Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAY
Continue as you are. I will deal with it. Thanking you.
—Man in the Mountain to E.
26th Day of Spring’s Son Moon,
Age of the Locways, Year 272
La’Angi Orchard
There were more blossoms on the ground than on the trees. She held the sword at the ready, watching me.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the inside of my wrist. Over in the shade, a sleeping Thomas let out a soft noise that could’ve been a fart or a burp. I readied my sword and nodded to her for what might’ve been the eighth time today.
She stepped forward. Her shoulders dipped as she began the three-step sequence I’d taught her moons ago, the movements tight and controlled.
I responded in kind, deflecting, keeping her moving, keeping her swinging.
We’d been sparring for long enough that Thomas would have to move, soon, else risk sunburn.
There was a blossom in her plait. It was a bruised, sad thing that had accidentally ended up stuck in the strands of her hair. There might’ve been a lesson in there somewhere, but I couldn’t see it. All I could see was her, whiskey eyes on me without ever seeing me.
I’d become Sir Chay, the man with the sword, a reliable guard and an imposing figure to maintain peace.
She moved left. I did, too. She moved right. So did I. She didn’t announce her intent early, but she never really had. She’d come to me too skillful for that. Her base was excellent. Sweat gathered at her temples and in the vee of her throat, but she’d go for hours yet.
The thought of her stamina made my blood heat.
She reversed her direction. The blossom fluttered to the ground. I saw the movement a split second too slow to counter it.
Her sword hesitated a breath from my neck. She looked along it, panting, and met my gaze properly for the first time in what felt like an eon. Awareness of her rolled through me like an avalanche.
Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly parted. Her chest rose and fell quickly.
I held up my hands. “I yield.”
She didn’t drop her sword, her eyes still wide. “You let me do that.”
“I didn’t, no.”
Her expression changed not to glee, but to suspicion. “You did.”
My heart squeezed. You won, Embers. Fair and square. “Congratulations,” I said instead, keeping it impersonal. “Want to go again?”
She suddenly let the tip of the sword drop, the suspicion melting away to a fierce joy swiftly curbed. I wanted to share in it. I wanted to celebrate her victory, to spend time on it.
“Again,” she said, returning to her place, that joy burning bright.
It wasn’t for me.
I nodded, shaking myself. “Good.”