Chapter 23
Briar doesn’t even look at me when she returns from the supply cabinet with the longbow, but she intones flatly, “Ready.”
“Pick one of the targets and begin working.”
She notches the arrow and pulls the string to her cheek, but before I can remind her to reset, she adjusts and repositions to the side of her lips. She’s a quick learner.
The arrow flies, hitting the target but missing the center. “Again.”
By the sixth time she retrieves her arrows, she’s improved a fair bit, but I know if I push her more, she will lose that progress because her arms are shaking badly from the exertion. Having her close to me for the last twenty minutes has eased my ire considerably, allowing me to feel regret about how I treated her.
She hasn’t spoken a word to me, but what’s worse is the fact that she won’t look at me. She’s just performing like she was told to without complaint. “We’re done with the bow.” My voice is tight with frustration, and she picks up on it. Her shoulders stiffen, tucking in closer to her body while she dips her chin toward her chest.
When it becomes evident she’s waiting for her next instruction, I give it to her. “Drop the bow.”
The wood hits the sand at her feet faster than her next heartbeat. I move closer to her so my next words will not be overheard through the din of the arena. “Little flower.”
She actually flinches but doesn’t respond in any other way. I know I messed up the moment I see her reaction. I’m the one who insisted on putting a wall between us, yet I’m the first to blur the line the moment her reaction becomes hard for me to watch.
“Briar.”
“Yes?”
“We’re going to work on striking points. The places to attack your enemy.” I reach for her and place my hand on her elbow. This is knowledge she needs, but it’s also an excuse to touch her. “Your elbow is your best asset.”
I move closer under the guise of instruction, but I whisper an admission of guilt. “I’m sorry.” She darts her eyes in my direction, but there’s no other sign she heard me. “I heard what happened.” I bend her arm, then I guide it back until her elbow lands against my open palm. “I need to prepare you so you can defend yourself.” My lips are inches away from her hair, and I want so badly to touch her.
“I know. I’ll try harder.” Her reply is soft as she accepts all the blame that resides squarely on my shoulders.
“Your effort isn’t the problem, Briar.”
“I know I’m weak.” Her words cut through me, deeper than the scars on my back.
“If you were weak, you would be dead.”
“There were times I wished I were,” she confesses, and my chest constricts so tightly, I have to force myself to take my next breath. “But I was always too afraid to give up. I’m really just a chicken, and now you’re stuck with me.”
I drop my lips to the top of her head. “Stuck implies I would want some other outcome. My only regret is not finding you sooner.”
“Because then I would be trained by now,” she surmises.
“No, little flower. If I would have found you sooner, you wouldn’t know half the heartache you do.”
“You’re making it hard for me to stay mad at you.”
“I am? That’s a relief.” I pull back just enough to show an air of restraint I don’t feel. There’s no one in this room who could mistake what she is to me, but I don’t need to give them a demonstration.
“I’m not really mad,” she hastily says, peeking up at me.
“I know. I also know we have two more hours today to make you into a deadly weapon.”
“Just two hours, huh? Am I going out on a secret assassin mission tonight?”
“Already planning another death?” Briar’s eyes widen in shock at hearing Syrinx’s voice behind her—more proof that I need to focus, because I didn’t know she was so close either.
“I was joking,” Briar defends needlessly.
“Poor taste, wouldn’t you say?”
“Are you here to train, Syrinx?” I question flatly.
“No,” she scoffs, as if it’s beneath her.
“We are.”
The banshee’s eyes slit. “That’s precisely why I’m here, to see my novice and make sure she’s getting the instruction she needs to make it through the Undertaking. It would be a shame if she didn’t.”
I’ve never been one who needs to prove themselves, but Syrinx staking her claim on Briar nearly pushes me over the edge. “She’ll make it. I will make sure of it.”
“You and Kage?” Syrinx cranes her long neck while she pretends to search for the demon. “Our Briar seems to have captured his attention too.”
I see where she thinks she’s going with this. She’s trying to make me jealous and pit me against the demon. It proves how blind she is to anything but the pursuit of power if she thinks it could work.
“Me, Kage, and anyone else who’s needed.”
“Funny you should say that…” She tilts her head and returns her attention to me.
It’s easy to ignore her goading comment and not ask why she thinks it’s funny I would say that. I have no interest in her theories.
Syrinx’s mouth tips down farther as seconds tick by, until she eventually caves. “Whispers and coy touches aren’t going to keep her alive or this institute in first place. Unless you think her continuing to sell herself is her only hope at winning, I suggest you actually educate her for what’s to come.”
Briar’s small hand fists in the back of my shirt. The hold is only a reminder of what’s really important and would do nothing to keep me from killing the banshee if things were different. It would be foolish to attract the gods’ attention, especially after the way I became a fallen. I liked the idea of toying with them before, when I had nothing to lose. It’s likely what gave me the motivation to come to Ivy, but I now realize my fate was already set in motion, and finding Briar here is the only thing that matters.
However, I can’t let her insult go completely unanswered. “Careful, Syrinx. Most have limits, but I do not.”
