Chapter 22 Seren
Seren
Every inch of my body hurt from the last three nights of training with Rykr. I shifted in my bedroll, my eyes closed, trying to remember what had torn me from sleep just now.
Sleep beckoned. Then the squadron member who’d been sleeping closest to me shook me. “Roll call.”
I groaned, blinking, and sat slowly. Sleeping in a sack had done nothing for my healing ribs, but I was cold, too. Exhausted and sore. Rykr’s training had been brutal.
The swiver.
Since we’d arrived at the training field, each day had been the same—watchtower duty with my squadron all day, stealing whatever snatches of time I could to read about the Skorn, then sneaking as far as I dared at night to train with Rykr until I begged for sleep.
Strictly speaking, I wasn’t breaking any rules—Darya had said no conjugal visits and these sessions with Rykr had been anything but.
The close proximity had been a challenge, though.
His hands had been all over me—not the gentle touch of a lover—but the fierce and practiced ease of a warrior who knew every way possible to dismantle his enemy. Unfortunately for me, that hadn’t done a damn thing to quell my attraction to him. If anything, it had only sharpened it.
On the other hand, I’d never had anyone like him instruct me before—not even my father. Had he been holding back? Maybe he hadn’t wanted to see his daughter become lethal. Or maybe Rykr was just better. More skilled. More ruthless.
I’d learned more in these last few nights with Rykr—while he was still in irons—than I had in months of training with my squadron.
“Seren?” Darya interrupted my thoughts. I jerked my chin up, realizing too late I’d missed her taking roll.
“Present,” I muttered, raising a weary hand.
A thin layer of snow had blanketed the forest floor overnight and the side of my face that had been exposed to the air felt like ice. With a dry mouth, I started getting ready for the day as Darya continued addressing our group of twenty-five Vangar.
Hopefully Rykr had fared better than I had in the cold.
I missed him.
The thought unsettled me, but it was true.
His voice felt quieter in my mind. He’d told me my mother was training him—helping him control the bond, how to block me out.
I was jealous, but stuck here, there wasn’t much I could do.
And if I knew my mother, helping Rykr was as much for her benefit as his.
With still no news from Father, Madoc, or Esme, she needed something to occupy her mind.
We all did.
“Today we’ll be joining the other squadrons for a sparring championship,” Darya announced. “I expect all of you to participate in challenging the current champions in the sparring rings, who have been fighting since early morning.” She directed a look at me. “No exceptions.”
Apprehension wove through the squadron. We’d been on watchtower duty for three days—most of us weren’t warmed up, let alone prepared to fight.
I shouldered my heavy pack, eyes burning from exhaustion.
The scent of chestnuts roasting over firepits drifted through the training field, mingling with the crisp bite of morning air.
I rolled my shoulders, trying to unwind some of the tension.
This training exercise doesn’t make sense.
Seth had blamed it on Giulia’s death, but other than hearing whispers and speculation from my squadron mates, the officers had said nothing else about how the training was connected to that.
I bought a cup of morning wine from an enterprising member of our tribe who’d come up to the training field and headed toward the sparring rings. Better to get Darya’s orders over with sooner rather than later.
The areas around the sparring rings were packed. Unusually so. A dense crowd had gathered around one in particular, energy thrumming with excitement. I frowned, leaving my squadron and moving through the crowd to reach the ring master and sign my name.
A roar of cheers erupted just as I broke through the crowd. A half-naked man had pinned some poor fool to the center of the mat.
Not just any half-naked man.
Rykr.
I froze.
He stood in the center of the ring, the champion of the match and free of his irons. Sweat gleamed over his bare chest. A cut marked his temple, there was another on his forearm—seemed that someone had gotten close enough to nick him, but not enough to slow him down. He looked … relaxed.
The ring master, Jabari Bankole, lifted Rykr’s hand in triumph. Another wave of cheers. Rykr’s gaze found mine.
As though he sensed me.
The moment our eyes met, the corner of his split lip curled in a smile. My heart lurched and I tore my gaze away.
What the fuck is he doing here?
As another man from our tribe climbed into the ring for the next match, I spotted Tara, who sat with Amahle at the ringside, laughing.
Tara saw me and waved me over. I swallowed back a gulp of wine and pushed through the crowd, nearly spilling my drink as I walked.
“Are you off watchtower duty at last?” Tara asked when I reached her. She scooted over to make room.
I nodded, still thrown by what I’d just seen, then gestured toward Rykr. “What is he doing here?”
