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“You’re lying,” Thicket spat, her carefully crafted attention giving way to anger.

“Am I? Didn’t you see the way your people turned on you the moment I revealed you weren’t who they thought you were? You might have thought me cruel, but really I was doing you a favor.”

“How do you call that a favor?”

“By teaching you the lesson I learned too late. That the only person you can trust to love you is yourself.”

The grin Lavender fixed on Thicket was one of madness and insanity. For one hundred years, she had sat here in this castle, in this very room, alone. Jealousy had consumed her. Hatred had devoured her. But loneliness had eaten away her soul, leaving Lavender a broken husk. A shell of her former self.

Thicket’s blood ran cold, knowing she had seen that exact same look before when she had gazed into the mirror at the farmhouse, surrounded by the echoes of all those who had told her she was never enough.

She and Lavender were two sides of the same, twisted coin. Thicket could have easily ended up as Lavender had.

And that thought terrified her.

“Since you have no intention of continuing our conversation, we might as well get started.” Lavender extended her hand. Her raven swooped forward.

Thicket braced herself, an incantation at her lips. But the raven didn’t attack. It soared over Lavender’s head, dropping something into her hand. A sword.

Lavender tossed its sheathe across the room, the resounding echo tearing Thicket’s gaze from the raven, still circling above, as though waiting for the moment her body dropped so it could feed on her lifeless flesh.

“Do you know why duels are limited to sword fighting?” Lavender asked, dragging the tip of her blade across the throne room floor. “Because magic is unfair. It favors the strong and makes it so they are unmatched without even having to lift a finger. Sword fighting on the other hand isn’t a skill someone is born with. It is a lifestyle, requiring dedication and sacrifice to master. What do you think would happen, little Rose, if someone treated magic the same way they did sword fighting?”

With that, Lavender lunged faster than Thicket expected. She barely had time to block. The reverberation of metal clanged through Thicket’s bones. Their swords parted only to meet again and again, clashing together in a whirlwind of steel. The lighter weight of her new sword made her movements faster, more precise, able to defend what she had struggled to before with ease.

“Very good, little Rose,” Lavender said as her blade collided with Thicket’s. “Did you have that guard of yours teach you?” Her words were breathless, arms quivering with the strain. “You are a bit sloppy, though, and not nearly as refined as you once were, but adequate enough.” Lavender shed her sword from Thicket’s and swiped for her face. Thicket arched back to avoid it. As she did, the strap of her totem shifted from its place beneath her shirt.

Lavender’s eyes fastened on it. She paused to laugh. “Is that a totem I see? What is that, your third one now?” She circled the space between them. “I’m curious, little Rose, which Aneuma did you end up with this time?”

Thicket didn’t respond, paying careful attention to each of Lavender’s movements.

“You are not going to tell me?” Lavender clicked her tongue. “Pity. Though maybe I shouldn’t ask too many questions. I wouldn’t want to get too attached knowing that in your hands, the poor creature won’t last long.”

Thicket’s hatred ignited all over again as she remembered the shredded engraving that had once tethered her to her kiwi and the way Lavender had driven her knife into her first.

She charged. Lavender smirked.

Thicket realized her mistake too late. Lavender’s raven shot from the ceiling, slamming into her. Thicket flew across the room, back hitting the wall before she crumpled to the ground. The breath left her lungs. She coughed, tasting blood.

Marcellus had warned her about not letting her emotions get the best of her, yet she had fallen for her sister’s taunts—and paid the price.

Lavender advanced as Thicket struggled to her feet. Her ribs were on fire, hurting from the inside out. As she bent to push onto her feet, the scent of char filled her nose. She glanced down at the signed fabric of her tunic and the raw, blistering skin beneath.

“Ready to give up yet, little Rose?” Lavender asked, bringing the sword down upon her. Thicket threw up her sword just in time to intercept the blow. Every breath was agony. She was sure she had broken a few ribs and even the slightest brush of fabric against her burnt skin made her want to scream.

Lavender didn’t relent, pushing Thicket down with the weight of her sword, not giving her the opportunity to rise to her feet. From the corner of her eye, the purple flames of her sister’s raven flashed.

She couldn’t fight both of them herself. Not in this state.

It was time to change strategies.

Can you help me? Thicket asked her Aneuma.

Its resounding trill fueled her blood and numbed her pain. Thicket ground her teeth, shedding her sword from Lavender’s and rolling out of the way right as the raven dove for her head. It circled back around, quicker than Thicket could stand, but she wasn’t alone anymore.

“Fya!”

Thicket’s Aneuma shot up beside her, its wings made of spitting blue fire stretched outward as it let out an ear piercing shriek.