Page 84 of Unbound

Disappointment crashes through me like a wave breaking against rocks. Has Raith decided not to come? Or maybe our agreement for this evening wasn't as clear as I thought. I move to the weapons rack, selecting one of the heavier rapiers Raith likes me to train with to improve my strength. I guess I can still work through some forms, even if he doesn't show.

And I can pretend I don't feel a lurching sense of disappointment.

"You're early."

I whirl at the sound of Raith's voice, nearly dropping my rapier. He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with casual grace that belies the power in his body. In the torchlight, half of his features lie in shadow, making it hard to read his expression.

"Maybe you're just late," I reply, pleased with how steady my voice sounds despite the sudden swarm of butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

He steps into the room, closing the door behind him.

Closing it between us and everyone else, which is exactly how it feels when I'm alone with him—as if it's only us, even when I know Pyrin is likely hidden nearby and I can sense Typhon's presence.

Raith's eyes never leave mine as he crosses to the weapons rack, selecting his preferred training sword. The fire markings that thread through his scars seem more vivid today, the red lines pulsing slightly like the beating of a heart.

"You've been avoiding me," I say, the words escaping before I can stop them.

This isn't the kind of thing we usually talk about here. I tend to stay quiet and let him lead. I trust him to keep things professional and clinical. But today… Today I'm having trouble holding back.

Raith's brow rises, the unburned side of his mouth curving slightly. "Have I?"

"Two days. Not even a word about when you'd want to train next."

"I didn't realize you were keeping count, Saltcrest." There's something in his voice—a warmth, a hint of amusement—that sends a delicious shiver cascading down my spine. And even if it's a silly nickname, I feel my belly do flips every time he calls me "Saltcrest."

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. "Just an observation."

He tests the weight of his training sword, the muscles in his arm shifting beneath tanned skin. "I've been busy. They had the fire affinities working with some of the upper years this week. Patrols and inspections of fortifications."

"Fortifications… walls… actually, yeah, I can see why you would know a lot about those."

Raith turns, one eyebrow cocked. He's giving me a look like he's not quite sure I'm actually saying the words he's hearing. "Meaning?"

"You're good at putting up walls around yourself. I can see why they wanted an expert like you along for inspections."

He walks with a slow, deadly grace through the darkness between torches, sword held low and steady in his hand. Many of the waters in my year like to perform flourishes and practice trying to look like experts. Raith has never bothered with any of that.

The way he moves and holds that sword might as well be a whispered threat in the ear of any who lay eyes on him.

Danger, says the voice.

Anyone with functioning instincts knows down to their bones that the word hardly captures the reality of it. Raith is lethal. Barely caged violence. And yet…

"Walls aren't always meant to defend those inside," Raith says as he begins to circle me. He's not yet in a fighting stance, but I feel the electric potential—the near certainty that he'll strike soon.

I sink into my knees like he taught me, imagining my feet as both heavy and fluid, ready to sink in and absorb in a block or flow into an attack at a moment's notice. I relax my wrist, letting my rapier rest with a relaxed wrist, parallel to the ground and pointed straight toward Raith, tracking his movements as he continues to circle me.

"So you'd have me believe your walls are protecting me? Is that it? You've caged yourself in because you're so dangerous?"

Without warning, he lunges, his blade a blur as it arcs toward my shoulder. I react on instinct, parrying the strike and using his momentum to slip past his guard, my own blade stopping inches from his ribs.

"Better," he acknowledges, genuine approval warming his voice. "You're learning."

"My teacher is… decent."

I hold his eyes for a moment, waiting for him to pick up the conversation where we left it. But he steps back, his body language making it clear.

Conversation over. It's time to train.

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