Ivy tried to circle me. I matched each of her strides, keeping our bodies parallel. If she wanted to make the first strike, she would have to make it head on. A small frown marked the moment Ivy realised that.

The sand whispered as she put more weight on her back foot. I calculated her impending move and adjusted my stance accordingly. Oblivious to anything but her own charge, the silver-haired girl attacked with a snarl, katana slashing down overhead.

For a moment, time seemed to slow, and all I could see was the straight, glittering edge of that blade, growing larger as it came closer. This was it — the true beginning of our duel, or perhaps the true end, because mother had always taught me that an opponent's first move would spell out their doom. Ivy had a bad habit of leaving her middle unprotected.

Time snapped back into place like a rubber band. I stepped out of the way of her sword and made a swift testing slash at her ribs. The tip of my knife scored her leather corset, confirming my suspicions. While Ivy was a competently trained fighter, she wasn't a skilled one. She lacked the reflexes of one born into my line of work. I pranced back before she could hurt me in reply, noticing that as with dodging, countering wasn't instinctual for her. Her actions were deliberated, and decisions took time to make, time that I could ply to get her killed.

The crowd roared when Ivy yanked her weapon up and advanced, this time swinging the blade at me horizontally. She was quick, but my knives were lighter than her sword, and I was quicker. I ducked beneath the oncoming blade, helping it along with the talon on the end of my knife. The sudden weight of the katana caused her to stumble, making her mid-section vulnerable once more.

Once, I would have killed her without hesitation. Corinne's voice screamed for me to act, to gut her and leave her bleeding in the sand. But I had an ulterior motive now, and the battle was about more than just surviving. It was a test. If Ivy Thatcher was so ambitious that she would kill me to take my place, then she posed a threat to the entire High Pack. And I intended to see that threat promptly removed.

Instead of gutting the girl, I sliced through the laces of her left boot. When she slashed and missed again, I set upon the seams at her thigh, then the cross-stitching at the side of her leather corset. Her armour sagged, slowly coming apart. I sincerely hoped that the inconvenience would force her to shift, forcing her to relinquish her silver weaponry.

Pain exploded in my shoulder and I rolled away from it, coming to my feet in the sand a few metres away. What the hell was that? I thought wildly, tossing hair out of my eyes as I searched her form for a clue. The blade of the katana was clean, so I hadn't been scratched or stabbed. Ah. She got me with the hilt.

Begrudging admiration fluttered in my ribcage, its wings quickly crumpled by the hand of fear. She could win this, my mother said sternly. Even as a figment of my imagination, her disappointment was crushing. She learns from those she fights.

I felt my breath come a little quicker at the thought of losing. "No," I muttered. Fear would not do. Fear could only distract. Closing my eyes for the briefest of seconds, I torched my emotions with the flame of determination until they all went unnaturally still within me.

Opening my eyes, I took a step forward, tossing my left knife into the air. I caught it in a traditional forward grip, the tip of the blade facing upward and outward. It was a grip for going on the offensive, which was exactly what I planned to do.

As if sensing the shift in my resolve, Ivy took a step back, stumbling over her untied laces. It was the perfect opportunity to strike. I slashed at every inch of her that was available to me, tearing her suit to ribbons and scoring the flesh underneath. Ivy gasped, defending herself as best she could with the katana. She only deflected half of my attacks, but even that was impressive; I couldn't cut her anywhere that mattered, like the neck or the major arteries in her thighs. She was holding her own relatively well, particularly considering the level of my skill.

I pressed on. At some point I delivered a kick to the side of her knee that sent her crashing to the ground. The katana flew from her grip and out of reach, but I closed in on her with another kick, intending to beat the fight out of her. If she was going to live, then my compromise was to dissuade her from challenging me or my friends ever again.

In a movement like a flash of lightning, Ivy kicked out, sweeping me off my feet. It was all I could do not to stab myself as I wrenched my body this way and that, desperately trying to keep upright. Miraculously, I landed on my knees, but the impact knocked the sense out of me. The world pitched as the fluid in my ears sloshed, disrupting my sense of balance.

A pale fist connected with my nose. The force of the blow made my head snap back, and then there was another punch, and another — to my eye, my mouth, my jaw. I collapsed back onto my elbows, trapped by the positioning of my knees.

The next punch connected with my temple. The world went dark for a second. When it came back, all of my senses were muted save for taste, which seemed enhanced by the diminishment of the other senses: the blood running down the back of my tongue was terribly salty.

The sense of nostalgia was almost overwhelming. It had been a long time since I'd suffered a beating like this, and it felt exactly like it used to: the pressure of each blow, followed by a blinding flash of pain; the debilitating throbbing in my head; the blood pounding through my veins, each pulse explosively loud in my ears... but something didn't match up. The hand that used to deliver punishment was smaller, I thought blearily, swallowing down a clump of congealing blood as the red-spattered fist descended again. Her skin was tanner, her hair and eyes darker, her expression crueller...

Old anger riled up within me. I'd trained all of my young life to spare myself this pain. I wouldn't accept it now, especially not from the new kid! I lashed out, breath hissing through my teeth, along with some bloody spittle. The talon on the end of my knife sank into Ivy's wrist, tugging it down as the second knife came up to pierce her face. Her blue eyes widened as she grasped the blade with her free hand, pushing back with all the strength she could muster, even though the silver bit into her palm.

The tip stopped just shy of her forehead. I leaned into the hold. The knife inched closer and closer, and I saw she was trembling with the effort of keeping it from plunging into her brain. I snarled, pushing harder. The tip of the knife scraped her skin.

With a barbaric cry, Ivy ripped her arm free of the talon and added a second hand to the struggle, wrapping her fingers around mine. She squeezed them painfully tight, and the pain caused a lapse in my attention that resulted in the loss of my advantage. The hilt of the knife lurched dangerously close to my face. She was going to beat me in this brute contest of strength if I didn't do something about it soon; maybe even knock me unconscious.

I twisted the situation over in my mind, but all paths led to the same destination: in order to win this power struggle, I'd need my second hand. And that meant relinquishing my second knife.

Ivy bared her teeth in a savage grin as I lost even more ground, and I realised she'd considered my options, too. Without my second knife, I'd only be able to attack at half the speed, giving her the time she sorely needed to protect herself and launch counter-attacks.

Triumph alighted in Ivy's eyes. It died when I buried the second blade in her unprotected side. It went in smoothly, slipping between her ribs with the ease and precision of a fish darting through water.