The blood in my veins seemed to pulse as I strode through the dark palace. The vast halls stood empty. Stillness hung on the air, sharp on the surface and peaceful in its depths. I had always preferred the palace when its inhabitants were tucked away, out of sight.

Sleep had been restorative. More than restorative, my mind felt fresh, alert, as sharp as the blade of a sword, and as focused as the tip.

I had taken no Black Night on waking. I did not wish to dull my senses. The pain in my shoulder had abated during the night. And I had stopped resisting it. The acceptance softened the ache.

Outside a breeze ruffled the cool air which would heat quickly when the sun rose. A promise of light hung on the horizon. Mount Azule the largest of the eastern mountains stood blacker than black against the star studded sky.

I strode along the east terrace and stopped at the edge, facing Mount Azul. Breathing deep, I closed my eyes and turned my mind inwards. I relaxed my muscles, working up from my feet through my torso.

Today I would be an oak standing tall on the edge of a windy hill. The elements that pushed against me would make my roots grow deeper and my branches stronger. I released all thoughts of injustice, all feelings of injury.

'Prince Jakut ?' A voice said. It was the master.

'Master Alster.' I turned and bowed. He returned my salute.

'How is your shoulder?'

'Your healer was adept and much appreciated.'

He nodded. 'It is not too late to withdraw. You would have to wait for the next tournament, but a year is not so long.'

'I will not withdraw.'

He tilted his head in understanding. 'If it is so, then it is meant to be so,' he said, citing the well known expression from an ancient Carucan teaching.

Master Alster took his leave. I remained a short while longer, looking at the distant summit of Mount Azule. Behind me, the judges arrived, followed by several of my competitors.

The great chalk board was erected. The judges wrote the order of combats on the main arena. Each entry in the tournament would fight his first match this morning. Losing the first match meant immediate disqualification. Those brothers-in-arms who made it to this afternoon, would fight again, leaving only eight to qualify in tomorrow's bouts.

By the time I joined my brothers-in-arms almost half of them were on the second and third terraces, stretching, and jogging wide loops around the arena.

I checked the boards to see who I had been pitted against in my first fight. Linx. I had hoped we wouldn't have to compete against each other. There would be no joy in beating him. Our dream was to leave the palace and enter the Elite Corps together.

I joined the competitors on the second terrace, easing my body through the martial art breathing and posture forms which were the basis of all Carucan sword, knife, and bo staff techniques. I focused on the energy flowing through my body, the ground beneath my feet, the sense I had of forms around me even with my eyes closed.

Some time later, a gong sounded, echoing out into the northern valley. Emerging from my state of deep concentration, I noticed the tiered seats overlooking the first terrace were almost full.

Ladies and Lords bustled to their places. The younger, unmarried ladies sat in the front row, smiling, giggling, and adjusting their hair. Lady Calmi sat on the end of the row, wearing a fuchsia pink dress that might have been vulgar on another girl, but on her it was stunning. She stared forward. When her eyes met mine, they showed no acknowledgment of our acquaintance. The master had chosen well. Lady Calmi was not the gossiping sort.

The throne seats in the centre of the audience were empty. My father and his wife, if they came would not arrive until the first bouts were underway, maybe later.

My match against Linx was the second of the day. The brothers-in-arms of the first match, equipped themselves, donning chest armour, light helmets, round wooden shields and training swords, blunted at the tips.

The young man bowed to the four masters, from the four corners of Caruca, standing at the edge of the arena. The masters nodded and the competitors skipped onto the field.

The gong rang, singalling the start of the first combat. Linx still hadn't arrived.

I watched my brothers-in-arms strike and parry, ducking, spinning, swords clashing. One was stronger and faster than the other. Their bout would not last long.

I glanced at Master Alsted. Had someone been sent to find Linx? If Linx were not present at the start of our combat, I would automatically be declared vancour. But despite my injury, this was not how I wished to win.

My concern mounted as the weaker of my brothers-in-arms found himself flat on his back, blunted sword tip pressed against his throat.

A judge announced the winner. The crowd clapped. A young trainee ran onto the grass and helped up our prostrate brother-in-arms. Lord Tiballe took off his supple leather helmet and grinned at a lady among the spectators.

'Calling Prince Jakut and Sir Linx Katos for the second combat,' the judge declared.

