Page 59 of War Hour

Falland had taughtme more defensive moves than I’d thought, but even the streets could not prepare me for this. Here, in the capital, it’s all a different game. These people were trained in combat with the intention of not just winning to get away but winning to defeat.

Upon arriving in the arena for the second day in a row, I’m greeted by what I assume is the Heir’s version of a warm welcome.

A subtle nod in my direction without pausing in their training.

Evander leads me toward the weapons wall, pulling down a sword and stabbing it into the sand next to him.

I eye it cautiously, examining the silver blade with sapphires embedded into the hilt. The height of it reaches to my chest, meant for someone far larger than me.

Seeing my attention on the blade, Evander smiles at me as he searches the wall. “Don’t worry. I plan on giving you a weapon you’ll actually be able to lift.”

I bite my cheek, holding back the snarky remark that I could lift it just fine, but my attention is pulled as Evander reaches up to dislodge a thin sword.

I can’t help it when my gaze lingers over the flexing muscles in his shoulders as he lifts the blade before bringing it down.

A smirk plasters across Evander’s face, eyebrow raising when he catches me staring. My cheeks heat, but I don’t let myself turn away.

“See how this one feels,” Evander says, offering me the sword. “It should be the right size for you.”

Taking the hilt from him, Evander lets his fingers linger for a moment, making sure I’ve taken the weight before slipping his hand out under mine.

The sword is light, likely from the thinness of the long blade.

Silver ivy encircles the base, curving out to form a hand guard. It’s a beautiful one, more intricate than any steel blade I’ve seen before. This is not a weapon meant to be slugged around with muscle and weight. No, this sword is meant to be wielded with finesse and skill.

Slipping my hand into the crown of ivy, I clutch the weapon.

Evander shines a bright smile at me as I lower the blade. “It fits you well.” He picks up his sword from its place in the sand, flips it in his grip, then rests it on his shoulder. “Now let’s see if we can get you using it.”

Evander leads me to a clearing in the arena field, away from the other Heirs who fight.

With the Heirs at my back, I can’t help but listen to every clang of metal and grunt of effort. Peering over my shoulder, I keep my attention on the distance between us.

Visha stands opposite a target as she pulls dozens of finger blades from her vest, each thrown with unfathomable speed and precision. I flinch at the thump it makes as the blades land.

“Lysta,” Evander calls, breaking my focus. “Did you hear anything I said?”

With wide eyes, I whip my head back around to Evander, who stands with his sword at the ready. Before I can find the words to tell him I hadn’t, his gaze flickers between me and the fights going on behind me.

“Switch places with me. I don’t mind having my back to them.”

My shock is written plainly across my face as Evander switches our positions, placing the arena battlefield in my view. It isn’t a conscious decision to keep an eye on the other Heirs, yet Evander picks up on my motives right away.

My heart gives an awkward stutter in my chest as I watch him settle into where I had stood.

Blinking slowly, I force down the smile curving the corners of my lips.

“First lesson,” Evander says as he guides my grip higher on the hilt of the sword. “There will always be someone stronger than you. Someone bigger than you. You will rarely have a strength advantage in the fights that actually matter. But—”

“You’re really building my confidence here.”

Evander shakes his head, a glint in his eyes. Leaning down, he kicks my right foot back, widening my stance. “If you’d let me finish, I was going to say you just need to learn how to make their advantage a weakness.” Moving opposite me once again, hewaits for me to respond but continues when I stay silent. “Bigger opponents are slower. They’ll find it harder to dodge attacks. So, if you can be quicker than them, then you can get minor hits in. You just need to keep them from using their strength against you.” Evander pauses, body bracing when he finishes. “Now attack me.”

If Evander expects me to hesitate at the direction, he is sorely mistaken.

Shooting forward, I swing my sword toward Evander’s legs. When he blocks, vibrations from the hit send an ache through my arms.

“You’re focusing on power. If you can’t out muscle me, Lysta, then you need to focus on speed and precision.” Evander pushes back on my blade with his own.

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