Chapter 7
Seven
Lory
The corridor to the training courtyard led past the Medica quarters, where Lory paused only long enough to pop her head into Hand Nahrit’s office and thank him for the tonic that had been delivered to her dormitory earlier, with a note that it would help with the lingering exhaustion after the excessive use of magic, signed with the hand’s name.
How he knew she was still struggling with a bone-deep tiredness, even after sleeping most of the journey back from the outpost, Lory had no idea, but it was the kindest thing any of the teachers had done since she’d started her training here, so a quick thank you was the least she could give him.
“Enter,” Princeton Nahrit’s deep voice called as Lory knocked on the blackened door.
With a nod to herself, Lory pushed down the handle and opened the door, stopping on the threshold as she found Hand Nahrit sitting at his desk, nose buried deep in piles of paper.
Mild wrinkles lined his brown forehead in concentration, his long, black robe spilling over the armrests of his cushioned chair. In his left hand, he held a cup of tea.
“What can I do for you, Vednis?”
Last time Lory had been in this office, Hand Nahrit had patched her up after the incident in the training chamber when Khayrivven had triggered her powers with Almelyte powder, and she’d been the one sprawled across this desk.
“I wanted to say thank you for the tonic, sir.”
“Ahh—the tonic.” Nahrit put the cup down on the wall-wide bookshelf behind him, shifting one of the leather-bound tomes in the process.
“Is it helping?” Setting aside the stack of papers right in front of him, he got to his feet, rushing around the table and sweeping more papers aside with the sleeve of his robe.
Lory watched them glide to the floor, unsure whether to pick them up or point out to the Medica Hand that they had fallen.
“You do look better than I expected, indeed.” He stopped a few feet in front of her, leaning closer to examine her eyes, his curious expression almost comical. “You’ll probably sleep a lot over the next few days, but after that, you’ll be good as new.”
“Good as new sounds better than before I left for the trials, so that’s perfect.
” It was easy to take on a familiar tone with the Medica Hand, but just to be sure, she added, “Sir.” So she wouldn’t break protocol and give the Triad reason to punish her.
One never knew where they had their eyes and ears.
Princeton Nahrit shook his head, stepping back and giving her a stern glance. “You’d better hurry off, Thornling. I’m certain you have somewhere to be, and we don’t want you ending up back here because you were late.”
Lory was of half a mind to ask him if she’d be stabbed for being late for training just as the ashlings were for being late for breakfast. Instead, she sealed her lips shut and inclined her head, heading off along the limestone corridor into the midday heat awaiting her outside in the training yard.
A few steps before the door, she could make out the tall, black-clad silhouette of her instructor, and a smile tugged on her lips as she stopped by the door, marveling at the sight of Khayrivven Falcrest in his training clothes, the pants loose enough in the thighs to easily scale a wall but tight at the calves to fit into his boots, the shirt loose enough to move easily and the material fluid and thin so it smoothed against the corded lines of his torso when the modest breeze swirling through the courtyard hit him.
At his hip, a shortsword hung ready to be drawn and driven into an opponent’s heart.
The way he was standing, with his back to her, she noticed he wasn’t wearing his sabers crossed behind his shoulders, and his black hair seemed to be swallowing the sunlight, waves a tousled mess.
Beautiful. Even more so as he turned around, eyes zeroing in on her as if he’d felt her standing there, and his eyebrow quirked in a silent prompt as if he was asking if she planned to stand there all day and stare, or if she would dare come closer.
No one can know about us. His words were still true, but the truth was, Tabi and Thal already knew something had been going on.
If they had guessed, others probably would have, too, so the more she pretended to hate the cold, cruel hand Khayrivven was to the rest of the academy, the better.
No one would suspect them if she managed to play a role, the feeling of which she remembered all too well, when not even weeks ago, she had despised Khayrivven Falcrest with all her heart.
“Heave your ass over here, Vednis.” Oh, he was good. Better even than she remembered, but where she’d feared him, now all she could feel was a thrill running through her veins.
With a measured pace, she approached the Veiled Hand, scanning the yard for people. At this time of the day, it was usually empty, which meant that the only eyes they needed to be wary of were the ones behind the windows.
