32. Come On Legs
He was trying to kill her.
That surely had been the plan all along. Kidnap her, subject her to endless suffering on the way here, and then a slow, torturous death by running.
Her breath sawed out of her. Excruciating white-hot flames licked up her throat with every inhale and exhale. The spaces between her ribs were ripping apart, and it felt as if something was piercing her side.
“That’s only three laps!”
She was going to kill him. She didn’t know how or when, but he would pay for this.
Wilder stood smirking at her by the table Ridge had set up. The giant copper pitcher teased her with each pass by the table. Condensation had dripped down its side. The sweet temptation of cold water.
When she passed by him again, he looked her over. She was sure she looked close to death. Her skin had leaked, and her hair clung to it. Lyra wet her lips and then coughed raggedly at the breath that stuck in her dry throat.
“Never mind. Just stop. Get some water,” Wilder said, holding out a hand to stop her.
If she wasn’t mistaken, sympathy had softened his gaze.
Lyra bent over at the waist, resting her hands on her knees, and panting.
“Breathe in through your nose,” Wilder ordered her. “And out through your mouth.”
She listened to him despite herself, and it helped.
“Here, drink.” He handed her a tin of water.
It was cold, blissfully frigid, and a relief to her blistering throat.
“You’re more out of shape than I had thought,” Wilder muttered.
“She has had legs for less than two weeks,” Maelys added. “What did you expect?”
“Did you not do any kind of physical activity before this?” Ridge asked.
Lyra shook her head. “Not really.”
But that wasn’t completely true. She had learned how to wield a dagger. As a matter of fact, she missed her favorite dagger. She had planned to kill Drystan with it once she returned.
Drystan.
She wanted to vomit, thinking his name. Her training to kill him had been effortless compared to this.
It was centered on her catching him unaware.
Specifically, right after they had consummated their marriage, when he would be at his weakest. They had never planned for any alternatives, like her having to fight him.
Now that she was thinking about it, it was a terrible plan.
What if he had injured her and it had become difficult for her to slit his throat?
Then what would have been the plan? He wasn’t very intelligent, but even she didn’t think he would be stupid enough to fall asleep and make himself vulnerable around her.
Lyra set the tin back on the table, and looked back at Wilder. Maybe training with him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It would help her learn how to defend herself, and she would become stronger.
Merfolk would never have allowed such a thing. It would be scandalous to them. She would become stronger and capable of fending off attackers. Lyra relished that thought.
“What next?” she asked, now that her breathing had slowed and her resolve had settled.
Wilder seemed surprised by her change of tune. He arched a brow and studied her.
“We’ll stretch. Then, do bodyweight activities. Followed by approaching your magic.”
Lyra pursed her lips. “It isn’t safe to use my magic.”
Wilder grinned. “Why do you think guards and Otto are here? The moment you even think about turning it against us, he will kill you.”
Well, that was comforting. But not at all what she meant.
When Lyra didn’t reply, Wilder strode away from the table and out of the shade of the willows. He meant for her to follow, but she stood still, closing her eyes and enjoying the shade for one more moment. With her eyes closed and her breathing slowed, she listened.
She could hear the breeze through the willow trees, and it sounded like the strains of a song. The willow sang as the wind plucked its branches, and she could hear it as clearly as the current once sang in her blood.
“Waiting for you, Legs.”
Lyra blinked her eyes open and found Maelys staring at her, a knowing smile on her face.
“You can hear the willow?”
Lyra gawked at her. “I didn’t dream that?”
Ridge chuckled. “We can all hear it; we’re elves.”
Wilder whistled then, a low, screeching sound, and Lyra flinched.
“Let’s go! It’s only getting hotter out here.” Bedecked in a light tunic and leather pants, she could see the sweat beading on his chest. A sliver of tan skin peeked out from where he had left the ties undone.
Yes, she was going to kill him.
And the best part was, he was going to teach her how.