CHAPTER 41 Wren
CHAPTER 41
Wren
‘Very few poisoners die old in their beds’
– The Poisoner’s Handbook
H E ’ D TOLD HER himself that their lessons would start today. Wren just hadn’t realized he meant with her entire cohort.
Torj’s deep-sea eyes found her instantly. They roamed over her face and trailed down, lingering on her form-fitting bodice and leggings, heat blazing in his dark gaze.
‘We’ll start by warming up,’ Oakes declared. ‘Five laps around the gymnasium. Go.’
Leaving Cal at the perimeter, Wren surged into action with the rest, feeling ridiculous. This was certainly not what she’d had in mind when she’d learned she would be studying at Drevenor. She felt more like a shieldbearer in training than an alchemist. By the end of the second lap, she was sweating, and by the fifth, she was cursing herself for not staying in better shape. After the war, when she’d moved to her ramshackle cottage in Delmira, she’d gone on walks through the forest every day, sometimes venturing to the barren lands beyond. But she’d never exercised like this, and now, she knew she was in for a rude awakening.
Thankfully, she was not the only one whose fitness needed improvement. Dessa’s cheeks were bright red, her hair damp with perspiration, while several others were hunched over their knees, dry retching. Wren decided then and there that she would endeavour to channel Thea in her quest for a higher level of endurance, and Anya in her steadfast resolve.
Train the body, tame the mind, transcend limitations.
‘Another two laps,’ their teacher called, looking utterly unsympathetic.
Wren bit back a groan and did as she was told, joining the others at a run around the outskirts of the gymnasium. One lap, then two, and Wren suffered through them both. If only Thea and Anya could see her now...A disgrace to the Embervale name.
‘Alright,’ Oakes said. ‘Let’s stop there before someone passes out.’
Wren made the mistake of meeting Zavier’s eye. To her disdain, he hadn’t even broken a sweat. She certainly couldn’t have him win this.
‘Warsword Elderbrock.’ Oakes motioned for him to take her place. ‘Care to shed some light on what we’re doing here today?’
The Bear Slayer was all business as he came to stand before the cohort, his movements measured, the embodiment of discipline and strength. Wren observed his striking, powerful figure: unattainable and godlike, bordering on terrifying. By the looks of some of her peers, he’d crossed that threshold.
‘I have always known alchemy as an art far more physical than the world perceives,’ he said, his husky voice capturing the attention of every novice. ‘In the shadow war, I saw many alchemists fight alongside the great warriors of Thezmarr. Though we are no longer at war, in life, you will be at risk. That is the burden of knowledge.’
Wren sucked in a breath as his eyes met hers all too briefly.
‘Today, Oakes, Warsword Whitlock and I will be showing you the basics of self-defence. You will not leave this hall until you’ve mastered all three moves: the groin kick, the palm heel strike, and the elbow strike. These are the fundamentals. I want you to remember the following: understand the surroundings. Come to grips with your limitations. Find a solution. Remember to stick to the basics – remain light on your feet so you can pivot, don’t talk back to your instructor, and don’t sabotage your fellow alchemists. There will be time enough for that during your Gauntlet trials. When it gets tough, and it will, I want you to recognize the power of combining your alchemy knowledge with combat prowess. Many of you are already far more deadly than a trained warrior...’ He glanced at Wren. ‘Imagine that ability multiplying tenfold if you knew how to guard your flank, if you knew how to twist out of an attacker’s grasp.’
Wren knew he wasn’t saying it to embarrass her, but she was well aware that had she taken up his initial offer of lessons, she might not have found herself in those irons yesterday, helpless, her powers hindered.
I’ll never be helpless again , she vowed to herself.
Torj wasted no time taking them through the initial manoeuvres of the three basics, demonstrating on Cal at the front of the gymnasium. Wren had to admire the way the pair of them moved and the sheer control they had over their bodies, both holding back their true strength as they broke each motion down into a slower version.
‘Pair up,’ Oakes shouted, and Wren watched in dismay as Zavier commandeered Dessa, and those others whose names she had learned – Selene Tinsley, Alarik Wingate, Gideon Sutten, Kyros Sorrell, Blythe Rookford and even Jasper Greaves – all managed to find partners among the cohort, leaving her solo. This had never happened to her back at Thezmarr. It had always been her, Thea, Ida and Sam for as long as she could remember, and even on the rare occasion where they’d been an odd number, no one ever actively avoided her.
‘You’re with me, Embervale.’ Torj’s deep voice vibrated across the space between them.
She stared. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I’m always serious.’
She scoffed. ‘You really want me to spar with you ?’
‘Unless you’d rather someone else’s hands all over you?’ he murmured darkly.
‘That’s—’
‘Stabilize yourself as best you can,’ he cut her off, crowding her with his enormous frame. ‘Let’s try a groin kick.’
‘You’re game,’ she retorted.
‘You’d have to actually land that foot for me to be worried,’ he told her. ‘Lift your dominant leg – that’s it.’
Wren followed his directions, holding her balance.
‘Now you begin to drive your knee upwards. Exactly. Extend the dominant leg. Drive your hips forwards.’ Torj’s warm hands closed around her leg and positioned her knee. ‘Now I’m in trouble—’
‘Aren’t you always?’ The words slipped from Wren’s mouth.
