Chapter 52
I’m packing to leave for Zem. Coco doesn’t like this plan, but she doesn’t like anything that doesn’t have to do with copious amounts of blood. I get the feeling she was quite the conniving little blood barbarian in her past life.
After Lekk leaves to retrieve his friends at my father’s side, my guards take me to the training room where I’m supposed to meet Sorren, but he’s not here. He’s been absent more and more lately.
I try not to read into the fact that Tarella’s room door was open, and I caught her shoving clothes into a suitcase. I don’t know where her guards were, but they weren’t there. A small twinge aches in my chest. She’s leaving me too.
Brunar and his guards stand out in the hall like usual. I think they’re afraid I might ask them to spar.
The King’s First Duel is in two and a half weeks, so I amble over to the longswords resting on their perches and pluck the bottom one.
After ten minutes, Sorren still hasn’t come. My mind fills the time with lines of books, both fictional and non-fictional. I’m about to replace the sword and go through the lifts he told me to do when he’s gone until I hear the slow draw of metal on metal.
“You and that lip will be the second death of me.”
I turn around to find Dae holding a sparring sword, his hazel eyes dancing behind the black blade. He saunters over until he’s directly in front of me. If he stepped closer, my nose would be the perfect height to graze the little divot where his neck meets his well-defined pecs, visible thanks to the unbuttoned nature of his snug, black tunic. He tilts his head and that dark hair glimmers with hints of bronze under the lights.
My throat goes dry, and all coherent responses evaporate from my mind. “What lip?”
His eyes turn dubious as they find my mouth. “That one.”
My stuttering mind finally starts working again, and I remember that this is the man who made a deal with a god to steal my soul, who was also known to be ruthless in his time as king, and who has unlimited access to my memories.
“I’m going to lift,” I say, flipping around.
He tosses the sword over my head, reappears in front of me, and catches it. “Your first duel is in two weeks. You need to work on your longsword, not weights.”
I glare at him, and opt to sidestep him, but he blocks me with a face full of his chest and his scent that smells like—
Realms. I don’t even know. Sinfully tantalizing? Is that a scent? Why is he so much easier to be around when he’s a ghost?
“I’m not sparring with you.”
“You won’t win your first duel if you don’t.”
“Why does that matter to you?”
Those caramel-apple eyes find mine. “Brutal honesty?”
I swallow. “Obviously.”
That damn smirk. “I can’t steal your soul if you die first, now, can I?”
I narrow my eyes and shove past him, smacking my shoulder against his very-firm bicep.
“Then maybe I should die just to spite you.” I adjust the bar down to my level with one hand, readying it for plates.
“You won’t. You like winning too much. That’s why your sword is still in your hand.”
I point it at him. “My sword is in my hand because I don’t trust you.”
His brows flatten. “You know I’m dead, right?”
I puff out air.
He leans against the bar, blocking me from loading weights. “Look,” he says. “I know you desire to win the King’s Duel and the bestowment, but I also happen to know that you desire to do it without power. That only leaves one option.”
I look down at my sword.
“Unless you wanna just let me in your shield—”
I snap my gaze to his. “Not going to happen.”
He smiles and nods toward my black sword. “Like I said, one option.”
I roll over the pros and cons but ultimately determine that he’s right. The infantry soldier in the preliminaries was middle rank and I can’t go around headbutting my opponents if I want to retain brain cells.
His eyes flick to my lip, and I realize I’m biting it again.
“What happens if you use this opportunity to run me through?” I say.
He shrugs. “I won’t.”
“Uh-huh.”
He pushes off the bar and slowly moves my sword aside with the back of his hand.
“If I kill you without your permission, I won’t gain your soul. If I return to Baratrum without your soul, the god of death will shatter my soul into nonexistence. So, I will not be killing you.” He steps closer, his cool scent filling the space between us as he dips his head, his eyes paying me a compliment as they find and linger on my silhouette, sharply encased in black leather. “Besides, I’ve come to like you alive. Is that honest enough?”
“I guess.”
He leans closer, his scent and the view of his tan chest inviting me in. When he evaporates to mist, I flail forward.
He laughs from somewhere above, and my fists clench for no other reason besides embarrassment.
“First lesson of level-six duel rings,” he says with way too much smug delight. “Distractions.”