“We’ve been here since three in the morning. I brought my squadron over to get an early start on the sparring. Five hours later and … here we are.” Tara rolled her eyes.
That she had tolerated him this long boded well. Maybe he wasn’t as obnoxious with her as he was with me.
“He’s won matches for five straight hours?” I gawked at Rykr. He was barely breathing hard.
That also meant that he hadn’t slept. At all. He’d left me well after midnight.
“He had a couple of breaks, but yes, basically.” Amahle leaned forward with an amused shake of her head. “I’d say a few people have gotten their money’s worth already this morning. The bets started early.”
My gods, why does he have to be so good at everything? I knew he was skilled after the nights of training—but this? Five hours straight?
What else can he do for five hours?
The heated thought curled through me unbidden, and I prayed he was too busy fighting to have heard it.
“You know how to pick them,” Amahle said as the next match began. Her brown eyes glittered in the early morning sunlight. “He’s … impressive. I’ve heard more than one woman cursing your name this morning.”
Just what I need. “They can have him.” I avoided looking into the ring. “They won’t be able to fit in a tent with him and his ego.”
“You should be careful,” Tara said in a low voice. “The way some people have been watching him makes me want to claw their eyes out.”
The idea bothered me more than I cared to admit.
“Madoc is going to be so mad when he realizes he missed this.” Amahle smirked. “Not just the sparring championship, but the chance to kick the ass of the man who’s sharing a bed with his little sister.”
I held my breath, waiting for Tara’s reaction. For a second, her gaze clouded, then she blinked brightly at Amahle. “Yeah, he’ll be pissed.” She threw back a mouthful of mead, her smile tense.
Maybe that’s how Tara was burying her pain over Madoc’s continued absence.
Tara reached toward me, lifting a golden strand of hair in my ponytail. “Your hair looks so pretty with all that new gold in it.”
I clenched my jaw. The outward sign of the bond between Rykr and me was so … profound. Like we belonged to each other.
Except we didn’t. And never would.
“I don’t like it,” I rasped, shifting my legs in front of me. I sipped my wine, thinking about the way he’d acted around Ciaran—who had been avoiding me ever since. “And it’s just one more reason for him to act like he owns me when he doesn’t.”
“Personally, I’d love to trounce his pride, but you’re married to him. You’re allowed to touch him. Even sleep with him,” Tara said. “You should get in there and fight him. It’d be good for you.”
“Darya ordered my squadron into the sparring rings this morning, so it seems like I have no choice.”
“You’re going to fight Rykr?” Amahle’s expression turned dubious.
“I may as well. He won’t let me forget it if I don’t.” And hopefully I’ve gained some skills from the past few nights. Right?
Who was I kidding? He knew all my weaknesses. He anticipated my every move. And now, anything I tried would be things he’d taught me. I could only hope he’d show some compassion.
I eyed the ring master as the man sparring with Rykr went flying against the ropes, then fell to the ground with a slump, unconscious.
Wonderful. I’d bonded myself to a weapon.
A Lirien weapon. I cut my eyes at Rykr as he wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist.
A Lirien weapon who didn’t have a Bloodbinding mark.
What had Rykr said?
“Sometimes we can’t see what’s right in front of us, Seren.”
The only Liriens who didn’t have Bloodbinding marks were Ederyn.
His hair had once been golden, and the Ederyn were known for it.
Of all the realms, the Ederyns were the ones most universally hated and admired. Their exemption from the Bloodbinding made every other realm resent them. But they were also free.
Rykr being Ederyn made every single bit of sense—down to his arrogant swagger.
But why was he Sealed with the Pendaran symbol?
Clapping interrupted my thoughts and Jabari lifted Rykr’s hand in victory again. I sighed and stood as Tara watched me closely. “May as well get it over with.”
I was growing impatient at the thought of having to watch several more fights if Rykr was going to keep winning like this.
I handed Tara my wine then slipped into the ring and took out my sword.
Jabari gave me a steely-eyed look. “You’re not on the list, Seren.”
“You going to stop me from challenging my husband?” I quirked a brow at him.
Jabari grinned, then stepped back, gesturing toward Rykr. “As you wish. I’m assuming you’d like to challenge the champion with weapons?” He looked back at Rykr.
The challenger of every round could decide what type of fight they wanted. Most challengers played to their strengths.
Rykr’s face was expressionless as he took me in. “You sure you’re ready for this?”