Chapter Twenty-Six
Sitri’s knuckles hit mine, and my grip on the morning star slipped. I gasped. The tip of a dagger pressed into the metal plate at my chest, and the message it sent was clear: If this had been a real fight, you’d be felled where you stand.
“For the last time, stop trying to out-speed me,” he said. “That thing weighs more than a post maul. It will never move faster than a blade.”
“Give me a blade, then,” I snapped back.
Sitri shook his head and lowered his weapon. I moved to reclaim mine. Frustration tensed my muscles and frenzied my attacks, making the impossible task of hitting him harder. He expected patience from me. That ask was utterly unreasonable.
“Even if I did, you only react to my movements. You cannot win on reaction alone. Put your weapon up, but do not strike. Watch.”
With a scowl, I complied. My hold on the hilt of my morning star tightened as I locked my eyes with Sitri’s. He reset, putting a few paces between us, then raised his daggers.
“Pay close attention,” he ordered as he took his first step forward. He advanced on his left foot, balancing his outstretched right hand. He twisted his wrist. Now that Sitri moved slowly, I saw he was hitting with his knuckles, not his blade.
“Look at this stance. Take your time and study it. My goal is to disarm you and strike your chest once you’re defenseless. How do you halt my momentum?”
“Strike your left leg,” I answered without missing a beat.
It was obvious now that my opponent stood still. Sitri was unbalanced. His lunge required contact with the ground to support his forward movement. All I had to do was twist my hands, swinging the head of my morning star into his leg and hindering his knuckles with its hilt.
Sitri smiled. “Good, Lillia. That’s what you need—a sharper eye, not faster weapons. You can’t outpace me, so don’t bother trying. Seek to outmaneuver. Got it?”
“I think so.”
Gears turned in my head as Sitri’s advice sank in.
If only he’d thought to teach me that before he spent the better part of a week knocking me on my ass.
Maybe he hadn’t realized how poorly I’d perform until I came face-to-face with a real threat, or perhaps my failure against Mara had been practice in its own right.
If that had been the case, I’d failed the lesson miserably.
Either way, my progress in training had stalled since my injury.
This might be the breakthrough I needed to change that.
“Once more,” Sitri barked as he reset his fighting stance. I returned to mine as well, taking a deep breath. When Sitri charged me, I was ready to meet him.
Just as he’d shown me, he lunged on his left foot and struck with his right hand.
I waited for my opening before I moved, dipping the tip of my morning star.
His knuckles hit my shoulder. Metal barbs cut grooves into the dirt.
Sitri jumped back, and my weapon missed his leg by a hair’s width—at least, that’s what I thought, until the first trickle of blood appeared on his hide leggings.
I froze, my heart lurching as the droplet ran down his armor. After days of trying from waking to rest, I’d finally drawn blood, but it was far from satisfying.
“Are you alright?” I asked, allowing my morning star to drop from my hands.
For a moment, Sitri stood perfectly still, eyes wide and jaw slack. Crimson liquid hit the dusty ground. He blinked—and then he burst out laughing, smiling from ear to ear. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“That was perfect, Lillia! Remember this lesson. It may well save you on the battlefield.”
The Prince’s smile was contagious. I couldn’t help but swell with pride. Praise never failed to raise my spirits, and Sitri seemed to know it, too. He offered it at every opportunity.
“Let us try again. I will move slowly. Search for the weak point in my stance.”
I nodded with a grunt, doubled back, and collected my weapon.
Something about Sitri’s lesson clicked in my brain.
As he moved, I became aware of the momentary openings he presented me.
An outstretched foot. The gap between his weapons as he lunged.
An unguarded stretch of torso. Each move he made, I matched him with the head of my morning star, and Sitri’s praise bolstered me after each successful maneuver.
As the lesson progressed, our movements grew faster. I suddenly understood the rhythm of battle. It was a dance, a deadly waltz, where one wrong step meant utter annihilation. So long as I moved to its beat, sang to its song, I commanded it.
When Sitri finally ended my training for the day, both he and I dripped sweat, and our chests heaved for air.
I’d given him a touch of challenge. The proof showed in the rare bruises and scrapes he wore like badges, marks that revealed where I exploited his vulnerabilities.
He’d gone easy on me—he had to, for my safety.
This was the first time that I had bloodied him, though, despite his leniency.
