As I look into the dark eyes of the woman across from me, one thought beats through my mind over and over.

Will I kill her?

Will I kill her?

Will I kill her?

With a horrible sinking sensation, I am at the city gates again, my arm trapped between the coral doors as a dark shape slices through the water toward me. I knew then that, in order to stay alive, I was willing to mortally wound the approaching tiger shark. But I have never killed a person before. And I’m not even sure if I can.

Another scene comes to mind. Myself at twelve years old, weeping over the body of a giant squid I had just killed when it tried to snatch one of my dugong calves. Darin had found me and had been terrified I was injured.

“I’m not hurt,” I had sobbed to him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

A strange look had come into his golden-brown eyes as he patted me gently on the shoulder. “You’re not a killer, Locklyn,” he had said. “And there’s no shame in that.”

But Nebulae duels are fights to the death, which means someone will die today. And if I don’t have the spine to kill Ginevra, that someone will be me.

Malik’s voice rings out over the crowd that has gathered on the edges of the city square. “Are both contestants ready to commence fighting?”

Ginevra assents in the same bored voice she used earlier. “Yes.”

“Wait,” I say suddenly. I grab the slender shaft of the spear in both hands, bring it down hard across my knee, and snap it so I am holding a spearhead with a short wooden handle. Now it’s similar to the knife I am used to wielding.

“Now I’m ready.” I don’t look toward Malik. Darin waits next to him, surrounded by guards, and I can’t bear to see the fear on his face. If Darin, who taught me everything I know about combat, thinks I will lose this fight, I really don’t stand a chance.

“You may begin.” Malik has barely finished his declaration when Ginevra shoots toward me with impossible speed. I throw myself to the side, but I am not quick enough. The folds of her net settle over my body, the weight of the sandstone pieces on the edges dragging me down to the sandy ocean floor. Looking up, I see Ginevra’s white tail for an instant before it slams into my side. Stars explode across my vision as I roll over and over across the ocean floor, becoming more entangled in the net, the sounds of the spectators’ jeers ringing in my ears.

Terror seizes me a moment before it’s obliterated by anger. I am not going to die in the first thirty seconds of this fight. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the sparkling white of Ginevra’s tail again and throw myself sideways, rolling in the opposite direction.

I can barely move my arms because of how tightly the net is wrapped around them, but I manage to wriggle my hand around and use my shortened spear to slash a hole in the seaweed. Thank the Wave Master it is not kelp, which would require minutes of sawing to break through. Thrusting my arm through the hole, I am just in time to slash my spear across the fins of Ginevra’s tail, before it smacks into me again. She screams and though the blow is more glancing than it might otherwise have been, I am sent spinning through the water again.

My head spins along with my body, but I continue to hack desperately at the seaweed, thrashing as the strands part, freeing my torso. I feel, rather than see, Ginevra coming at me again. Time to go on the offensive. Instead of trying to evade her, I use my still trapped legs to push off from the ocean floor. As I shoot toward her, I stab my spear toward the shining white mass of her tail. But, to my horror, instead of penetrating her glossy white scales, my shortened spear glances off and falls to the sand below.

I turn my head to see Ginevra’s spear hurtling as if in slow motion toward my face. Throwing myself sideways again, I wrap both hands around the spear handle as the head grazes my cheek. Then using Ginevra’s momentum against her, I plant both of my feet into her stomach and kick out, wrenching the spear from her grasp.

Righting myself in the water, I see her charging again. I use the spear’s shaft to hit her in the side, but it is the wrong move. She is larger and heavier than I am, so instead of reeling end over end through the water, she merely flinches and latches onto the shaft, attempting to wrench it out of my hands.

In my mind, I hear Darin’s voice saying, “How many times have I told you not to get close to an opponent who is bigger than you?” So, instead of allowing her to use the spear to drag me toward her, I abruptly let go and drop to the ocean floor, crouching low and scooping up my fallen spear. Because of her lack of feet, she will only be able to get so close to the bottom, so I wait until she dives headfirst, her spear aimed and ready. At the last possible second, I push off the bottom again, slashing her shoulder as I speed past, while the force of her attack causes her spear to embed in the ocean floor.

Turning sharply in the water, I look back to where Ginevra struggles to pull her spear out of the sand. The water around her is tinged with red from the wounds on her shoulder and fins. My heart catches. Now is the moment when I should dart forward and bury my spear into her exposed side.

I can’t. You were right, Darin. I’m not a killer.

A thought occurs and I dip downward again, scooping up my broken spear shaft. Stuffing my shortened spear into the back of my pants, and wielding the shaft with both hands, I flash forward and bring it crashing into the back of her skull with all my might.

She lets out a moan and flounders, sinking toward the ocean floor. I watch her crumple and relief courses through me. The spear shaft slips from my limp fingers and I face Malik. My eyes meet Darin’s, expecting to see relief and elation, but instead they reflect anxiety as they fix on a point just below me.

Fingers latch around my ankle. Trying not to panic, I quickly pull my spear from the back of my pants, reaching down to slash at the attacker, but she grabs the blade with her free hand, wrenching it out of mine, despite the self-inflicted cuts she suffers.

She yanks my leg hard, wrapping both arms around my torso, and uses her superior weight to push me down, against the ocean floor. There she presses me, one hand around my throat, the other trailing dots of blood while holding my blade high, poised to deliver the death blow.

I thrash, attempting to throw her off, but she squeezes my throat and black spots swim near the edges of my vision. Stilling, I look up at her through the haze. Her teeth are bared, but when our eyes meet, something shifts in the depths of her dark gaze. And, for one mad moment, I wonder if Ginevra, the warrior queen of the Nebulae, is not a killer either.

Then the look is gone, and I close my eyes, thanking the Wave Master that death will almost certainly be swift. But the blow doesn’t come. Instead, I hear shouting above me, and my eyes fly open as Ginevra drags me upright, pressing the spear’s tip into my side.

“Don’t come any closer,” she warns.

To my dismay, I see that Darin has broken free of his captors and is streaking toward us, chains trailing behind him. I feel the knife’s point penetrate and clamp my teeth to keep from crying out.

Darin jerks to a halt as the misty cloud of red spreads away from my side. “Stop!” he demands. “You must not kill her!”

I feel Ginevra’s blade pushing deeper and can’t restrain the moan that escapes my lips. “Oh?” she says. “And why is that?”

His face contorts, but his voice is steady as he answers. “Because she knows where the Lost Treasure of Llyra is. And she is going to lead me there.”