Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Energy hums through everyone gathered on the main deck as we wait for word of what is happening.
Weston and Sig aren’t on deck, having disappeared somewhere below.
I stand alone off to the side, as the Castaways nearest me chatter amongst themselves.
After the morning I’ve had, I don’t feel like interacting with anyone.
“Lennox! Lennox!” Fin’s call catches my attention, and I look up to find him bouncing toward me, a small bow and quiver in his hands. He is the only exception to my current mood. There’s nothing that could keep me from wanting to be around Fin.
“Look what mister Weston gave me!” He waves it up at my face and grins.
“Wow, Fin. That’s even better than the one you had before.” The bow is the right size for his body, probably the right tension too. It won't be as difficult to handle, unlike when he tried to shoot mine.
“Yeah, but that one was yours. This one is mine.” His face lights up and his eyes sparkle as he brings it closer to his chest. “I wish I could show Roley. He would want one too.” A brief glimpse of sadness flashes over his face, before he is right back to happy Fin.
I tousle his hair with a smile. “I’m sure he would.”
“I asked mister Weston if he had one for you too, but he said you can’t have one yet. He said he can’t trust you.” He looks up at me, confused. “Why can’t mister Weston trust you, Lennox? I trust you. You always take care of me.”
I crouch down to his level. “He probably doesn’t trust me because I’ve tried to get out of here too many times,” I say.
“But you said you’d be good!” he whines.
“It’s not that easy, Fin.”
He thinks for a minute. “Maybe you shouldn’t do that anymore. Maybe you should stay, so that mister Weston will give you your bow and we can practice together.”
“We can’t stay, remember? We have to get back to Dane, back to the Voyagers.” I plead with him to remember, but I know he is just a child. He doesn’t see the situation like I do, and he never will. At least not while we are in Dawnlin.
Maybe when we get home, once he’s grown, he will look back and understand that everything I did was only to protect him and keep him safe from this man who tried to take advantage of him.
A loud crow gets my attention, and I stand, looking around the deck only to see Jorn swinging down from the mast. A cheer rises among the Castaways as Weston and Sig step out onto the deck, arms piled with swords.
They’re not just any swords, they’re dull training swords, just like Brynne and I used back in Blackwood.
“Partner up!” Weston calls out before the deck erupts into more cheers, followed by the scattering of bodies.
Fin tries to crow like Jorn, and I suppress a giggle. “Come on, Fin. We can find something for target practice.”
“Not so fast, princess.” Weston’s eyes gleam as he saunters up to us. “You’re with me.”
As if he hasn’t tortured me enough this morning, now I have to spar with him too?
My mouth drops open, but the ‘no’ dies on my lips. My first reaction is to resist, to cause a fight on deck again, but I don’t. Maybe it isn’t a bad idea, fighting him and letting out the aggression that has been building up since Fin was taken.
I snap my jaw closed and snatch the practice sword he tosses at me out of the air. A look of approval flashes in his eyes, but as quick as I notice, it disappears again.
“Sig set up a bale for you to shoot, Fin. It’s right over there.” He points toward the bow of the ship, where a small bale sits near the rail, positioned so Fin won’t hit anyone if he misses.
Which is likely.
Fin runs over excitedly, and starts nocking an arrow, his feet and hold nothing like what we practiced back in camp.
The crew has come to life around us. Most pairs are already in the middle of a match, the clash of swords and laughter ringing out over the deck.
Stassia and Auralie stand off to the side, swords balanced against the railing as they stretch their muscles before getting started.
Jorn and another boy I haven’t met have already taken their fight to the floor, grappling and tossing each other about, laughing and taunting as they go.
The training session on the ship feels vastly different from what I’m used to back home. It doesn’t feel like work, or something everyone dreads going to. Everyone seems to actually enjoy it, like it isn’t a responsibility and more of just part of who they are.
Weston weaves through the practicing pairs, and I follow closely. He stops just shy of the far rail next to the opening for the gangway. Goosebumps prickle my skin when I look at how close we are to the open deck. The threat of falling into the water is very real.
Maybe if that happens, I’ll have a chance to escape.
