He could no longer avoid his sullen mood and was threatening to spread it to others. He needed to leave. As he stood, Najma looked up at him. “Bhaiya, where are you going?”
“I need air,” he said, taking one more gulp of his drink and making sure his sword was safely strapped to him, and she laughed and shooed him away from the courtyard.
He stepped into the chilly night; this unusually cold post-monsoon told him a harsh winter was around the corner. He wandered without focus, avoiding all signs of life. Guests still lingered from the day’s entertainment, and he’d grown tired of being outwardly genial.
He didn’t stop until the chatter had faded into the night and all he could see before him were the walled gardens. Beyond them, he knew the city was still awake. Nadeem closed his eyes and hoped for even a moment of silence.
To his dismay, he got the opposite. “Sir!” a guard called.
He sighed. The guard, Daksh, brought with him a man who couldn’t have even come from this country. For better or for worse, Nadeem knew everyone who trekked up to their hilltop fort, and he definitely didn’t know this man, unfazed smile and all.
“I’d sent a messenger, sir, but you got here fast!” Daksh clapped him on the shoulder, then nudged the man forward. Closer, Nadeem could see that his hands had been tied behind his back with rope, but he showed no animosity. Daksh asked, “What should I do with him?” and the man perked up with interest.
Nadeem glanced between the two of them. He could feel a headache coming on. The man stood there, not resisting but not offering anything. He was no servant, but he wasn’t exactly an expected guest either. Still, it didn’t seem like he was here to cause harm—at least, not deliberately—and so Nadeem said slowly, “You may leave him with me—”
“Thank you, sir!” Daksh said. However casual their conversation must’ve been, it clearly held no candle to feasting with the rest of the family. Nadeem was at least glad not to be returning with news of a violent intruder. Still, when Daksh disappeared into the night, singing off-key, Nadeem took a deep breath. He still had a problem before him, compliant as it was.
The lanterns in the garden were enough for Nadeem to see just how different the stranger was: his skin was more than a few shades lighter, his eyes the colour of snow in the early morning light. He didn’t seem angered about being tied up, nor about being questioned.
“Who are you?” Nadeem settled on asking.
Without hesitation, the man answered, “Alexandre.” A name Nadeem had never heard in these parts. “I wanted to see the competition for the incarnation’s hand in marriage, but it seems I was too late.” His speech was accented, but he clearly had more than a solid grasp on their language—and more importantly, he had come in search of Nadeem and his sister. Wherever he’d come from, he knew about the incarnations.
Still, Alexandre didn’t seem… malicious. Perhaps misplaced. The comment still nagged at his mind, however, reminding him about why he had left the festivities in the first place. He chewed the inside of his cheek, then said, “Correct. My sister is already betrothed.”
Alexandre seemed unperturbed that his travel had been for naught. In fact, he’d seemed reinvigorated. “You were her warrior? Who tested her suitors?”
“Obviously.” He flicked his tail, and Alexandre followed the movement up to the wolf ears atop his head. Nadeem flicked those too.
Alexandre’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Then I want a duel with you.” His grin was bright, a challenge. He could see why Daksh had restrained him, but also why he had engaged him in conversation without worry. He rested his weight on his left leg, and Nadeem saw the rapier on his right hip. Left-handed?
The buzzing of drunkenness still rattled his brain and warmed his body, and he longed to release—or at least dull—the despair of his meticulously planned life. So he gestured for Alexandre to stand, then turn around. Alexandre tilted his head over his shoulder as Nadeem took his own sword and cut through the ropes around his wrist. He’d regret this eventually, but he wanted to stop thinking about eventually for a while.
Alexandre shook out his hands and rolled his neck. “What’s your name?”
“Earn it.” He crossed his arms. “You really came all this way for a fight?”
“With an incarnation, yes.”
Nadeem stood a few paces back, sizing up his opponent, flipping his sword in his hand. Alexandre was taller by a head, and though he didn’t look as physically strong as him, he knew better than to judge that as a weakness. Alexandre looked like no fighter he’d ever seen, but he was calm, deliberate. Every little movement he made, whether it was to rest his weight on one leg or to grip his sword, was full of confidence. He asked, “What made you think you’d get one?”
“Does it matter if you’re fighting me now?”
Annoyance flared through him—but he wasn’t wrong. Nadeem had given him a fight. And he’d willingly done so just because he’d gotten into a mood and had a drink or two (or more). Instead of ruminating further, he instead said, “Ready up.”
He was sure he’d overpower this brazen guest. As an incarnation, a warrior a level above all others, he’d long since run out of sparring partners. He and Father, the chief of military, had been evenly matched since Nadeem was a teenager, even to Father’s surprise. Nadeem grew tired of his usual partners, even if he never showed it.
And right now, he wanted a fight. Pure and simple. He needed something else to think about. He needed to get his blood pumping. Nadeem felt like he was floating, warm but comfortably so. He gripped his sword tighter, and when he exhaled slowly, he found he was excited for this.
All the while, Alexandre hadn’t moved except to get into his guard stance, holding his rapier still. Then Nadeem said, “On three,” and on the count, they leaped into action.
He’d been right not to judge Alexandre. He was agile and precise, and he wasn’t afraid to strike first—he lunged forward, his innocent eagerness replaced entirely with intent. Nadeem had been trained too well to be disoriented, so he parried Alexandre’s attack and pushed forward.
Alexandre let out a laugh of his own, and perhaps Nadeem was more drunk than he’d estimated. Recovering from war, his sister’s marriage, the ever-present reminder that he fell in love with all the wrong people—they’d all taken its toll on him, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d craved something uncomplicated like a simple duel, especially with a stranger who fought like no one he’d ever known.
Nadeem’s cheeks ached. He didn’t even care about hiding his grin; he felt lighter than he had in months, perhaps years. Every fight with his warriors was for practice against a faceless enemy; this fight with Alexandre was for nothing but the love of combat. He put power behind his next swing, and Alexandre dodged, letting out a single, sharp cackle as they danced in the garden with blade and steel, far away from Nadeem’s worries.
Too drunk, too lost in thought, he slipped a parry and found Alexandre’s rapier pressed into his chest, just above his heart. He stopped breathing for a moment; the thin metal of his sword curved, the hit firm.
Nadeem had lost. He followed the rapier against his chest down to the guard, to Alexandre’s gloved hand—as far as he dared look. He hadn’t lost a duel since he was a teenager, and it was both frustrating and left him wanting more.
Alexandre finally took the rapier away from his chest. “You’ll tell me your name now, right?”
Nadeem’s world ended and the one around him began again. What he needed to do was grab Father and tell him there was a mysterious man with a weapon. There was a strange threat. Even Nadeem had trouble believing that Alexandre came all this way for a fight.
But he wanted to hold on to this moment a little longer. He wanted to relish in the novelty that made his heart beat in his ears, in steel against steel. “If you win again,” he insisted, raising his sword—and Alexandre grinned as he did the same.