Chapter 38
The training yard had become my sanctuary. It had been over a week since the… incident in Varyth’s study, and he’d spent the week fleeing from every room I entered.
The steel sang against steel, a violent symphony I’d been craving for days.
Shaelith and I moved like we shared the same goddamn bloodstream.
Every strike, every parry, every brutal combination flowing between us without words or hesitation.
We’d carved through Fenric and Darian like they were made of paper, leaving them scrambling to keep up with something they clearly hadn’t expected.
“Star’s blood,” Darian panted, his blade trembling as he barely caught another devastating strike from Shaelith. “You two are—”
“Fucking terrifying,” Fenric finished, sweat dripping down his face as he desperately tried to fill the gap I’d just torn open in his defence.
Linc was perched on a weapons rack, grinning like this was better than any court entertainment.
Brynelle sat beside him, those whiskey eyes bright with fascination as she watched her wife systematically dismantle centuries of male warrior confidence.
Eilrys had claimed a spot on the ground, looking perfectly content to witness her mate’s imminent demise.
And scattered around the edges of the yard, Lira supervised the children as they engaged in their own miniature war.
Fionn and Eryx had ganged up against Mireth, their wooden practice swords clacking together in a chaotic symphony of childhood violence.
Mireth was holding her own admirably, her small face scrunched in concentration as she parried both boys at once.
“That’s it, sweetheart!” I called out between dodging Darian’s increasingly desperate attacks. “Use their size against them!”
Fenric took advantage of my momentary distraction, lunging forward with a strike aimed at my ribs. I twisted away at the last second, his blade whistling past me close enough to part air.
I twisted away from Fenric’s blade, letting momentum carry me into a spin that put me exactly where I wanted to be, close enough to drive an elbow into his solar plexus. He grunted, stumbling back, and I was already moving, already flowing into the next strike like water finding cracks in stone.
“Anyone read anything good lately?” I asked conversationally, ducking under Fenric’s retaliatory swing.
Shaelith’s laugh was wicked as she drove Darian backward with a series of brutal combinations that had him scrambling. “Just finished The Hollow Crown. Political intrigue, betrayal, and a protagonist who doesn’t apologise for being ruthless.”
“Sounds perfect.” I parried Fenric’s next attack, our blades singing as they met. “I’m more of a mystery person myself. Give me a good murder and someone clever enough to solve it.”
“Romance has better stakes,” Eilrys called from her perch, watching with obvious delight as her mate got his ass handed to him. “Life-changing revelations. Emotional devastation. People actually feeling things.”
“Murder mysteries have corpses,” Lira countered, grinning. “That’s pretty high stakes.”
Shaelith swept Darian’s legs out from under him with a move so smooth it looked choreographed. He hit the ground hard, dirt exploding around him as he ate a mouthful of training yard. “Romance can have corpses and feelings. It’s called efficiency.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of me, savage and bright.
“Mystery has suspense,” I countered, blocking another of Fenric’s increasingly desperate attacks. “You don’t know who did it until the end.”
“Unless you’re paying attention,” Shaelith said, driving Darian back down as he tried to rise. Her boot found his chest, pinning him to the dirt with casual brutality. “Then it’s usually the butler.”
Darian groaned from his position on the ground. “This is humiliating.”
“This is educational,” Shaelith corrected.
Fenric tried again, a complex combination that would’ve been impressive if I hadn’t been able to read it three moves ahead. I deflected, parried, and sent his blade spinning from his grip with a twist of my wrist. It clattered across the earth.
“You have to be cheating,” Fenric panted, holding up his hands in surrender. “There’s no way—”
I swept his legs.
He went down hard, back hitting the dirt with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. I was on him before he could recover, knees pinning his arms, my weight settling across his chest like I had all the time in the world.
“No way what?” I asked pleasantly, looking down at him.
His steel-blue eyes went wide, a flush creeping up his neck. “I—that’s not—”
“That’s not what?” I tilted my head, genuinely curious. “That’s not possible for two women to be better fighters than you?”
“You’re working together somehow,” Fenric managed, very carefully not moving beneath me. Smart. “Some kind of—”
“Strategy?” Shaelith finally released Darian from the dirt. “Planning? Basic fucking competence?”
“Oh, this is perfect.” Linc grinned from his perch. “Don’t move, I need to remember this.”
