That made her laugh and pushed the fear away. She blew a swift kiss to Mordred. Resting the sword on her shoulder, Summer turned on her bootheel and marched out to the field, where Edward waited, plate mail and shield throwing off flashes of light. She knew she seemed frail, very small, next to him. Most of the folk of the castle were there, lining the open square.
Summer paced out to the centre of the field, a few steps from Edward. Gravely she saluted him with the sword, and he bared his teeth at her in snarling acknowledgement. “You can still change your mind, Summer,” he said.
She laughed at him. “I’ve no more desire to disobey our father than you want to be here. En garde, braud.” The tangle of languages fell off her tongue easily, and she lifted the sword higher, stepping closer. “You made a mistake. You’ve made a lot of mistakes, but this one — ” Summer shook her head. The twined braids flared like fire around her head.
Edward jerked his shield up hastily as she brought the sword around, barely catching the blow. It wasn’t hard or heavy, but he staggered a little nonetheless, and fell back a step. She advanced on him, sword in a two-handed grip, the blade licking out at him. It took a full minute before he regained his mental equilibrium, and he took one sharp strike to the shoulder before he managed it.
Then it was Summer’s turn to fall back as Edward tried to bash her. She ducked and wove, spinning beneath an outflung arm, and scrambled backwards as he came at her again. And if quickly became apparent to the onlookers that though he was stronger, and perhaps better trained, she was simply faster and better. Another spin, and then she thrust a foot out, and Edward staggered over it, and fell, heavily.
There had been a lot of times throughout the fight that he’d wanted to step in and as soon as Edward had landed the first blow, but Winter’s hand on his arm had told him not to step in.
He had watched the exchange eagerly, as if he was watching the steps of a strange dance that he had to learn by viewing. It, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Edward was clearly more well trained, but Summer was fast, which bode in her favour. Quite considerably.
”Well done,” he says, holding out his hand to Edward, “get up.”
Edward gave Mordred a disgusted glance, clearly embarrassed by the fall he had just taken, but accepted the hand nonetheless. He didn’t pass up the chance for another dig at the pair of them, though, saying, “You see how unwomanly she is.”
Summer didn’t hear him; she thrust her sword into the turf and fanned herself, breathing hard. Her face was flushed from the combat, but she wore a pleased smile, and Winter brought her a cup of water. The redhead accepted gratefully, drinking deep.