Chapter 45
Hook. Parry. Jab.
Hook. Parry. Jab.
Hook. Parry. Jab.
“Easy, M.” Matheo shook out his hand, wincing. “No gloves, remember? That last one hurt.”
Sweat dripped down Mariah’s temple. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. “If you stopped letting me hit you, it wouldn’t hurt.”
Matheo frowned. “It’s an offensive sequence. You’re supposed to hit me. But for technique.”
Mariah rocked back on her heels. “Then maybe we should up the stakes.”
Before he answered, she launched.
Her first punch landed its mark, an undercut to his lower ribs. It wasn’t a hard hit—more a challenge than anything—but Matheo hissed, whirling to face her as she darted away. His eyes sparked, and he grinned.
“All right, Queenie. If that’s how you wanna play, let’s play.”
Her answering cackle rang across the cliffside meadow.
It felt good to be back to this every day. Training had been the only thing that kept her grounded growing up in Andburgh, in a town that could never—would never—understand her. It was what had helped her find herself after her tortuous weeks in Khento.
Whenever she felt lost and didn’t know the way, this was where she went. Where her body craved to be.
She ducked under Matheo’s hook and answered with a roundhouse kick, which he swatted away. The crisp mountain wind tugged at her braid. Her hair was finally long enough for it, tied off at the end with a small red ribbon she’d found in their apartments.
Her focus sharpened. Matheo was leaving his left side unguarded. He always seemed to do that, no matter how much they trained.
She spun, easily avoiding his next jab, before diving down and punching up.
Her blow landed on his left ribs, where she’d first hit him. This time her attack was stronger, more focused. Matheo doubled over with a wheezing breath.
“Okay,” he rasped. “Break. Please.”
Mariah chuckled. “Every time with that left side, Matheo.”
Her Armature straightened, still grimacing. “I know, I know.” He lifted the hem of his shirt, wiping some of the dripping sweat off his brow. “This is why I prefer the bow to hand-to-hand combat.”
“Too bad you need to be proficient at both, Riqueti.” Andrian emerged from the tree line, carrying a waterskin and a dulled-edge longsword.
A very shirtless and sweating Andrian. Mariah swallowed, suddenly needing her waterskin.
“And where the fuck have you been?” Matheo demanded. “Still self-conscious about training in front of others?”
“I’m not self-conscious,” Andrian said with a slow smirk. His long strides ate up the ground. “I just didn’t want to embarrass you.”
Matheo mumbled something, but Mariah narrowed her eyes on Andrian.
Where had he been? It was the same every day. They would run up the mountain to the meadow, then she and Matheo would train together while Andrian disappeared into the trees.
Maybe she shouldn’t have taunted him like she had a few days ago. She’d been so sure it would rattle something in him, would finally get him to open up and talk. For a moment, she’d almost been sure that it had worked.
But no. He’d just decided to put even more space between them. Not publicly; he was normal—for him—when they left their apartments.
When they were alone, for goddess’s sake, he’d even taken to sleeping on the couches rather than sharing the bed.
Was this his revenge? Some bizarre justification for hiding whatever had happened to him in Khento?
What could possibly be that bad?
But she knew. She knew what could be so bad that he’d refuse to talk to her about it.
She’d seen all her own worst nightmares come to life in that castle, after all.
Mariah ground her teeth. No. Maybe it was her own arrogance talking, but he wouldn’t have. He couldn’t have.
“Why don’t you spar now with me, then?” Matheo taunted.
Andrian lifted a dark brow. “If you insist, Riqueti—”
“No.” Mariah’s interruption was clipped, her glare sharpening on Andrian.
“You’ll spar with me. And not with fists.
” She padded to the pile of blunt training weapons they’d carried up with them.
Selecting two short swords and taking a deep drink from a waterskin, she walked back to where Andrian and Matheo stood.
She lifted her chin at Andrian, ignoring the way her heart started to race in her chest. “Well?”
Matheo glanced between them, a little wary, before shrugging and heading toward the tree line. He fell into the grass with a thump, taking a swig of water.
Andrian’s lips curled slowly into a grin. “You sure, princess?”
Her skin prickled. “What, you scared, Armature?”
His expression dimmed. He raked a hand through his hair, that one errant strand falling back across his forehead. He flipped his sword in his grip, a terrifyingly smooth movement honed by years and years of practice.
Mariah had never sparred with Andrian. She’d watched him train and fight, of course, but never had they partnered together like this.
Gods, they’d done everything else together, but something about this felt more dangerous.