“Now,” Weston says as he readies his dull training sword. “If you’re going to try to steal your dagger back from me, you’re at least going to learn how to use it. But first, let’s see how poorly you were trained.”
“What makes you think I don’t know how to use it?” I sneer as I raise my sword in front of my body.
“I know you don’t know how to use it. I watched you try to use it against me, remember?”
A smirk lifts his lips as he waits for me to attack, taunting me with his insult. I taste blood from biting my tongue. I don’t want to give him any satisfaction in knowing he’s getting to me.
I focus on everything Brynne has taught me through the years, trying to visualize the movements that used to be second nature. If there is a time I need them, it’s now. The sword is heavier in my hands than usual, and I know I’m going to have to compensate for my newfound weakness in the fight.
Just another reason I need my strength back.
I step toward him and strike, which he blocks easily.
My movements are rough, not smooth and quick like I was trained, but I follow the strike with a backward swipe, a combination Brynne and I worked on for hours one day until it was fluid.
He sidesteps it easily and shoots me a look that says, ‘Is that all you’ve got? ’
He’s clearly unimpressed.
Fuck him.
I try again, moving quicker than before as my muscles loosen and get used to the feel of the sword. The motions come back quickly, but he matches every one with a complete look of boredom as he swats my sword away.
He doesn’t say a word, not like Brynne, who constantly yells commands and adjustments while we are training. Instead, he just watches me, his eyes never leaving my body, and it fuels my desire to best him. On the next blow, he knocks the sword from my hand and it clatters to the ground between us.
“I was right,” he says as I bend to snatch the sword off the ground. “You were trained poorly.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
He doesn’t know the highest ranking guard in the kingdom trained me, that I’ve spent years of my life devoted to being able to protect myself.
He might think whatever man in my town I wanted to secure with a betrothal taught me how to fight, but he’d be completely wrong.
When his eyes are nowhere near my sword, I try to catch him off guard with a quick swipe across his abdomen, but he steps back lazily, as if he expected the move. His sword slaps the back of my calves and I cry out, shocked at the sting.
“Hey!”
“Fix your footwork. You’re giving away your next move.”
He did expect it.
I visualize my footwork and feel the way I am standing holding the sword, and as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I’m leaning on my lead foot, giving away which side I’m moving toward, and it is making me slightly off balance.
Stepping back and resetting my feet, I’m barely ready before he charges me, his strength sending vibrations through my hand as I block every one of his strikes.
Our blades clash, locking us together in a stalemate before I push him away.
The force pushes me backward, and I stagger, trying to steady myself.
My eyes widen with panic as I look down at my feet, realizing how far we’ve shifted across the deck.
The heels of my boots are now hanging off the edge of the ship, begging to tip over.
My arms windmill as I try to right myself, feeling my weight pulling me toward the water below.
A scream catches in my throat and my stomach bottoms out before I feel Weston’s hand wrap around my waistband and yank me forward.
I fall into him, but even with my weight and the momentum from my almost fall, he doesn’t budge.
“Careful, princess,” he grunts, and I shove out of his grasp.
“You should have let me fall,” I snap.
“I could have, but I didn’t think you wanted to get wet again this morning.”
I don’t need a mirror to know my face is bright red, not only with embarrassment, but with fury. Weston doesn’t need to be thinking about me wet in any sense of the word. He makes me want to stab him, and suddenly I’m wishing these were real blades, not training swords.
“What do you know about making a woman wet, Captain?” I seethe, wiping the sweat on my palm on my pants, trying to do anything to keep my hands busy so I don’t throw a punch.
“I know enough, princess.”
“Fuck you,” I spit out and spin so the opening is alongside me, no longer at my back. There are Castaways fighting near us, and I hope they were too preoccupied to hear.
“I’ve seen all I need to see, anyway.”
His dismissal feels worse than being scolded by Brynne on her worst day. My confidence is low when I fight with a sword. If given a choice, I’ll always choose a bow, and hearing him confirm my inadequacy makes me bristle.
Coming after his inappropriate comment, the words make me hate him even more.
He takes the sword from my hand and leans it against the rail, along with his. The jewels on my dagger hilt gleam in the sun as he pulls it out of his vest, then flips it so the blade rests against his palm.