The banshee’s shoulders roll back in a useless attempt to seem imposing. “Good, I’m counting on it.”
I exhale when the headmistress saunters away as if she didn’t just poke a sleeping dragon, but it’s not like she’s the one who has to deal with it.
Ziv watches her retreat, and the muscles in his back are tense enough that I’m worried he’s about to spring forward, or maybe use those glorious black wings I’ve only seen once. The urge to distract him sits on the tip of my tongue, but it takes me precious seconds to actually get the nerve to speak.
“You were telling me about my elbow,” I remind him, neglecting to mention the more personal aspects of our conversation. Syrinx may be a bitch, but she’s right—there’s no place for flirting here, and Ziv knows it too. That’s why he started the session the way he did, but I let my feelings get in the way.
“Your elbow is best for attacking soft places—eyes, ears, nose, throat, and groin,” he begins, still not looking away from Syrinx’s retreating form, but I take his response as a good sign he’s going to let her leave and not kill her.
The next two hours are filled with little talking and lots of instructions. It’s amazing how much you can learn from just watching someone, especially somebody who’s pissed off, or maybe I’m just a visual learner. By the end of the session, I’m confident I could give at least one good jab with my elbow before I was easily slaughtered.
It’s a start, and it’s the beginning of a pattern.
Each day, I spend my mornings with Kage and a myriad of revolving instructors. Thankfully, none of them test me against the entire class like Arnold did, but every day, there is a challenge or two. I use every chance I get to reverse the roles and use their own abilities against them, but I’ve never even gotten close. The magic feels just as intangible to me as it always has.
Lunches are nearly as discouraging. Kage is distant, even though the physical space between us has lessened infinitesimally. The only inkling of a promise I get is when I catch him looking at me before he makes an effort to hide the longing in his beautiful lavender eyes. Those are the moments that give me hope we can at least be friends one day.
My afternoons are grueling. Ziv has kept his promise to the headmistress to instruct me, and there have been no more stolen moments of intimacy in the arena, not even when he locks us in the smaller field and basically makes me kick my own ass with his simple defensive moves. It’s embarrassing, but there are times when I feel the tiniest bit stronger. Today is not one of those days.
“Get up!” he barks after I fall to my knees for what must be the tenth time in this sequence. I’ve gotten used to his cold demeanor in the sand, but it doesn’t mean I like it.
Gritting my teeth, I slide my leg forward, planting my bare foot in the sand and my palm on my knee to aid me in rising. Everything hurts, and I’m convinced if it wasn’t for Ziv feeding me his blood every night while he fucks me into oblivion, I’d be dead or at least paralyzed.
“Now, Briar!”
My knees wobble as my thighs struggle to keep me upright, but I’m on my feet, staring at him like I’m wishing I could slit his throat with the small blade tucked in my waistband.
“Use that anger,” he orders, knowing exactly how pissed off I am, but there’s no way I could ever really hurt him, even if I were capable.
Instead of attacking, I balance my weight as evenly as I can in the shifting grit and wait for him to come for me. It’s going to hurt, but I can take the pain. What I can’t take is another second of him looking at me like I’m useless, or like he knows I’m going to die the second he’s not there to protect me.
If I wasn’t so intimately attuned to every inch of his body, I would have missed the way his abdominal muscles contract right before he leaps toward me. I feign shock, widening my eyes, and I see the moment he decides to pull up short, not making me take his weight as he pounces, but that’s exactly what I was hoping for. If I can get even the tiniest of nicks on him, it will be a miracle.
The push dagger fits perfectly in my hand, since Ziv had it crafted for me. The blade is small and wide, but sharp on both sides. It’s my last resort in close combat and best utilized on soft places, such as eyes, ears, nose, throat, and groin. If I stab someone in their dick with this thing, I think it would just piss them off, unless I got really lucky and managed to castrate them.
I move my hands forward as if I’m going to try and block him, but he’s not worried about my feeble attempt. In fact, the reflexive effort seems to piss him off. That or maybe I’m not as good at reading him as I thought, because he slams into me with the force of a runaway carriage.
My lungs collapse from his weight, forcing me to exhale. I’m struggling for oxygen before my back even hits the ground. My teeth snap together, causing my ears to ring, or maybe that’s from my head bouncing off the sand. Either way, I can’t function for precious seconds, not even to breathe. My mouth opens and closes uselessly, trying to drag in air, but my throat feels closed off. I’m suffocating, and I can’t even panic because my brain is short-circuiting.
Ziv’s eyes are comically large, and I get my first taste of gritty air. It burns as I wheeze, but I’ve rarely been more relieved not to be dead. I don’t think Ziv could live with himself if he killed me, or I hope he couldn’t anyway.
My entire body hurts. I didn’t think he was going to hit me that hard, and I still don’t know if I was able to cut him because I can’t feel my hands.
My eyes slip closed, and I decide it’s much easier to just leave them that way. When I’m conscious again, I’ll tell him I was trying a new technique—playing dead.
“Briar!” The urgent way he shouts my name seems important, but everything is getting fuzzy, so it’s easy to ignore. I do manage to nod my head once in an effort to respond, but then I’m gone.