Page 150 of Daughter of No Worlds

I swore under my breath, whirling around. Nura stood there, looking smug.

“Ascended, Nura, don’t do that.”

“Pay closer attention.”

I almost scoffed. That advice was almost poetic, coming from her. If I had, perhaps none of us would be here.

“You’re out of practice,” she observed, and I bristled.

“I didn’t think I’d have to do this again, so yes, marginally.”

Nura’s face was a white, silent mask. Every time I looked at it, I had to fight the rage in my chest back until it was a faint pulse beneath my blood — rage on Tisaanah’s behalf, yes, but also nearly a decade’s worth of built-up betrayal. A strange, surreal thing to confront every day.

“Need a sparring partner?” She reached beneath her jacket to pull out two daggers and gave me a little smile. “I think we left it at a tie last time. But it’s been so long.”

I knew I should say no.

That I was too damn angry at her for a “friendly” fight to be a good thing.

But I didn’t hesitate as I said, “Fine.”

No magic, we agreed. Five paces away from each other. Turn. Position. And—

I had forgotten how fast she moved. Like she became shadow.

I had to block her immediately. And again, spinning on my heel to match the liquid speed with which she bent around me. She slid away from the impact as if my staff had merely pierced a cloud of unfurling smoke.

Block - again.

She paused only long enough to give me a smirk. “Try harder, Max.”

I watched her silent footfalls, marked her speed, the length of each stride. Marked where she’d land two, three, four seconds from now.

And seared forward in one calculating strike.

That's how you had to be, with Nura — calculating. You couldn’t wait for her to come to you or expect to beat her with scattershot strength. You had to attack, decisively. One perfectly calibrated movement after another.

I watched her feet and hands and blades all at once, turned, curled, angled the curved blade of my staff just the right way.

I could be fast too.

One strike, with everything I had, the same way a viper lunges with its entire body.

One strike, and one hit.

She let out a ragged breath, grace disrupted, feet sliding across the floor. She threw her loss of balance into a turn. Just like I knew she would. Just like I knew she’d strike low, then high, then turn—

I was ready.

A swing, a half-step, a counterstrike for each movement. We glided across the deck, answering each other's jabs and evasions with immediate responses, each growing shorter, sharper, angrier.

I watched her face in between the blurring movement of our weapons and saw the blood-spattered soldier who raised her hand to my temple seven years ago. I saw the sad, patronizing look she gave me when she told me about Tisaanah’s blood pact.

My anger burned so hot that it turned to ice. I slipped further into my strikes, like putting on an old, comfortable jacket.

Nura’s silver eyes glittered as she narrowly evaded one of my swings. “There you are, Captain Farlione.”

There I fucking am.

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