Chapter 21 #3
‘Good. Neither am I,’ I reply. ‘Let’s fight.’
‘I am tired. Maybe you’d actually stand a chance.’
Is that right? Jumped-up little shit.
He ignores my narrowed eyes, gesturing to the ice blade in my hand. ‘You made that?’ he questions.
‘No,’ I admit, ‘but I can fight with it.’
His jaw works. ‘Tired or not, I’m not in the mood for going easy,’ he warns.
Arrogant arsehole. ‘I didn’t ask you to go easy, Your Royal Highness. I never want you to go easy. I want you to fucking fight me.’ I use his title to rile him, and it works.
I’ve barely a moment to get my sword in position before he swings his. The blade clashes against mine, and for a split second, I fear mine will shatter, erupting into a hundred thousand shards of ice. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t so much as crack.
Confident in the blade’s ability now, I go in for a low strike at Kyor’s knees, but he blocks it, pushing me back with such force it makes me stumble.
I thrust again and a sharp clash rings out as our blades meet, the sound echoing through the space like a struck bell. The impact jolts up my arm, but instead of pain, there’s a thrill – a spark that ignites something fierce in my chest.
Gods, I’ve missed this.
With all my practice time focused on my Issen magic, I haven’t sparred with Kyor in ages, and it’s nice to do something I’m actually competent at. It’s a timely reminder that I was once weak with terrible footwork, but with training that all changed. I changed. And I can do it again.
It is definitely harder to find footing on snow than on sand, but within a minute I’ve found my equilibrium.
I push back against him. The length of the sword is excellent as it means he can’t get anywhere near me, and there’s something about the grip that feels like an extension of my arm.
The speed of his swings goes faster and faster, and it’s only due to Zelle’s control drills rattling through my mind that I remember to breathe.
As the cold wind whips across my face, I feel as though I’m back in the Retterheld, standing in the training yard, Zelle correcting my feet as I strike over and over.
A wave of grief rushes through me, but it’s not mine. It’s Fen’s.
Sorry, I murmur to my wolf, but I have no time for more than that as Kyor ups his attack.
There’s no time to think. No time to plan my moves.
My muscles are already starting to burn, yet Kyor doesn’t so much as pause for breath.
How he still has the energy to do this, after his fight earlier on the battlefield, is beyond me.
Sure, he was using magic then, but still, the movement, the power, the concentration that’s required … it should have taken it out of him.
But his breath is utterly even.
I push harder, forcing him to give ground. His feet stumble, but somehow he remains upright. Still, the exhilaration is sharp and bright, flooding through me, drowning out everything else. For a moment, there is no past, no future – just this.
Just us.
Inevitable.
Kyor wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t in the mood for going easy, and when one heavy strike comes straight down on top of my blade, I feel the tremor resonate through it and into my hand.
The blade is fractured, and I can’t make another the way the true Issen do when they fight.
One final strike causes it to split in two.
With sweat beading down his temples, Kyor steps back, panting. ‘I guess that means we’re done?’
‘Not by half.’ I reach down and pull my dagger out of the sheath at my side. ‘Just means now I’m going to have to get a bit closer.’
A sexy smirk paints his face. ‘Sounds interesting. Let’s make it a fair fight.’
He chucks his sword to the side and draws his own dagger.
This time, I’m the one who lunges first, going straight for his waist, but with one twist, he pushes me aside.
The move isn’t a waste, though. He reacts exactly as I’d anticipated, and without missing a beat, I spin around and elbow him beneath the jaw.
There’s no point pulling our punches. That’s not what he needs, and for all my magic training with Stefan, my body’s been yearning for a proper fight like this for days. To remind me of how strong I can be.
A gasp flies from my lungs as he retaliates with a kick to the backs of my calves that knocks me down onto my knees, but I bounce back with speed.
Once again, I go for the elbow, but this time I’m too slow and he grabs me by the wrist and whirls me around to face him, his eyes dark, cold, and a thousand miles away from where we actually are as he ploughs his knee into my stomach.
‘Shit! Thorn!’ He stops as I fly back, doubled over and gasping for air.
‘It’s fine,’ I say as I attempt to straighten. ‘I’m fine.’
But even as I speak, I can feel the catch in my throat. I try to draw another shallow breath, but the same thing happens again. I’ve been winded before, plenty of times, but this is different.
Every time I try to inhale, it’s as though the air is being withdrawn from my lungs rather than pushed into them.
As if I’m being suffocated. Fuck! I am being suffocated.
‘Rose. Rose!’