the edge of the sparring ring. He stared into it with unseeing eyes. His fingers traced the thin gray scar showing through the bloody slice in his tunic. It was all that remained where the black blade had pierced his chest.
Gennen stopped behind him. Anger seethed beneath his hard expression and pale eyes. “Why didn’t you kill Ennyen?”
Kyen’s head drooped.
Adeya came up behind them both, her hands still gripping her amulet. The Blades of Avanna gathered to watch at a distance.
“You had him. You could have put an end to all this foolishness. Why didn’t you?” said Gennen. When he received no answer, he growled. “Are you such a coward?”
Kyen’s fingers left his chest as his arm dropped back to his side.
“Answer me!” The blademaster shouted.
“What does it matter?” Kyen said softly.
“What does it matter?” he snapped. “You’re ready to hand Ennyen the throne—you’d put your people into his grip—and you say ‘what does it matter’?”
He kept quiet.
“Where’s your honor, boy?” said Gennen. “You used to have honor, but I’m not so sure anymore.”
“With respect, blademaster.” Kyen bowed his head towards the blademaster without looking at him and moved to walk away.
Gennen leapt in front of him. Drawing his sword, he brandished the point at Kyen, forcing him to stop.
“You will not walk away from me.” The blademaster said, his voice low, threatening. “I should slay you where you stand. You’ve shamed me, you’ve shamed your people, you have shamed yourself, worse than any other prince in the history of Avanna!”
Kyen looked on him, his face impassive, his gray eyes dull.
“You don’t deserve the throne,” Gennen continued. “Only a spineless coward surrenders his people into the clutches of someone like Ennyen. Adeya would make a better prince than you. In fact, if something ever happens to me, I’m leaving her in charge!” He shouted the last bit aloud, sweeping his glare over the crowd. “Better her than you.”
“Yes, blademaster,” said Kyen, without heart.
This made Gennen begin growling under his breath. He suddenly slashed out at Kyen, striking him with the flat of his sword, sending him stumbling sideways.
“Gennen!” Adeya started forward.
“Stay out of this!” He shouted at her.
The harshness of his tone pinned her in place.
“I’ve had enough of your blockheadedness, boy!” he yelled. “I’ve tried words—oh, I’ve tried, but you are deaf. You are blind. And you’re an idiot. Must I beat sense into you?”
Gennen launched an onslaught of swings at Kyen, but he dodged sideways to snatch up a river reed. Using it like a sword, he deflected and blocked Gennen’s blows, but the white sword carved the pole down bit by bit with each strike.
Kyen, diving forwards, slung out with the reed and cracked the blademaster across the jaw. As he staggered, Kyen seized the white sword’s hilt and ripped it out of his grasp. Gennen caught his balance to find himself at his own sword point.
Growling, he charged Kyen.
The white blade flashed in arclight.
The sword’s point caught the blademaster across the face, and he staggered to the side. Looking up, he pressed a hand to his cheek and checked it. Blood emerged from a cut underneath his eye, oozing in a rivulet down his cheek.
Kyen, breathing hard and holding the white sword hilt-to-cheek, stared Gennen down. An edge of indifference—a hopeless, uncaring indifference—left a half-crazed light in his stormy gray eyes.
“Stand down,” he said softly. “With respect, blademaster.”
Gennen hesitated then slowly backed away.
Kyen lowered the sword.
“All you ever do is run,” said Gennen. “Since you failed your Retributioner’s Test—since you failed to finish Ennyen as duty, honor, and tradition all called you to. You quit on me. Now you run away with your tail between your legs like a beaten dog.”
Kyen let the white sword fall to his side as he straightened, pain cracking through his indifference. “I’m not the only one who quit, with respect, blademaster.”
Gennen’s face fell, and all the anger sagged out of him. A weight of regret suddenly hung heavy from his shoulders.
“I didn’t leave Avanna because of you,” he said; with his next sentence, his voice raised to a shout. “I left because of them!” He pointed at the Blades of Avanna behind Adeya. They frowned or looked stunned. Wynne’s eyes grew bright and her jaw worked.
“Because when you, Kyen, gave up,” he continued. “That’s all I had left to me. A rabble of honorless, bloodthirsty, selfish Blades with no idea who the real enemy even is anymore!” In a softer tone, he said, “At least I had the guts to come back, to take a stand, to try again at molding these Blades into warriors of honor. All I’m asking is that you do the same. Come back, Kyen. Finish your training.”
Kyen’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, only to be lost in a rising exhaustion that stole the light from his eyes.
“There’s no point anymore,” he said. “Not with me.”
For a long moment they looked at each other: Kyen motionless and slack; Gennen frowning and baffled.
“You’re right about one thing, boy,” he said. “You will never, ever be a Blade of Avanna.”
Without a word, Kyen threw down the white sword. It hit the ground with a resounding clang. He turned and walked away, heading towards the ruins.
With a huff, Gennen marched to retrieve his blade then whirled around. Adeya moved aside and the Blades parted as he stomped off between them. The warriors drifted back to the common hall in his wake.
Adeya looked after Kyen. Down the street, he’d stopped, leaned against the wall with a hand. His other hand covered his eyes. She was about to start after him, but he turned the corner and vanished.
Tears rose to her eyes. Alone, she sat on the edge of the sparring ring, buried her face in her hands, and cried.