Chapter 29
The sound of clashing steel and barked commands echoed across the training yard long before I reached it.
Late afternoon sun slanted through the air, casting long shadows that danced with each movement of the sparring figures within.
But it wasn’t the familiar sight of guards drilling formations that made me pause at the entrance.
It was the cluster of female warriors. Perhaps a dozen of them were arranged in a loose circle around three very familiar male figures.
Lincatheron stood at the centre, his midnight blue hair catching the light as he demonstrated a defensive sequence.
Darian flanked him to the right, grinning as he corrected a younger warrior’s grip on her blade.
Fenric completed the impromptu teaching circle, offering guidance to the women who watched with rapt attention.
Fenric spotted me first, his easy smile faltering as he took in the expression that had settled on my face. The others followed his gaze, and the easy camaraderie of the moment shifted into something more cautious.
“Isara.” Darian’s voice was cheerful, but those russet eyes tracked my approach like he was calculating threat levels. Smart man.
The book was with Cindrissian. Good. Let that manipulative bastard dig through whatever bloodline secrets Varyth had been hoarding.
Let him find proof of whatever gift I supposedly carried—the one Varyth had been so meticulously controlling, keeping me calm and contained like an explosive he didn’t want to detonate.
Great emotional distress, Cindrissian had said. That’s when gifts manifested.
And Varyth had spent weeks making sure I never got stressed enough to explode.
Except right now, I was ready to tear this entire fucking castle apart stone by stone.
Maybe one of them would do. Maybe I could work out some of this rage on someone who wasn’t actively trying to keep me docile.
The female warriors were already backing up, creating space. They could probably smell the violence coming off me in waves.
“What are you doing?” I asked, gesturing to the assembled group.
Fenric shrugged, apparently deciding to brave whatever storm was building. “Training new recruits. We’ve finally managed to convince enough females to join the ranks.”
“And why,” I said, deceptively calm, “are four men teaching a group of women?”
The question hung in the air like a blade poised to fall. Several of the female warriors exchanged glances, clearly sensing the undercurrent of tension that had nothing to do with sword work.
“We don’t exactly have senior female warriors available for training duties,” Fenric replied, though he’d lost some of that casual confidence.
I raised an eyebrow. “Shaelith? Brynelle?”
“They’re not technically part of the military structure,” Lincatheron gestured to the group. “And we’ve only recently opened the ranks to women, though I’ve been advocating for it for some time.”
“Right,” I said, my smile sharp enough to cut. “So your solution was to have three men teach women how to fight.”
Darian’s grin widened, apparently missing the danger signs entirely. “Hey, we’re perfectly capable teachers. Results speak for themselves.”
“You’re men,” I stated flatly.
“Last I checked, yes.” Fenric’s confidence was firmly in place now. “But if you think there’s such a difference in technique, maybe you should show these warriors what you mean.”
The challenge hung between us, loaded with assumption and overconfidence. The kind of casual dismissal I’d faced my entire life. Men who thought they understood battle better than someone who’d actually bled in it.
The black fire stirred eagerly beneath my skin, hungry for release. For the chance to burn through the frustration that had been building for days. Varyth’s manipulations, his choices that weren’t choices, his protective distance that felt more like control.
Fine. If they wanted a demonstration, I’d give them one.
“Gladly,” I said, the words carrying the promise of violence.
“Alright then.” Fenric, who had apparently decided he wanted to die today, stepped forward and turned to address the female warriors with a confident swagger that made something violent stir in my chest. “Ladies, watch closely. You’re about to see why centuries of combat experience matters more than—”
My eyes rolled so hard I was genuinely concerned they might fall out of my head and bounce across the training yard.
“Whatever amateur instruction you might have received elsewhere.”
Amateur instruction. Right.
Because clearly someone who looked like me—human, female, relatively new to this realm—couldn’t possibly have learned to fight anywhere that mattered.
The female warriors pressed back against the training yard’s edges, their faces bright with anticipation. A few exchanged whispered bets, I caught fragments about how long I’d last, whether Fenric would go easy on me.
How fucking adorable.
