“That on your best day—on your very best day—you could never beat me.” “I do know that,” I said, “and thanks very much for reminding me.” “Then why all this pretense? Why go through the motions?” He sounded genuinely interested. “Because, you . . .” I reached for the worst insult I could think of and settled on, “you stupid son-of-a-Saint, I’ve been beaten and tortured and killed eight times. I’m tired and weak. My best friend sits trapped in that stupid circle, despising himself. The daughter of my King is possessed by Trin through magic, which I hate, by the way, and the woman I love has
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