Page 137 of Golden Queen
"How does it feel?" he asked, leaving his pack on the table by the door. It made me glad to see that he was apparently planning to spend the night with me again.
I held the sword up, testing its weight, and then swung it easily. I flicked my wrist around to let it make a sweeping arc in front of me. It was a lightweight short sword, well-balanced and well-made.
"It feels good. It's not my sword, of course, but I'm not sure anything could ever replace my Obeskan blade."
“Did it have a name?” he asked.
I looked up at him, lips rising in an unwilling smile. I did not want to admit what a sixteen-year-old version of me had named her first sword. “No,” I lied.
He raised a brow, grinning back at me. “What was it, Sera?” he coaxed.
I shook my head, biting my cheek to obliterate the telling smile.
He laughed, shrugging. "Fine, coward. I'll find it for you when I go south to take your city back." He spoke as though it was such a simple act—one that might take an afternoon.
He stalked across the room, stopping in front of me. "Show me what you can do with it," he commanded.
I gave him a puzzled look.
"Go ahead, Sera. I won't let you hit me. Show me how good you are."
"I'm not good," I insisted.
"I can see the lie in that just by the way you hold the blade. Now show me," he said again.
Something in his tone needled me into action. I swung quickly, bringing my blade around and across.
He leaned back so that it passed harmlessly in front of his chest.
"Again," he coaxed.
I moved, this time stepping to the side, using one of the moves Arkadian had taught me. Io looked surprised when my sword sliced through the sleeve of his coat.
“Nice,” he admitted. I couldn't stop my triumphant smile at the earnestness on his face. “But actually try to hit me this time. I can tell you’re holding back.”
I was…a little, and it pleased me that he recognized it. I knew I was good at swordplay. But I was also capable of convincing myself that I was completely delusional about it.
I struck again, holding nothing back. His hand came up, catching the blade in midair just before it crashed down onto his head. The impact was so jarring I was surprised to find he wasn't cut. He must have used his magic to shield his hand from the blade.
His smile widened after that one, and he nodded for me to continue.
So, I did. Again and again, I struck out with my sword. Each time I nearly landed the blow.
He was taking it easy on me, of course. I had seen him move enough times to know he was deadly fast. He could have avoided each of my strikesanddisarmed me in just the time it took me to adjust my grip. But if he had been a human opponent, even a skilled one, I knew he would have been cut to ribbons by my blade.
He was still smiling proudly as I lowered my blade after a move that would have impaled him if he didn't throw up a shield between us at the last second. I finally felt the ache of sore muscles as the adrenaline of training began to give way to fatigue. It felt good, though—being tired from work rather than from mental exhaustion.
"Tomorrow when we stop, we’ll find a spot where you can train against my sword," he told me after I said I'd had enough. "You'll be strong enough to wield Sektus before you know it." He spoke like we had all the time in the world for training, like my wedding and the war didn't loom over our heads.
"Sektus?" I asked.
He gave me a crooked half smile. "It's the old tongue," he admitted. "It means vengeance."
At my look, he laughed. "I was young when my father gave me the sword—young and full of righteous indignation."
"Who inspired the vengeance, though?" I asked flippantly.
His face changed, growing slightly taut. I thought he might not answer, but then he did. "My father," he admitted.