“Fenric.” Darian’s warning cut through the tension. “Maybe we should—”
“Should what?” Fenric didn’t even look at him, still focused on me with that insufferable confidence. “Give her a head start? I think she can handle herself for a few minutes, Darian.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Darian tried again, and I caught the edge of genuine concern in his tone. The kind that came from experience. From being put on his ass more than once. “She’s not—”
“I’ve got this.” Fenric waved him off with the casual dismissal of someone who’d never had their ego properly shattered. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, still wearing that easy smile. “It’s just a friendly spar. No need to be so dramatic.”
Just a friendly spar.
Right.
I wondered, vaguely, if it was unfair not to warn him.
Not to mention that I’d been trained since I could walk.
That violence wasn’t something I’d stumbled into, it was something I’d been built for, carved into my bones by a father who understood that pretty daughters needed to be able to kill just as efficiently as sons.
That every movement, every strike, every defensive sequence had been drilled into me until conscious thought became unnecessary. Until my body moved with the lethal precision that came from thousands of hours of practice and real combat that left scars.
I should probably mention that.
Should probably give him a fighting chance.
“You know,” Fenric said, circling me with predatory confidence, “I’ve been doing this for centuries. So don’t feel bad when—”
Fuck it.
He could figure it out himself.
I moved into a ready position as I waited for Fenric to strike.
He, of course, moved first.
Fenric lunged forward, his movement a blur of controlled aggression.
His body, honed from centuries of training, moved as he aimed to overwhelm me with sheer force.
Like most male warriors, he relied on the advantage of his height, the breadth of his shoulders, the raw power in his muscled frame.
His arms extended in a grappling motion, seeking to lock around my torso and pin me in a single, decisive move.
Exactly what I’d expected.
I waited until the last possible second, the displacement of air whispering over me as his body surged toward mine.
Then, with a fluid motion, like dancing between raindrops, I shifted.
A smooth step to the side, my body angling just enough that his momentum carried him past me.
My hand shot out, fingers catching his extended wrist and using his own forward drive against him.
A twist. A pivot.
With a deft move, I redirected Fenric’s momentum, using his weight against him. He stumbled forward with a surprised grunt. I released him, letting him regain his balance.
I could’ve brought him to the ground in that moment, but it was more useful to leave him on his feet for now.
Fenric didn’t hesitate before attacking again. His hand shot toward my hair. I almost scoffed at the predictability of it.
Really, Fenric?
I twisted free before he could get a good grip, sidestepping smoothly. Then, without giving him a chance to correct, I closed the space between us.
My hands grasped his shoulders.
I drove my knee up.
I pulled the strike, stopping it just shy of ruining his entire day, but the message was clear. If I had wanted to drop him to his knees, I could have.
Fenric’s breath stalled, his eyes widening as he registered the blow I’d pulled. I stepped back, releasing him, and he let out a soft curse.
“Wow,” I said, dripping with false admiration as I circled him slowly. “Centuries of experience. Really shows, doesn’t it?”
Darian made a choking sound that he tried to disguise as a cough. Even Lincatheron’s mouth twitched, barely perceptible, but there.
I turned to the assembled female warriors.
“If you’re going to learn to fight,” I said to the warriors who watched with renewed interest. “That’s the first lesson.”
I gestured to Fenric without looking at him. “Males fight like males. They rely on their strength, their reach, their bulk. And they always,” I emphasised, “always go for the same vulnerabilities first.”
I ticked off on my fingers. “Hair. Throat. Wrists. They grab, they restrain, they pin. Because that’s what works when you’re bigger, stronger, heavier. When you can use your body as a weapon just by existing.”
I glanced at Fenric, who was exchanging a look with Darian. Some sort of male commiseration, no doubt.
I tapped Fenric’s broad chest. “All that muscle might look impressive, he’s bigger, stronger. Doesn’t matter. Not if you’re smarter.”
Fenric let out an offended scoff. I ignored him.
I paced languidly before the females. “Men—males, also have specific vulnerabilities that we can exploit. Their centre of gravity is higher, making them easier to unbalance. Their protective instincts toward certain sensitive areas—” I gestured vaguely toward Fenric’s groin, earning a chorus of chuckles from the assembled females.
“Make them predictable in how they’ll move to shield themselves. ”