154 - His mind could change in the flash of a blade

I stood leaning back against the wall, stunned, barely able to believe what had happened except that my cheek stung from his hand.

Now what? What do I do with that? I tried to see clearly whether he’d meant it, and couldn’t; his words hung in my ears, You won’t know for sure, when we’re in the Ring, will you?

He hadn’t been faking the fear. I’d have staked my life on that. You can feign a shaking voice or hands, but not the smell of fear-sweat. He was not terrified that I would kill him—I couldn’t imagine he’d suddenly ceased to trust me not to—but of being taken down to no chains again, at his age. Perhaps he even felt something no one else could know, about the failing of his strength, or had had a touch of foreknowledge.

Or perhaps he was even afraid, as I had been the night before I’d fought Riji, of defeat.

The question isn’t whether he’ll do his utmost to beat me, I reminded myself. He will; it’s just whether he spoke true when he said that if his hand found a kill it would take it. In truth, I will find out on the first exchange. And yet he might not even know himself. If not, I wouldn’t find out anything, because his mind could change in the flash of a blade.

But he and I had been such friends; I had not imagined that unspoken seamless harmony. He was a steadfast person, as his mistress must know after three children, and the Mezem after seeing him getting up, taking a deep breath and starting over eleven times. One of those with steel bars in his soul, who is trustworthy to the end; I could not suddenly mean nothing to him. Would that not stay his hand?

And so weaken him, I thought. He’s afraid of that, too. He is fighting with himself, knowing his liking for me might be his defeat.

Iliakaj, I said in my mind, why don’t you just take me up on it? I knew that if he discerned that I was giving any less than my utmost, he’d be angry. Honour; he wouldn’t be the first to die for it. Why was he wasting it on this place? He’s been here so long it’s home, I thought. Part of him loved the Mezem.

It took a foolish amount of time, and effort in spinning out the snarl of thoughts, to see the only answer. I would just do what I had already given him my word I would do: my utmost. What I felt, I’d sort out, or suffer with, later.

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