Page 136 of Daughter of No Worlds

Max hesitated just barely, a concerned wrinkle between his brows. I seized upon the opening to push forward. Another swing. Low. He almost missed it.

“Tisaanah—”

I nearly landed another strike. But just as quickly, he turned on his heel, flinging my own force against me, pushing us both against the wall. Our breaths panted and mingled into the air between us, where our staves collided.

He looked at menow. Looked at me with searching, wary intensity. Satisfaction slithered up my spine.

“You feel like everything is running too hot,” he said. “Right?”

Right,I thought, but something inside of me devoured the word before I could acknowledge it. Something that lingered between rage and desire andhunger.

“I’m fine,” I hissed. “You cannot be gentle with me. I’m not done.”

I was capable of anything. I could do this. And he gave me this little wooden stick, as if I would hurt myself with something real?

Ha!

I slipped down, freeing myself beneath his arm, skimming his side and dancing backwards. Dancing— that’s what it was. A series of steps. Deep in the back of my mind, a key slid into a lock. They all lit up against the whitewashed wooden floor, like the map of my mind had been laid out before me.

Max spun as quickly as I did, ready to block. He was fast. It was beautiful, how fluidly he moved. Almost predatory. I wondered what he looked like when he wasn’t holding back. He had been holding back in Tairn. And he was certainly holding back now.

Crack.

Wood collided with metal, splitting the air as he blocked.

“That’s enough. Take a break.”

No.

Not enough. Never enough.

I was so focused that I didn’t feel the grin split my face as I pulled back only to lunge again.

And again.

And again.

I knew exactly how to move, even in ways unfamiliar to my muscles. My mind pulled the steps from somewhere, fed them to me in numbers like I had known so well in Esmaris’s court.

1, 2, 3, 4…

The cracks of impact came faster and faster. He only blocked, never struck.

I let out a grunt as I surged forward with a particularly vicious leap, and as our weapons met, I could feel the strain of his arms absorbing the impact. I grinned at him, but he met me with scorching stone.

The whorls on his staff ignited with liquid fire, and the staff split cleanly in two.

He sidestepped in one smooth movement, sending me tumbling to the floor with a snarl that sounded nothing like myself. My sparring stick snapped as I collided with the floor.

As I fell, I flung out my arm and sent a spiral of air curling around his legs, sweeping his knees out from under him.

I pounced on him the moment he hit the ground, my skin relishing the coolness of the floor as I planted my palms over each of his shoulders, my broken stick still clutched in my hand. I had draped myself over his torso, our breaths heaving against each other.

“I won.”

Gods, I forgot how much I loved exceeding expectations.

My hair dangled down, having escaped from my braid, now tickling the tip of Max’s nose. I smiled and smiled, but he still looked at me with that solemn, searching look. I relished his gaze, then dragged my own over his jaw, his sweaty throat, down to the apex of his unbuttoned white shirt. So damp that it clung to his skin, revealing every twitch or ripple of the muscles beneath.

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