Intimate. Exposed. Like they would be forced to confront each other’s weaknesses, knowing it would only serve to hold a mirror up to themselves.
She’d thought this would be a good idea. That it would break them free from this insane standstill he’d caught them in. She wanted to shake her tension free, to get him to realize that whatever had happened in that castle, she could handle it.
But the way he held his blade like an extension of his arm; the way his body was honed like a weapon itself; the way sweat ran over the ridge of the crude scar bisecting his Mark, gleaming down the hard lines of his abdominals—
She swallowed again, adjusting her grip on her swords. They slowly circled each other, like sharks deep in the Mirrored Sea.
“Don’t you dare go easy on me.”
Andrian smirked. “Oh, princess. When have I ever?”
They came together in a blurred clash of steel.
Mariah ducked, Andrian’s sword whistling through the air. Her weapons were raised, and she whirled to parry his next attack. Metal met metal with a clang, sliding off each other with a whistle.
And again it went.
Mariah’s muscles burned, sweat dripping in her eyes. Her braided hair whipped around her shoulders as they locked into a dance of thrusts and parries, of jabs and blocks.
Though her heart raced, though her lungs gasped for breath, her blood sang.
There was a language to this dance. Neither of them was a soldier; neither of them had yet found their way into true war. But deep in them both lived an animalistic draw to fight, a connection to conflict, a need to battle.
Training was like scratching the surface. This? This was setting it all free.
She danced around him, close enough to see the burning in his eyes. She knew the wild grin he wore was reflected on her own face, an answering call to the thrill of this.
Instinct took control. Mariah’s eyes fluttered shut, her swords arching, the wind brushing gently across her skin and her lungs sighing with exertion—
Something dull hit just the right place on her left wrist. Her fingers relaxed, opening, her sword falling to the ground.
She gasped, opening her eyes and jumping back. Andrian still grinned, kicking her sword a few feet away with the toe of his boot. “That was sloppy. You’re better than that, princess.”
Oh, fuck that. He was not winning this.
She threw herself back at him with a snarl. This time she was sharper, the magic of their dance shifting into something more primal, more urgent. Her grin was gone, replaced by all the rage and heartache and splintered edges that bubbled and overflowed in her chest.
When the hilt of his sword came down, aiming again for the bony ridge of her wrist, she let him land the blow. Let her second sword fall from her grasp, landing between their feet. Let his attention flicker down to the ground for just a small, fleeting moment.
Long enough for her to move. She dropped, leg shooting out, and swiped it across his heels. His balance was off, his concentration slipped.
He tumbled to the ground, landing hard on his back. His grip loosened on his sword, and it fell just out of his reach.
She was on him, dagger freed from its holster and silver blade pressed to the column of his throat. She straddled him, pinning him to the ground, the dragon-wings on the hilt digging into the back of her hand.
“Tell. Me.” The words were panted between her aching lungs and hammering heart, her face twisted into a contorted snarl.
Andrian gazed up, arms spread out on either side of him, and something in his expression broke.
It wasn’t the kind of breaking that gave her any sort of victorious thrill.
There was no light, no humor, none of the joking surrender she might’ve suspected.
It was a true shattering, a wall disintegrating, a descent into a place she had a feeling he had no desire to go.
His chest heaved beneath her, his skin hot and burning.
His eyes were open and wide and desperate and pained.
“Mariah…” He said her name like a plea. Like it was a gift.
But not the one she wanted.
Her breathing slowed, the tension leaving her body. She relaxed into him, still gripping the knife. Her forehead met his, her free hand slipping into his hair. He cupped her face, holding her against him.
“Please,” she whispered, her eyes falling shut.
A silence passed between them. A silence born from the bond between kindred souls with familiar pain. A silence that knew and recognized the other, that spoke of whispered destinies and powers above those they could comprehend.
Maybe it was the magic of this place, of this kingdom. A place where past and present blurred, where prophecy danced in the earth and in the blood of its people.
Andrian tensed. His exhale brushed her lips. She cracked her eyes, lifting her head, and he looked like he was about to speak—
“I really hate to interrupt your flirting or whatever this is, but it’s past noon, and I’m starving. Are we ready to head back?”
The moment burst into pieces, tension broken like a shattered mirror.
Mariah shook her head, rolling off Andrian and pushing to her feet.
She shoved her dagger back into its familiar red holster on her thigh and picked up her two discarded training blades.
Matheo had already gathered the rest of their training gear and stood at the tree line, watching them with confusion.
Mariah stormed past him, racing down the mountain like darkness itself chased her.