35. Chapter Thirty-Three #4
Mairenn snorted and stomped off, clearly still upset by the way I spoke of her mother, glad to leave me in the claws of the cocky god standing before me.
Tairngire took a step closer and then seemed to stop himself. “Take off your armor and place it on the benches, then meet me on the mat.”
I begrudgingly did as he asked but watched him turn his back on me and saunter away, unable to control the drool leaking from my mouth.
Godsdamnit, this was a nightmare. The bond, the traveling between realms, the Oracle finding me. I blamed all of it on this unknown emotion making an appearance whenever he was around.
I took a deep breath. I was determined now.
I might not know exactly what was coming our way, but I understood that the King of Ash was a legitimate threat to the Seven Realms. It was important that I learned how to defend myself, whether I wanted the enigmatic Forest God to be the one to do it or not. He was my only option.
I walked toward the middle mat where he waited, still shirtless.
He was untouchable. Destructive, lethal…
and I was swallowed up in his shadow. It was irritating that he was getting under my skin this way, I’d never experienced desires of the flesh before.
But thanks to Caelith and his dreaded little game, it was starting to cloud my mind and distract me, and I really couldn’t afford that.
“You’ve held a blade and slain beasts,” his voice split my thoughts. “But you haven’t learned to properly fight.”
“Well. I’ve survived.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “You have. That’s different. You were lucky. And luck won’t always be with you.”
He stepped to my side. “Show me your guard.”
I lifted my arms like I had earlier with Mairenn. He circled me once, silent, and I felt the weight of his focus like fingers against sensitive skin.
Then two knuckles brushed lightly beneath my ribs, he was behind me now. He’d moved faster than I could track in under a second.
“You’re dead here.” He whispered, his breath a living thing against my ear.
My breath hitched. “You didn’t even—”
“With the way you’re standing? I wouldn’t need to.”
His hand dropped. “This shoulder’s lifted. Means you’re bracing. Means you expect impact. That’s easy to exploit.”
“I’m sorry, Tairngire. Should I not expect to be hit during a hand-to-hand combat session? One in which I didn’t even realized already started?”
“No. You should expect to move whenever you feel the air change, so you might move fast enough to avoid a hit. Don’t just stand there, waiting to get crushed. You are mortal, and therefore, inferior to almost every opponent you’ll be up against. Expect the unexpected. Always.”
He stepped back into my peripheral without warning. My body reacted before my mind did, back foot shifting, breath catching. His chest was right there—still slicked with sweat from his session with the king. The faint salty scent of sweat mixed with pine and leather consumed my senses.
His hand stopped just short of my throat.
“Here,” he said quietly, “is another instance in which mortals die.”
I swallowed thickly, still intoxicated by the scents surrounding me. He noticed.
A low sound escaped him, I caught its meaning clearly. If I got distracted by any of my senses, I would lose in a fight.
“Focus now, Little Seer,” he said, but there was a flicker in his eyes that said he knew exactly what standing this close to him did to me.
He stepped back. Air rushed in like relief and disappointment tangled together, just like at the gazebo last night.
“Arrogant shithead,” I muttered under my breath.
“Size matters as well,” he went on ignoring me, pacing with his hands behind his back. “Strength matters. Against divines, you lose both.”
Size matters as well. Dear gods. I took in the impossible breadth of him, all hard lines and lethal brutality.
I could feel his steady heartbeat pulsing down the tether that connected us.
I stepped back, needing to create more distance.
This bond would be the death of me. “I’m well aware. ” I snapped.
“Good.” He stopped his pacing and leveled his hard stare at me. “Then stop trying to fight like divinity runs through your veins.”
“Was that an insult?”
He ignored that like the weak threat it was and continued his pacing. “You need to forget every ridiculous scroll you’ve ever read regarding stances and fighting. They were not meant for you, and they won’t help you now.”
He suddenly took my wrist and repositioned it closer to my hipbone. His grip was firm, guiding. His calloused palm radiated with controlled strength.
“Your advantage will come from precision and angle. An uppercut when least expected.”
He stepped in again, slowly. My instinct was to shove him away, if only to breathe easier. He shifted his weight forward, and mine tipped backward instantly.
“Well, would you look at that,” he chuckled.
“Trying to resist a larger force by simply backing away? You will always lose with that mentality.” He shook his head.
