Page 25 of Great Falls Cadet
The doorbells chime a ridiculously happy tune as I pull the library door open and slam it behind me.Bells on a library door?Gavriel’s strangeness rears its head in new ways each time I meet him. A quick glance at the sun says I’ve an hour to eat something before Coal takes his turn at making my life miserable. After that… After that, all bets are off.
* * *
I walkonto the training grounds a few minutes before the Academy’s bell tower strikes two in the afternoon, the place deserted except for a single blue standard flapping at the far training court. In the emptiness of a liberty day, the Academy’s towering stone walls and broad cobblestoned courtyards take on an echoing eeriness. The ominous gray-skied murk of the afternoon doesn’t help. Corral after corral of neatly raked sand greet me as I pass, my attention on the lone shirtless figure fighting ghosts in the farthest of the rings. The dullthud thud thudof Coal’s training sword hitting rope-wrapped posts echoes through the yard, my immortal eyes tracking the warrior’s deadly dance from a hundred paces away.
High strike, low, middle parry, step.High parry, roll over the shoulder, middle strike.Repeat.I know this pattern as well as Coal does, just as I know he hates it. The thin sheen of sweat covering his bare muscled back says he’s been here for some time—as surely as the two broken practice swords lying in a pile of discarded shards. In the odd overcast light, the long tattoo twisting down Coal’s spine and his many scars draw little attention to themselves, though I doubt I’ll ever not see them on him.
My chest tightens. Stepping up to the fence enclosing the training corral, I brace my forearms against the wood, watching the wooden post shudder and rock beneath the mighty blows, Coal’s sword a blur as he dances across the sand. Even in the mortal realm, Coal’s strange inward-facing magic saturates his body, honing it for survival. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. Coal’s magic had flourished even during the centuries he spent as a slave in the dark realm of Mors. The male may not manipulate the elements like River and Tye or mend broken bones like Shade, but between his own training and the strength, speed, and faster healing his strange magic grants him, Coal is one of the greatest warriors the realms have ever seen.
High. Low. Middle. Step. Strike.
Coal’s practice blade shatters, and I wince for both the abused wood and the warrior’s shoulder that took the impact. Coal’s metallic scent reaches me with the shifting wind. Tossing the broken blade into a pile with the two others, the warrior turns to look at me, his blue eyes harsh. Unreadable.
I search the male’s face for clues of what he makes of last night’s outing, the sculpted angles of his set jaw and cheekbones, but there is no information to be had on that front. Coal is too good at hiding his thoughts. After years as a Mors slave, he has to be. I wonder how his human persona is accounting for the nightmares—which, if I’m reading the tightness in his shoulders correctly, the male is having again. In spades.
Taking two new practice blades from a rack Coal has already pulled out, I vault over the chest-high wooden fence. A trick Tye taught me, just as Coal worked on my riding and combat. Landing softly, I toss one of the blades to him, rotating the other to get its full feel.
“This isn’t why you are here.” Coal’s hand closes over the practice blade, the wood already an extension of his body.
“I’m aware.” I settle into my fighting stance, my feet finding purchase in the sand as I bring my blade to ready guard, watching Coal over the sword’s dull tip. “But this is why you are here. And I’m early.”
Coal cocks his head, watching me curiously while tossing the practice blade from one hand to the other.
I hold my breath.Talk to me, Coal. With your sword if not your words.
He snorts, the blade in his hand now swinging a wide, contemplative circle. “Youareaware of what’s to happen this afternoon, right?” he asks, his low, gravelly voice tinged with curiosity—and annoyance at my nonchalance. He wants me intimidated before my punishment even starts, and I won’t give him the satisfaction. “Moving stones yesterday was only a taste. Wasting energy before it even begins isn’t the wisest decision I’ve seen made.”
I don’t answer. In the past year, Coal and the other males have trained me, pushed me beyond my imagined limits, cheered as I conquered each challenge, no matter how many tries and screams and bruises it took to get there. They never punished me, though—and the chasm of that difference suddenly shakes the very foundation beneath me.
I swallow, telling myself I’m making a mountain from a molehill. From the perspective of a military unit, River has enforced discipline for centuries.Stars,Tye alone has stories upon stories of being punished, and I’ve seen Coal take his share from River. It never changed them from the brothers they are. This, even under the veil that makes us strangers, will change nothing either. It can’t. And as for Coal, I trust he’ll stop short of doing true damage.
Realizing that Coal is watching me, waiting for an answer I’ve not voiced, I clear my throat.
“We’ll call this a warm-up,” Coal says, saving me from the need to find words by swinging his blade for my shoulder. Hard.
4
Lera
Isnap off a parry, managing to deflect Coal’s blow only by virtue of having expected it after so many times facing the warrior across the sands. The flicker of surprise in the male’s blue eyes brushes against my skin, intensifying as I adjust my footing in an experienced wager that Coal’s next assault will come from above. Then an ankle sweep. Then—
I fall backward, my ankle kicked swiftly from beneath my body, the sand rising in a small amused puff. Knowing what Coal will do offers only so much protection against stopping it. Rolling backward over my shoulder, I return to my feet, my attention tightening on the male’s movements. The slight, intrigue-touched gaze as he circles, the flex of his sharply carved jaw, the crests of his hips shifting over the waistline of black fighting leathers. His scalpel-precise strike at my ribs.
My sword snaps down as I step, parry, strike, my breath quickening with each movement. The rhythmicclack, clack, clackof our swords vibrates across the empty ground in a hypnotic chorus that fills an aching void inside me.Clack, clack, clack.My heart keeps time with the strikes and parries, the perfectly packed sand beneath my boots a familiar echo.
My breath catches as Coal’s blade shifts to his weak hand, a brush of pleasure rippling down my spine. The warrior isn’t just toying with me, but training. Honing his own skills as he dances, each swing and lunge and slice carrying enough force to crack bones. Trusting me not to get dead. Not to be frightened into dropping my guard.
The harsh lines of his beautiful face are set in concentration, his metallic musk washing over me, weaving an illusion of usual quint training.Focus, Lera. Shade can’t just heal a limp anymore.
I shift my weight again, circling Coal, my eyes intent on his hips and shoulders. The immortal’s ethereal movements flow with perfection, thin whips of steam rising from the sheen of sweat that accentuates each muscle. The tension of his pectoral as he winds up his assault, the ripple in his biceps as he executes. Never stopping. Never letting me stop either.
Awake. Alive. My body blazes with heat despite the crisp spring air, my breath coming fast, the growing ache in my lungs a distant distraction.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
“Good to see Lieutenant Coal taking out the trash.” A musical female voice I’ve heard before sounds from the edge of my vision, followed by a beat of silence before coming again. “How long do you wager it will take, Tyelor? I’ll put a kiss down on an hour. Name your time and your wager.”
My gaze shifts, cutting across Tye’s muscular forearms as he leans on the fence, Princess Katita standing beside him. Her white-blond hair and brilliant teal eyes mark her immediately, even from the corner of the eye. She’s that striking—and that invasive of any space she stands in.