My chest sunk as I strode around the edge of the arena to get equipped.

'Where is Linx ?' I hissed at the boy who handed me a chest plate. Before he could answer, my friend came into sight, striding across the terrace, eyes locked forward, the muscles of his face immobile.

Something had happened.

I glanced back to see Master Alster's expression, and found no clues in his serious face.

Equipped, I stepped into the arena. Queen Usas now sat on the chair next to my father's empty throne. She had come to see how her injury would hinder me in the upcoming duel, no doubt.

The hilt of the sword was cold and bumpy in my hot palm. The weight of it tugged on the torn ligament of my shoulder. If I was to win, I needed to make a fast, hard kill-strike.

Linx joined me and we bowed at the masters. The gong rang. We turned to face each other and bowed again. My friend's eyes finally met my own. They were hooded, and icy. Half-moons sat beneath them, as though he had not slept. There wasn't time to speculate on what had happened since yesterday morning. He was already launching at me, a war-cry bellowing from his chest.

I ducked left. He mirrored my move, adjusting the strike. The blade cut down. No time to position my shield. I raised my sword to block. The force of the blow shuddered up my arm. It slammed into my shoulder. The agony blinded me. I shook my head, retreated to gain an extra second.

Linx bounded forward, whipping his sword. I spun to the right, jabbed the hilt of my blade into the back of his rib cage. He spluttered and staggered. I advanced, swinging my shortsword upwards. He rose his shield just in time. A rapid attack followed. He struck over and over, keeping to my right, so that wherever I moved I was forced to engage with my sword-bearing arm. My shoulder flared in agony.

He knows. He knows about the injury.

I retreated. He would take it as a sign of weakness and believe me overwhelmed. This time, as he came at my right side, I spun around and lunged low, shafting the sword tip up to the crook of his throat. It stopped him in his tracks.

'Death strike,' the judge shouted.

Breath tore in and out of my chest. The adrenaline masked some of the excruciating pain, but I could feel the burn in my ligament. It was taking over my senses. The audience clapped, but I barely saw them.

'Prince Jakut,' the judge announced, 'is the winner.' I bowed to the crowd. A sharp pain slashed into my thigh. I whipped around and saw Linx, a knife in hand. Blood dripped from the blade.

My leg buckled. Confusion shrouded my mind. Linx was my closest friend. We had spent almost every day together since we were eight years old. His disappointment at being eliminated from the tournament could not have driven him to such an act.

The audience's clapping turned to gasps and tutting. The trainee who had helped me don my arms, was now at my side, propping me up as I tried not to keel over.

I looked down. Blood flowed through the slit in my trousers. A lot of blood. My head spun.

I sunk to the ground, pressed my hand against the cut to staunch the bleeding.

Soldiers appeared. As they cuffed Linx and dragged him from the ring, Master Alster came to my side and began tending to the wound.

Lords and ladies rose from their seats, shaking their heads. My eyes blurred with the pain. I grasped the phial bottle on the thread around my neck and drunk the Black Night Calmi had given me. It burned on the way down.

I squinted beyond the onlookers crowding around the edge of the arena. Lady Calmi had not moved. She sat still, unflinching. I couldn't see well enough to tell if she was looking at me.

My eyes drifted across the crowd. Master Alster was talking but his words were unfathomable. I was losing too much blood. I was going to lose consciousness.

In the blur of my vision, a black-clad form fluttered between the crowd, and slipped away. Queen Usas in her mourning outfit. My chest compressed into a hard ball. Linx had done her bidding—the King's bidding. My friend had arrived just before the combat, and yet he had not even glanced at the board to discover who he was fighting or when. The combat was a set up.

One of the judges leaned over me, talking to Master Alster. I focused my thoughts, trying to make sense of their discussion.

'I'm sorry, Jakut,' master Alster said.

'Prince Jakut,' the judge announced, 'and Sir Linx Katos, have both been eliminated from the tournament.'

'What?' What did he mean? I had beaten Linx.

'This injury is too grave.'

'But the fight isn't until this afternoon.'

Master Alster smiled, a tired, beaten-down smile. 'Jakut,' he said, 'it's over.'

Sorry it's a bit later than usual. Crazy day! Thanks for reading xox