Page 3 of A Tribute of Fire

And despite the fact that I knew it was coming, that I was aware of the fact that the Ilionians would be landing on our shores in two days to collect their tribute, a bolt of fear struck my heart, shuddering in place the same way the spear had earlier.

I immediately suppressed the sensation. Demaratus had drilled into me the need to control my fear. Panicked warriors made mistakes.

I could not afford to make any mistakes.

He reached for the wineskin at his side, deftly undoing the ties with his right hand. Although I had never asked him about how he’d lost his left hand, I’d always been in awe of how easily he fought without it. There wasn’t a soldier in the entire Locrian army who could defeat him now.

He must have been terrifyingly lethal when he’d had both.

Demaratus surprised me by offering me the skin.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Wine,” he said.

I took a deep swig and then had to fight the urge to spit it out. This was what he drank all day, every day? “That is not wine,” I said with a grimace, passing the skin back to him. “It tastes like vinegar.”

His expression didn’t change, but I heard the slight defensiveness in his voice. “It’s Daemonian wine.”

Daemonians were renowned for their skill in battle—but their wine left much to be desired.

“No wonder the Daemonians aren’t afraid to die.” I could have sworn that a ghost of a smile hovered over his lips. “Why are you being so nice to me? Is it because you’re worried I’m about to die?”

My mentor was the only one I could joke with about my situation. To be more accurate, I joked while he glared.

Much as he was doing now.

“I would tell you to do better tomorrow, but this is our last training session. I will have to hope that you’ve retained some small part of all that I’ve taught you. If not, at least you will have an honorable death, which is all anyone can ask for.”

This entire conversation felt surreal. He never spoke this much unless he was about to black out.

It made me think he really was worried that I would die.

Which I understood because that fear had kept me up many a night.

“Put your gear away,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. There was so much I wanted to say to him in that moment, to thank him for all his guidance, his teaching, the skills he had drilled into me.

For giving me a fighting chance.

But he walked away before I could speak.

I trudged back to the armory, glad that I would never have to wear this blasted armor again. It was ill-fitting and often made me chafe. When I entered the room, my regiment were stowing their equipment, teasing one another.

“There’s the thigh-flasher!” I heard Linus say, and they all started laughing. I glanced down at my tunic. In Locris it was considered improperly short, showing my upper legs, but Demaratus had told me that it was what the Daemonian women wore when they exercised and trained. It was much easier to run without lengths of cloth wrapping around my ankles.

I wouldn’t make it very far with a regular tunic.

And my daringly short hemline was the reason I kept a cloak in the armory. If I went into the palace dressed like this, there would be questions I wouldn’t want to answer.

“Why are you looking at my thighs?” I retorted, which set off another round of laughter as the regiment mocked Linus for his remark.

I stood there and watched them, still holding my armor. I was hit with a wave of sadness as I realized that I would never train with themagain. They had been my constant companions for this past year. I had spent hours with them every day.

And I never would again.

I put my armor up on my designated shelf, patting it one final time.

“Maybe that’s the reason Telamon grazed Lia with that arrow,” Linus said. “Because he was so distracted by her legs!”

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