“Fuck off,” Fenric muttered, his face now completely red.
“Everyone has preferences,” Lira interjected smoothly, clearly enjoying this far too much. “I prefer historical accounts myself. Real battles. Real strategies. Real consequences.”
“See, that makes sense for you,” I said, still perched on Fenric’s chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re practical.”
“And romance isn’t practical?” Brynelle challenged.
“Romance is chaos,” I countered. “It’s feelings without logic. Decisions made with your heart instead of your head.”
Shaelith’s grin turned absolutely feral. “So is stabbing someone, but you seem to enjoy that well enough.”
Fair point.
“They’re definitely using some kind of telepathy,” Darian muttered, brushing dirt from his training leathers. “There’s no other explanation.”
“The explanation,” I said slowly, like I was talking to a particularly dim child, “is that we’re better than you.”
Beneath me, Fenric made a strangled sound. “Can you—would you—”
“What? Get off?” I raised an eyebrow. “But we’re having such a nice conversation.”
“So about those mystery novels,” Lira said, grinning wickedly. “Any recommendations?”
“The Serpent’s Coil,” I said immediately, making no move to release my captive. “Multiple murders, unreliable narrator, and a twist that made me throw the book across the room.”
“In a good way?”
“In the best way.”
Fenric shifted beneath me, testing my grip. I pressed down harder. He went still.
“This is torture,” Fenric muttered from beneath me.
“This is character building. You’re learning humility.”
“I’m learning that you’re a sadist.”
“I prefer the term ‘educator.’”
A small voice piped up from the children’s corner. “Mama! Did you see me get both of them?”
I turned to find Mireth standing triumphant over both Fionn and Eryx, her wooden sword raised in victory. The boys were sprawled dramatically on the grass, playing dead with all the theatrical flair that children could muster.
“I saw, little warrior,” I called back, warmth flooding my chest at the sight of her fierce pride. “That was beautiful. Your footwork is getting better every day.”
Mireth beamed, then immediately launched into an animated explanation of her strategy to Lira, who listened with that patient attention that came naturally to her.
Eryx rolled over in the grass, grinning up at his sister with pure adoration, while Fionn began plotting what sounded like revenge for the next round.
“You know,” Fenric said beneath me, his voice strained with something between amusement and mortification. “Most people offer to buy me dinner first.”
I pressed down a fraction harder with my knee, earning a satisfying grunt. “Most people would just be grateful for the education.”
“Education.” He tested the word, shifting beneath me just enough to remind me he could probably throw me off if he really wanted to. He didn’t. “Right. And what exactly am I learning?”
I leaned forward slightly. “That underestimating women is bad for your health.”
“Message received.” He smirked, shifting again. “Loud and clear.”
“Good.” I tilted my head, studying him. “Though I have to wonder what your boyfriend will think about this position we’ve found ourselves in.”
Fenric’s entire face lit up—not with embarrassment, but with absolute delight. “Oh, please. Please make him jealous. I’m begging you.”
That startled a laugh out of me. “You want him jealous?”
“Oh, you have no idea.” His grin turned absolutely wicked. “Jealous Lincatheron means I don’t leave the bed for at least two days. Three if I’m lucky. It’s the best kind of torture.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m strategic.” He was fully grinning now, all teeth and terrible ideas. “So by all means, stay right where you are. Longer if possible. Maybe throw in some hair-flipping. Really sell it.”
I was laughing properly now, the sound bright and violent in my chest. “I’m not helping you manipulate your boyfriend into marathon sex sessions.”
“Why not? It’s a victimless crime. Well, except for me. But I’m volunteering.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
The next words died in my throat.
Varyth stood at the edge of the training yard, perfectly still in that way that preceded either violence or devastation. His eyes were fixed on us. On me, specifically, straddling Fenric. And Varyth’s expression was...
Odd.
There was something else there, something I couldn’t parse, couldn’t place. It made my skin prickle with awareness I didn’t want to name.
The yard had gone quiet. That particular kind of silence that meant everyone knew something was about to happen and nobody wanted to be the one who triggered it.
“Varyth.” The name came out steadier than I felt. “Didn’t realise you were watching.”
“I was simply looking to spar,” Varyth continued, his gaze never leaving my face. “But if everyone is... busy.”