Page 16 of Esperance

You won’t hold a blade until you can hold these poses, boy. Anyone who wants to master a weapon must first master themselves. You cannot fight an enemy until you have fought off all the internal distractions. You cannot solve the discord outside yourself until you have silenced the war within.

Carver forced his shoulders to ease down, even as he kept his arms in position. He ignored the stiffness in his neck—that’s what came from sleeping on a settee—and banished the strain building in his muscles as he held the pose.

Imagine yourself on a bridge,his grandfather had told him.In any battle, in any of life’s stresses, you must imagine you are standing on a bridge. Don’t let panic override the truth—that you stand on firm ground. Let the fear, the doubt, all rush beneath you, like a river. There, then gone. Never touching you. Never throwing you off course.

The image of Amryn sitting in the bed—theirbed—with her flaming hair falling in riotous waves all over her shoulders as she clutched a blanket to her chest, slammed into his mind.

Saints, her hair was long when unpinned.

Of course, it was the fear in her eyes that had truly stuck with him.

He gritted his teeth and forced all thoughts of his new wife away.

All those distracting thoughts belong in the river. Let them wash away beneath you. Don’t let them distract you. Don’t give them the power to shake you.

Carver moved to the next pose; arms spread wide to either side, remaining level with his shoulders, as he sank into a crouch with one bare foot balanced forward, the other braced behind him. He could feel the spot near his left shoulder protest, and he knew the scar was stretching.

These poses had become even more important after Harvari. If he didn’t do them, he ran the risk of his body locking up. He needed to keep loose, despite his injuries.

He needed to prove that his body wasn’t as broken as the rest of him.

In the quiet of the morning, the chatter of monkeys was loud. The call of birds, the chirping of insects—all of the sounds reminded him of Harvari. The tents he’d slept in, the battles he’d fought. The people he hadn’t been able to save.

You’re standing on a bridge . . .

He heard movement in the bedroom, and his meager attention snapped. He didn’t rise from his pose, but tension stiffened his spine.

Amryn was awake.

With strained ears, he tracked her as she slid from the bed and moved around the room. A closet door creaked open, then fell closed. A chair shifted over the floor.

By the time the bedroom door opened and her footsteps tread up the hall, Carver had grabbed his shirt and tugged it on.

She wore a blue robe, and her hair was an untamed mess that tumbled over her shoulders and back. She held the robe closed with both hands, and her pale green eyes were wary as they found him. She stopped just inside the sitting room, keeping a good twenty paces between them.

“Good morning,” he said.

Her fingers tightened on her robe. “Good morning.” Her eyes darted over the room. “I was wondering if my maid was out here.”

“I think she’s waiting for us to call for her.” No maid would want to show up too early after a wedding night.

Amryn seemed to follow his thoughts, because her cheeks reddened. Her eyes caught on the settee closest to the balcony and the tangle of blankets there. She then looked to the double doors of their suite, and the connected bell.

She was acting so skittish, he expected her to dart to the bell like it was a lifeline, but she surprised him by squaring her shoulders and facing him. “Why did you sleep out here?”

Carver leaned back against the nearest stone column, his hands sinking into his pockets. “Did you want me to join you?”

Her cheeks flooded with color, but she didn’t blink. “I expected you to.”

She’d dodged the question, hadn’t she? “I expected you to be asleep, since I was so late.”

“And yet you woke me.”

“I’m sorry for that.” His chin lowered, his eyes fastened on hers. “I never planned on us sharing a bed last night.”

His words clearly caught her off guard. She eyed him with a slight frown. “Is there some strange Westmont tradition I should be aware of?”

Once again, the corner of his mouth lifted. Her humor was unexpected. “Probably, but not in this case. I simply don’t know you, and I’m not ready to sleep with you.”

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