Lory put on her best hateful expression and stopped five feet from Khayrivven, who rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, gesturing at her general appearance with a dismissive movement of the other.
“You’re late, not properly dressed for training, and”—he lowered his voice—“you’re even more beautiful than I remembered. ”
Inside her chest, Lory’s heart stuttered as he allowed his lips to curve for a brief moment, an expression Lory had seen him wear countless times when he’d provoked her before, but the difference was in his eyes. A softness lingered in his stormy irises that made Lory’s knees weak.
Lowering her chin an inch, Lory found the top button of his shirt suddenly very interesting. One more moment of holding his gaze and she’d give in to the overwhelming need to close the distance between them and kiss him the way they’d kissed in the last dream they’d shared.
“What are we doing today?” he said loud enough for attentive ears to hear.
“I’m glad you asked. Today we’re doing armed sparring.
Knives, daggers, swords, sabers, even throwing stars, if you so please.
” He turned on his heels and started walking toward the back of the yard, where Ashthorn’s training parcours melted into the sand and limestone background like a Fata Morgana.
When Lory didn’t immediately follow, he barked at her over his shoulder, “Coming today, or do I need to drag you?”
Had she not seen the look in his eyes, she might have believed he would do it, just to play his role, but nimble on her feet, even with lingering exhaustion, Lory jogged to his side, gaze trained on the mock buildings that would be too hot to touch with her bare hands in the noon heat.
The way he led them toward the side of the parcours provided at least some privacy since they had their backs to the buildings and the guards along the walls couldn’t see past the wooden mockups stuffed into this part of the training area.
A small distance from the weapon’s rack at the edge of the parcours, Khayrivven slowed his pace, his fingers brushing hers in what could have been an unintentional touch but set off a horde of winged creatures in her stomach anyway.
“Have you been sleeping enough?” he asked in that quiet tone that made her want to forget she needed to pretend it didn’t affect her that he cared.
“I didn’t want to keep you from deep sleep by visiting your dreams.” The apologetic look he gave her almost made her forget that the fact that no one could see their faces or hear them didn’t mean they couldn’t see what the rest of their bodies did.
“I’m all right. Hand Nahrit gave me an elixir for fatigue.”
Khayrivven nodded to himself, placing his hand on his sword again as if he needed to keep it occupied, while Lory did her best not to be the one to occupy it.
Instead, she followed him as he turned to the weapons rack, pulling his short sword from his belt and placing it on the side of the sun-bleached wood.
“Choose a weapon,” he ordered, the tone of the instructor back, while he picked a hand-length blade with a hilt just large enough to fit into his palm for himself.
He turned and flipped it a couple of times, assessing its weight with interest while he waited for Lory to go through the assortment of blades in various shapes.
None of them seemed like they’d make a difference in holding her ground against the best fighter in all of Ashthorn, but picking something that would help her get into his guard was a good way to start, so she reached for a long, slender saber.
Her fingers had almost touched the metal when Khayrivven clicked his tongue. “Are you sure that’s what you want to use?”
Giving the saber a second look, Lory decided he was right; the blade was quite long and unwieldy, but it would also give her the advantage of giving her more range when she was already smaller than him and inferior in strength.
With a sigh, she moved on to the next weapon, a short dagger that would allow her to leverage her agility and duck under his blows with quick swings.
Once more, Khayrivven clicked his tongue, raising a brow as if to say she’d lost her mind. “That one will do nothing in your smaller hands than be a liability.”
Lory hadn’t even touched it when he gestured at the shortsword one slot to the left, where a worn, leather-wrapped hilt waited to be grabbed.
“That one would be a smarter choice.” He didn’t wait for her to ask why, but took her by the wrist, pulling her arm out to demonstrate her small range.
Lory did her best not to dare him to pull her into his chest. “It is light enough to allow you to keep your speed as an advantage, but it is also heavy enough to add some weight to your blows.”
Lory thought about that for a moment before flashing him an agonizing grin, her back safely to the buildings. “I can choose any weapon I want, Captain? Even throwing stars?”