Liora
Liora didn't recognize the student holding the invitation until he mentioned the prize.
Then she remembered him standing beside the wagering table after her first duel with Cedric. He had smiled at the result as though he had personally forced her across the boundary.
She finished tightening her boot before taking the page.
"A public rematch," he said. "People would attend."
"People attend when a shelf falls over."
"There's a purse."
She read the amount.
Enough to buy the better grip she had refused. Enough left for ordinary maintenance instead of saving worn leather in case the next payment came late.
For a moment, she imagined the weight of the new fitting in her hand.
She had held it once at the workshop and put it down after hearing the price. It hadn't promised to make her win. It had simply fitted well, without the small adjustment her fingers made every time she took up the old sword.
That was enough to want it.