A ghost of a smile played at Torj’s mouth, but he ignored her comment. ‘From here, you lean back slightly – don’t lose your stability – then you kick as hard as you can.’
Wren did as he bid, and the Warsword jumped back with a hiss. ‘You’re a fast learner, Embers. Either that or you like the idea of burying your foot in my nether regions.’
‘Why can’t it be both?’ she said sweetly.
At her words, he overpowered her, closing his arms around her and gripping her firmly. ‘You got too cocky. Now I’ve got the upper hand, you can’t extend your leg in the same way. What do you do?’
‘Use my knee.’
‘Show me.’
Wren checked her stance, ensuring that she wasn’t at risk of falling over, before thrusting her knee towards the Bear Slayer’s groin.
He blocked her easily, but he was smiling now. ‘You’ve got it,’ he said, a note of pride in his words. ‘You always aim for the sensitive areas...to start, anyway.’
‘Thea did always tell me to aim for the soft parts.’
He fixed her with a stare. ‘Believe me, there’s nothing soft about me, Embers. And unlike your previous attackers, I’ve seen what you’re capable of. I don’t want your lightning – or alchemy, for that matter – anywhere near those parts. Now, show me your palm heel strike. And make it count.’
Wren positioned herself in front of Torj, lifted her right hand, and flexed her wrist, jabbing up towards his nose.
‘Good,’ he told her, batting her hand away. ‘You could also go for my throat.’ His fingers closed gently around her wrist as he directed her palm heel strike beneath his chin. ‘You have to make sure you retreat as soon as you strike. Pull that arm back as quickly as you can. It’ll help shove your attacker’s head up and back.’
Wren practised the motion in real time. ‘Like this?’
‘Exactly like that. It’ll make your attacker stagger back, giving you the room to escape.’
‘With those manacles on, I wouldn’t have been much use anyway,’ she said quietly, remembering the muting of her senses, the blurring of her vision.
‘They might not have got them on you in the first place,’ Torj replied. ‘But it’s never that simple. We can only speculate on what might have happened. The important thing is what did happen. You got out. You’re safe.’
Wren nodded. ‘I heard you made your report?’
‘I did.’
‘What did Audra say?’
‘I can’t tell you that, Embervale.’
‘What about the High Chancellor?’
‘I can’t tell you that either.’
Wren made a noise of frustration. ‘Of course you can’t.’ Letting her irritation get the better of her, she struck out, throwing herself through the motions of another blow to Torj’s nose. ‘You don’t think I have a right to know? The High Chancellor came to me this morning,’ she ventured through gritted teeth.
‘And?’
She didn’t know why she’d said it, given how much the experience had rattled her. ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’
Ignoring her comment, Torj not only blocked her by closing his hand over her fist, but spun her around so that she was trapped with her back against his chest, his huge frame enveloping her. She couldn’t move a muscle.
‘These are defensive moves, not attack techniques. If you want to know how to fight, we can work on that.’ His words vibrated against her, waking the storm that slumbered within. She felt it yawn wide in her chest, drawing her closer to him.
‘Alright,’ she managed.
The Warsword tensed at her back, surprised. ‘Alright?’
‘I don’t like repeating myself, Bear Slayer.’
‘Then that can be arranged. But for now...’ He shifted around her, his grip tightening so that she could feel every ridge of muscle behind her. ‘If your attacker is in close range like this and you can’t get momentum to punch or kick, I want you to use your elbows.’
Wren tried to slam her elbow back into his stomach, but she was instantly off-kilter, her feet slipping out from underneath her. He was like a fucking brick wall.
‘You need to lock your stance before you do that,’ he told her, his hands drifting down. He placed a flat palm against her stomach, and his other hand gripped her thigh. ‘You need a strong core and strong legs to ensure you don’t go tipping over like that, to maintain the force behind your blow.’
Every strategic thought emptied from Wren’s head as the heat of Torj’s touch seeped through her clothes and set her ablaze. She could feel the imprint of each finger around her thigh, and imagined him spreading her open beneath him. His grip tightened as though he could read her thoughts, his touch so close to where desire now pooled between her legs. A current ran between them, full of fire.
Cheeks flaming, she could sense her cohort’s eyes on them, but Torj didn’t release her. She felt the bob of his throat at her shoulder and the slight shift in his stance so that his lower half wasn’t flush with her backside.
‘From here, bend your arm at the elbow, shift your weight forwards, brace yourself, and ram your elbow back. In this position, aim for the belly, the ribs, the groin...’
Ignoring her racing heart, Wren did as he bid, landing her elbow in his side.
Torj cleared his throat. ‘Good,’ he said, voice rough. ‘Very good. Hopefully that would be enough to cause your attacker to loosen their hold, enough for you to escape. Or douse them in your choice of poison.’
Wren smiled at that.
But the smile didn’t last long, because the Bear Slayer broke away from her fully and turned to the rest of the cohort. ‘Five more laps of the gymnasium,’ he barked.
No one bothered to suppress their groans this time.
By the end of their training, anyone who had previously swooned over the Warsword was cursing him. And back in the changing rooms, drenched in sweat, the women alchemists were more vocal still.
‘What a bastard.’
‘Sadist.’
‘Prick.’
Dessa nodded sagely. ‘Nice shoulders, though.’
Wren had to laugh.