“Even without Vapula’s talent, you learn fast, Lillia,” Sitri said in a voice bright with pride.
I smiled and gave a snort. “That’s exactly why you plan to drill me again tomorrow, huh?”
“Of course.” He returned his daggers to their sheaths and ruffled my hair as he strode past. “Who would I be to stifle your talents?”
I couldn’t bring myself to respond.
This felt comfortable. Natural, as if this was where I’d always belonged, and it wasn’t until I embraced it that I realized how transient it was.
This training was a necessity, not a luxury.
If Bronwen’s attempts to hide us failed, we’d find ourselves alone, surrounded without the support of Sitri’s soldiers.
We would only have each other to rely on.
I couldn’t afford to be a liability if that happened, not like I’d been at the gorge, and again when we faced Mara.
“How long do we have?” I asked. “Before Vapula’s army comes.”
The question hung for a moment before Sitri answered, “Two days, if Bronwen’s timing is correct. Tomorrow night, we will shelter and prepare for battle.”
The blood drained from my face. I thought we had more time.
“It’s okay to be afraid, darling.” Sitri must have seen my expression change or felt my emotions through his magic. “I have anxieties of my own as well. What matters is that we press on despite those fears. We cannot allow them to consume us.”
“Right,” I muttered, unsure of what else to say.
No one could master the art of combat in two weeks, no matter how hard they tried, and I was no exception. Mara’s wound had robbed me of several critical days. Many more were lost to my own resistance, my refusal to be bound.
When the battle started, would I falter? Or would I prove competent enough to protect those I now held dear?
There was no way to know until the time finally came, and that was what scared me most of all.
Sitri and I filed into the dining room. The other demons had already taken their seats.
Bronwen sat to the right of Sitri’s place at the head of the table, arms crossed.
The seat across from her remained empty—presumably reserved for me.
To the left of that empty chair was Apollo, whose warm, genuine smile contrasted with Bronwen’s eternally obnoxious attitude.
Decorative plates boasting a plethora of dishes had been set out.
There were roast meats, stews, mushrooms, breads, bottles of drinking oils, and a glass of wine each, though the bottle was absent.
The aromas of spices and dressings filled the air, but beneath the scents of the feast, a sour undertone festered.
This was not a joyous occasion. Only hours remained until Vapula came knocking at our door, prepared to lay siege to Lantyca.
Clearly, none of us were ready. Neither of the seated demons had touched the food, their plates still empty and clean.
They’d waited for us. I expected that from Apollo, but Bronwen… This was new, coming from her.
Sitri pulled out my chair, and I sat. Apollo wrapped his arm around me in an awkward, seated side hug. The Prince snorted his amusement and claimed his place at the head of the table. Apollo released me, gave me a weary smile, and then all heads turned towards Sitri.
He cleared his throat. “I hope you lot don’t expect a speech. I won’t be giving one.”
“That’s a surprise,” Bronwen said. “So formal, so impersonal, not even enough wine for a party—and you didn’t bother with a speech? You’re losing your edge, Sitri.”
My muscles tightened, but before I spoke up, Apollo loosed a deep, hearty laugh that broke the tension.
He threw a grin in Sitri’s direction. “I like her. She’s staying if we win, right? Please tell me she’s staying.”
Bronwen matched Apollo’s smile. “As much as it would pain me to leave you with these pensive assholes, Haagenti wants me back. A real shame. This is the most action I’ve seen in decades.”
Pensive assholes? I shot a glance at Sitri, only to find him smiling, too.
I shook my head and sighed. “Got any more wine?”
Bronwen, who had raised her glass to drink, nearly choked.
The Prince’s smile deepened. “It would be unwise to offer it, darling. They might seem friendly now, but a little alcohol would see them at each other’s throats. Let us eat before they manage to secure it themselves.”
Sitri served himself, and his guests followed suit. The food looked delicious, and my stomach growled, but the way they talked, as if the future stretched out wide before us, and we didn’t stand at the precipice of a battle that could claim all our souls… The grim reality killed my appetite.
This might be the last time I saw them. And here they were, making merry, pretending everything was fine.
I felt the tension in the air, sensed the swirling desires that circled Sitri and Apollo, thanks to my magic.
They must have sensed mine, too. I almost envied Bronwen, whose unique talents spared her from the anxieties present at the table.