Page 50 of Great Falls Rogue
As if sensing she’s just become prey, Vivian tightens her grip on the blade, her olive skin blanched and pretty almond-shaped eyes narrowed in concentration. Deliciously nervous. My nostrils flare, taking in the scent.
“Go,” Coal calls.
I fall into a defensive stance, allowing Vivian to come at me with the high attacks she favors. Left, right, down the middle.
Tap. Tap. Tap.My arm stretches lazily through the parries, the predictable pattern warming my muscles while the grains of the hourglass fall through the chambers. Vivian isn’t bad, exactly, but she is slow. Uncreative. Perfect for my current purpose.Tap. Tap. Tap.
With a few seconds of the match left, I finally hook the blade in Vivian’s hand and pop it free of her grip. The airborne sword makes a wide arc in the air, landing with a soft plop beside Coal’s downed training post. Fitting. Behind me, a slow, tentative clapping skitters around the ring of watching cadets. A corner of my mouth twitches toward a smile while Vivian braces her hands on her thighs and pants, sweat running into her eyes.
I almost feel bad for her. It’s a long way around the Academy—longer still when your lungs and pride hurt.
“One lap, both of you,” Coal calls, quieting the applauding cadets.
“But—” The question is out before I can stop it, the sting of changing rules spurring my pulse the way the match with Vivian failed to.
Coal’s blue gaze is unapologetically level. “You plainly want a warm-up, Osprey. I’m offering you one. Go.”
Bastard.
Swallowing a curse, I fight the urge to launch at him with every nerve in my body, and offer a small bow instead. “That is very considerate of you, sir.” Flashing Coal a smile before he can answer, I jog off to take my lap around the Academy, returning to find the others busy with basic strength training. Trembling arms and sweat-spotted gray uniforms speak of time well spent.
Reclaiming my practice blade to a chorus of poorly hidden sighs of relief from the rest of the group, I settle into a fighting stance, my mind focused. Ready to dance. At Coal’s mark, I let loose my blade, the circle of cadets growing quiet as my ruthless cuts take out one, two, five of their number in under a minute’s time each. Warm blood courses through my veins, my heart keeping beat with the swinging blades.Tap. Tap. Tap.The world beyond the practice pitch falls away, no sound but the thumping blades, my beating heart, and Coal’s curt commands penetrating the bubble.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Through the haze of straining muscles and stinging lungs, the challenge of each new well-rested opponent reaches further. Simple parries that bored me at first morph into precious moments of respite. The short reprieve Coal grants me between rounds turns from a battle of wills to unabashed gasps for breath.
I refuse to look at him. In part, to keep my mind in the here and now, no matter what protests my muscles lodge. In part, to keep from learning whether my growing weakness satisfies the male’s intentions or disappoints him. Either way, any flagging on my part will undoubtedly fuel Coal’s fire, offering proof that I can’t handle myself out in the woods alone. And that isn’t acceptable. Not when the Night Guard may have a shot at turning the mortal world into a magic-filled hell.
I may be swinging my blade against cadets, but I know I’m truly battling Coal. And I can’t let him win.
I’m on the tenth fight when the first truly painful blow rushes past my weakening defenses, the tip of Kirill’s practice blade jabbing into the left side of my groin, where my hip bends. My leg goes numb for a heartbeat, Kirill grinning in triumph as I grunt. Inhaling Kirill’s celebration, I gather enough energy to drop my level into a deep squat and lunge in so quickly that the cadet is flat on his back before his premature victory call is finished sounding.
By the eleventh match, I’ve no more strength for such things. The pleasant spring sun has become an oppressive torch as it climbs to its zenith, the hilltop breeze a maddening joke. Each movement costs me breath I don’t have, my muscles now trembling beneath the strain. Thethump thump thumpof wood against my flesh becomes a new, distant normal, the sting failing to ignite the anger that might give me an extra boost.
“Time,” Coal calls, ending the match before either of us score a killing blow. I brace my hands on my thighs, my breath coming in desperate pants. Sweat running along my face comes to the point of my chin and drips to the ground. When the cadet I face holds out his hand for me to shake, I stare at the offered palm without comprehension until—
Stars.
Rushing to the side of the training fence, I empty my stomach outside the ring, my shoulders still heaving when Coal’s cold voice calls, “Next.”
I don’t look at Coal as I trudge back to my place. The world sways slightly. In the back of my mind, I’m certain that if I ask for a reprieve, Coal will allow it at once. That I’ll do no such thing is the only thing I’m certain of just now. Everything else—including how to hang on to my sword through another round—is a hazy consideration.
For a moment, I entertain the notion of letting myself be disarmed quickly, but that would be surrender—and the tiny part of my mind that can still think knows it’s not an option. So be it.
I can barely stand by the time the last cadet of the circle steps out onto the pitch. Arisha. She holds her practice blade with all the delicacy of a club, but given that my own sword shakes so hard that even I can’t predict where it’s going next, her grip will unlikely matter.
“Lera?” she says softly, making me blink at my name. Her eyes are blue and soft, her freckled face pinched with worry.
“You aren’t here for tea, Tallie,” Coal snaps, his body a towering bare-chested presence in the corner of my vision. “Ready guard.”
The world sways as I bring my blade into position, and I fall to one knee. There’s a pregnant pause, a collective held breath as I force myself back to my feet. At this point, I don’t know if the other cadets want me to fail or succeed. The sword in my sweaty hands weighs as much as an anvil, my battered body throbbing with bruises and welts.
Raising her own blade into position, Arisha closes her eyes.
“Tallie.” Coal’s voice rumbles with warning.
Arisha shudders. Then, just as Coal opens his mouth for the next order, my friend tosses her weapon down on the sand. Twisting toward him with a defiant glare and an impressive amount of grace, the girl shakes her head. “No. Sir.”