“That was your opportunity to destabilize me by inserting your fist under my jaw. But alas, I forgot that your listening skill are almost as bad as your form.”
I let out a long exhale, this was impossible.
He stepped off-line, pulling me with him by the wrist. My body turned with the motion, breath brushing his shoulder as we passed each other.
“If you’d rather defend than strike,” he pulled me in and murmured near my ear, “move to the opposite side of wherever the force coming toward you is going. One would think that would be obvious, yes?”
My frustration increased with every degrading comment. He released me.
“Defending might give you the fraction of a second you need to get away, but without an offensive maneuver prior, you may as well dance your way to the funeral pyre before the battle ever begins.”
I cleared my throat. “You make it all sound so simple. Like all of this should be second nature.”
He shrugged lazily. “It isn’t for mortals who have spent their life sequestered in temples. But it is repeatable, and that’s how you’ll learn. Now, again.”
We reset.
He came in once more, and this time I tried to block by shifting to my right, and then immediately moving left.
He knew what I would do before I acted. He caught my forearm, turned, and suddenly I was half-spun and off balance. His palm hovered at the back of my neck. My back almost brushed his chest.
“Dead,” he said.
I exhaled sharply. “That’s because you’re twice my size and clearly predicted my feint!”
“Yes.”
“And you’re a fucking divine.”
“Are you always overcome by the need to state the obvious?”
I scoffed, throwing my hands up in the air. “So, what’s my strategy supposed to be, then? Hope and pray that you get distracted?”
That earned it—a brief, quiet chuckle, low in his chest.
“I already am,” he said.
My pulse jumped once before his expression cooled right back into that assessing calm.
“You cannot overpower divine strength,” he continued. “You cannot outlast divine stamina. You’re incapable of predicting the intentions of others because you are not yet a trained fighter. You do not win by contest.”
Why yes, Tairngire. Why don’t you keep spelling out my weaknesses one by one?
He tapped my sternum. “You win by making the fight cost more than it should.”
He moved again, demonstrating—two fingers at my knee. Light, but precise.
“You don’t need strength to collapse a stance.”
His knuckles brushed my jawline and my pulse hammered against my throat. “You don’t need strength to blind.”
His foot slid behind mine, threatening my balance. “You make the body choose too many things at once. Now, it would appear you’ve allowed me to distract you again.”
I huffed out an annoyed breath, sweat cooling on my spine.
“Again.”
He stepped forward. This time I didn’t push back. I simply stepped aside, late and messy, but not backward, at least.
His shoulder passed mine instead of colliding.
He paused.
“Better.”
It wasn’t warm, but it was honest.
“Your problem has never been a lack of courage,” he went on. “It’s hesitation. Your intelligence has come from tomes. Therefore, you forget that you have instinct. You see too many possibilities. But combat often only demands one.”
I met his eyes. “And if I make the wrong choice?”
“You will,” he said, shrugging easily. “And often. But choosing too late is worse, regardless of which decision you make. You’ll learn that rather quickly. Always follow your instinct. That’s why we’re doing this.”
We reset.
He moved faster this time, and I didn’t freeze. I faked to the right, then spun to the left at the last second, just out of his reach. It wasn’t clean by a long shot, but it was just enough. His gaze sharpened.
“There,” he said quietly. “That instinct? That’s yours. It doesn’t come from here,” he tapped the side of my head. “But from in here. He tapped my breastbone. “Your heart. Your soul. Don’t ever let anyone train it out of you.”
We sat there staring at each other, me out of breath, him a hard block of stone.
For a moment, that terrifying version of him.
The god who had lived through wars, who understood bodies and minds and how quickly both broke, was looking at me like he knew my every weakness and would use them to break me. Without hesitation.
I swallowed hard.
The moment ended as fast as it came. He stepped back into stance.
“Again.”
Training with the Forest God was dangerous. For more reasons than one. We kept up our little dance, I would feint, he would predict it and throw me off balance. My anger continued to rise with each failed attempt until I felt steam coming from my ears.
Tairngire only chuckled as I missed another dodge, his hand shot out and pulled me tight against his chest, my back pressed against him.
“What’s the issue, hmm? I can feel your ire through the bond. It’s distracting you, making you more erratic. But it isn’t just because of your constant failures, is it?”