The Arbiter’s words rang in the air. The man stepped between Midhir and the counter, pressing his fist over his heart. “It is a blade’s purpose to cut. The Princess refused to take it, Majesty the Empress claimed she is no warrior. You are the ruling blood as well – take it, use it. It will serve you well.”

  Midhir averted his gaze as Chiron and Gerard’s uncomfortable glances met.

  “What is it?” The Arbiter asked, immediately noticing their discomfort. “Have I said something wrong?”

  “No,” Midhir shook his head. “I am honoured for your offer, Arbiter. I truly am. This is a fine blade, one worthy of a master. I am no master, and I couldn’t in good conscience accept this gift.”

  The Arbiter’s lips formed a thin line. “So Eldoria refuses my gifts.”

  Chiron’s face turned pale. “No, no Arbiter Kaien, that’s not what his highness meant at all!”

  The Arbiter’s gaze didn’t even turn towards Chiron. It remained locked on Midhir, and the sword in his hands. “Why will you not use this gift, highness? Is it not to you liking? Do you prefer cruder weapons?” He shot a glance at the sword hanging form Midhir’s belt.

  Midhir let out a sigh. “No.” He turned his gaze towards Chiron and Gerart. “Quartermaster, Lieutenant, please deliver the Arbiter’s other gift to the forgemasters before they retire for the night.”

  “As you wish,” Chiron quickly bowed. Gerart followed him, carefully holding the box containing the parchments. They left in a hurry, carefully closing the door to the armoury after they left.

  The Arbiter waited, one eyebrow slightly raised.

  “I can’t accept this gift.” Midhir took a deep breath. “It is meant for the Ardagh bloodline, is it not?”

  “Yes. And you are the younger prince.” He scowled. “I do not understand, highness.”

  “I’m an Induen by birth and blood.” Midhir clarified. “After the disaster, Her majesty the Empress took me as her own, but I carry no imperial blood.” Seeing the man’s eyes widen for a split second, he continued. “I know how much Calador’s customs value ancestry and bloodlines. It would be wrong of me to accept this gift.” He held out the blade, intending to give it back.

  The Arbiter didn’t move to take it from him. His gaze lingered on the sword for a few moments before he raised it to meet Midhir’s. “We do value such things. Blood… it carries power. But perhaps that is a reason for our downfall. Perhaps it is time to change and accept things beyond what we are comfortable with.” He placed both hands on the scabbard and pushed it against Midhir’s chest. “I offer this to the Imperial family, bound by blood or bond.”

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  Midhir’s lips parted, but he found no words. In Calador, blood was everything. People were burdened with the sins of their ancestors – stains that never faded for millennia. Found families were scorned, and breaking familial bonds was looked at like treason.

  “I know you don’t speak lightly.” He finally was able to speak. “I am honoured, for more reasons than one.”

  The Arbiter’s expression softened. “The honour is mine, for this blade will serve a people.” A smile flashed across his lips. “Would you care to try it, highness?”

  The courtyard was much emptier than before. The crowds that had been watching Arwen’s little show had scattered, and the young witch herself was sitting on the steps, staring at the crystal staves laid out on the ground before her. Her cheeks were puffy, and her expression rather troubled as he pondered. Her eyes lit up when she noticed Midhir step out into the courtyard, only to notice the Arbiter. She narrowed her eyes but remained silent.

  Midhir walked to the centre of the courtyard under the watchful gazes of the few soldiers that remained there. He gently unsheathed the blade. It’s smooth surface seemed to catch the moonlight as he tested the balance of the weapon.

  A part of him expected the hear the weapon’s call like Alistair had claimed to hear the spear’s. He hoped he would feel like the blade belonged with him.

  “The best way to learn is to do.” The Arbiter stood about half a dozen steps away from him. “Shall we duel, highness?”

  Midhir raised his gaze from the reflective surface of the blade. He couldn’t refuse this. “It would be my honour.”

  The Arbiter unsheathed his own sword, one that was quite similar to his gift. He gripped its hilt with both hands and settled into a stance. The tip of the blade was looking up its sharp edge facing forth.

  Midhir released the breath he had been holding. His heart calmed, his thoughts quieted as he pushed his right foot forward, bent his knees slightly, and lowered the blade to his left, holding its hilt with both hands, albeit loosely.

  A moment passed in charged silence. They stared at each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move. What was only a few seconds felt like an eternity – until the Arbiter charged forward, raising his sword above his head. He covered the six steps worth of distance in an instant, bringing his blade down from above.

  Midhir stuck upwards. Their blades met with a loud, yet clear clang. His arms ached as he felt the Arbiter’s strike. The other man’s blade slid off of his, passing him by harmlessly. Yet he didn’t stop – he whirled around, striking from the other side.

  Midhir barely had enough time to block the Arbiter’s second strike. As soon as their blades met, he leapt back, putting a few steps of distance between them. His heart was racing, and beads of sweat began to roll down his forehead. His whole body pleaded him to stop – he didn’t have the strength to go on after this gruelling day.

  The Arbiter raised an eyebrow, then readied his blade once more, this time holding it to his side.

  He weighed what strength he had left, against the sharp gaze of his opponent. The answer was simple, and he had no choice but to accept it. He raised his left hand, gesturing him to stop. “My apologies, Arbiter Kaien, but it seems I underestimated how exhausted I am.”

  A smile flashed across the Arbiter’s lips. “No apology needed, Highness.” He sheathed his sword. “Many would have chosen to push through and ended up injuring themselves. It is wise to know when to stop.”

  Midhir softly chuckled. Had he not been through so much in one day, he would have chosen to push through as well. That thought stopped him in his tracks. No, he wouldn’t have – not if it was just a few months ago. He would have ignored his ailments and exhaustion to the point of injuring himself.