My conversation with the doctor flashed through my mind. Had he misunderstood me? Had he betrayed Saradon? Had Saradon lost faith in me?

  No, he'd still brought the bullet. If he doubted me, he wouldn't have, not when it was so obviously warded.

  Why hadn't he loaded it? Why?

  Stand. Focus. Breathe.

  I breathed, letting my thread dissipate back into the void. Saradon hadn't loaded the warded bullet. I had. Could I direct it toward Saradon's bullet?

  No.

  The only way for this to work would be for the mirrored wards to attract each other. I couldn't control a thread that fast, couldn't direct the bullet.

  What had he been thinking?

  Saradon called something. It came to me like an indistinct shout. Too far, too much muttering from the audience to make out his words. Was he denouncing me? Denouncing Draud? Something else?

  He drew his gun, and I tried to do the same. The crudmucking thing stuck on the holster. Belatedly, I remembered the buckle-down safety strap. Dromoni guns weren't made to be drawn. The barrels were too long. You had to unbuckle the holster, opening it up like a hinge.

  Saradon stood ready, the gun in his right hand, barrel down. I couldn't see if he had his finger on the trigger. Too far.

  Still, he was waiting. He could have readied his gun and shot me while I still fumbled.

  Or maybe not. There had to be rules beyond what had stood in the brief. Maybe you couldn't shoot an unarmed opponent. What did I know?

  Crudmunging buckle wouldn't open. I kept fumbling with the thick leather belt, but the prong kept sliding back into the hole. My hands shook, refusing to obey me.

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  Stand. Focus. Breathe.

  Breathe.

  I drew breath, sinking into myself the way I'd done in meditating. Ice filled my mind. The world grew sharp around the edges.

  My hands stopped trembling. A killing grin deformed my mouth. I knew that grin. It was a bad one, taunt, crazy. I hated it, but I needed the cold that came with it, the distance.

  In my mind, I was screaming. Outwardly, I was wholly in control. As long as I kept that control, I would be fine.

  I could kill Saradon, deflect his bullet. He couldn't hurt me. The ice cocooned me.

  No. Not this way. The buckle came loose, my gun sliding forward. I caught it, and pressed the barrel against the stone at my feet.

  I wouldn't kill the kid. I wouldn't. Breathe. Focus. Push the ice away. Saradon wasn't the target.

  He moved, lifting his gun. I started to copy his motion, then realized he was pointing off to the side. Toward the ground, and Draud's side of the plaza.

  With a cough of smoke and flame, Saradon's gun fired, the bulled spanging against the stones, shattering and throwing up orange sparks. A few of the Dromoni on Draud's side recoiled slightly. Most stood impassive. Saradon spread his arms, letting his gun hang limply from his hand.

  Presenting a bigger target.

  That was what his speech had been about. He'd been refusing the premises of the duel, or saying that he couldn't harm me, a guest in his house, or something similar. A way of sticking it to Draud, should I renegade and shoot him. And a way of giving me the option.

  The kid trusted me. That had to be it.

  My mad grin grew madder, relief flooding my gut. I lifted the ridiculously long barrel of my gun, saluting Saradon with it as marines saluted with their boarding sabers. Then I twisted it to the side, aimed, and shot right at Draud.

  The recoil was low and slow, the muzzle of my gun pressing upward, then vanishing in a cloud of smoke. My bullet smacked into the barrier, leaving a smashed smear of lead a meter in front of Draud's groin.

  Lot of bullet fall. I'd aimed at his head.

  Still, the groin shot angered him and made him spit and shout something meaningless. Maybe cursing my mother's grave or something equally insane.

  I turned to Saradon, saluting him again, then popped open my gun, pulling the hot case out with my fingers.

  I did it slowly, waiting for what the kid would do, feeling for my warded bullet with a thread of force.

  He pulled it from his bandoleer, and inserted it into his gun.

  I did the same, then I focused my mind, pulling a second warm tread of force from the planet around me.

  This would be the shot that counted.