CHAPTER 11 #2
I retreated toward the door. “N-no, I—” He followed me, step for step, until my back thumped against the hard wood. Panic struck. He’d closed the door. I was locked in with him. My head whipped to the side—the other door was still propped open, its exit less than a foot from me.
I snapped back to Wep, who had stilled. He looked me up and down, then he frowned. “What’s wrong?” It was more than a question—it was a command.
I crossed my arms over my chest, in self-defense or maybe comfort. “Nothing.”
He mirrored me, arms crossed, feet planted. The firelight flickered over his skin, casting every muscle into relief. “Have it your way,” he said, voice stern. Everything about this man screamed barely leashed control. “I guess you forgot you’re the one who interrupted me.”
“Not intentionally!” My voice shook, though I tried to keep it steady. “I expected to be alone. It’s not like I have my own room in this blasted keep.”
That made his brow furrow.
I needed to get out. I was in no state to spar with him, physically or mentally. I was primed to buckle at any second. I inched toward the open door. His arm twitched like he might reach out and stop me, so I turned and fled up the stairs.
His footsteps followed undeterred.
A frustrated tear splashed down my cheek, and I flicked it away. With my hand on the handle to the Relaxation Room, I paused. “What?” I spat out, though it sounded suspiciously like a sob.
“Believe it or not, I’m not a complete asshole. I can see you’re upset.”
I dropped my boots on the landing and rounded on him, hands on hips. “Why would you care about anything I’m feeling?”
He crossed his arms. In the darkness of the stairway, his features were entirely shadowed. “I care when there’s a problem I can fix.”
“Typical.” I turned the handle and pushed into the room.
Predictably, he followed. I rounded on him again.
“You’re the big, strong man coming to solve all my problems, are you?
Well, it was big, strong men who got me into this mess, so you’ll forgive my skepticism.
” I glared at him with every ounce of haughtiness I could muster.
I may not be Merria, but I could still channel the up tilt of her nose and that look that always made me want to throttle her.
Based on his glare and the set of his jaw, visible in the flickering flames, it had its intended effect. “I haven’t done anything to you. Last I checked, you agreed—”
“Were you in here already?” I interrupted.
A tall candelabra stood behind me, set up on the table with twelve candles burning.
It had only just hit me that the room wasn’t cast in complete darkness as I’d expected.
The narrow window framing the top of one wall, which let in natural light, was still dark.
Surprise flickered across his face, just for a moment, before it relaxed. “Does that matter?” He asked in a neutral tone.
“No, I just didn’t know you used this room.”
“I created it, didn’t I?”
“You did?”
“It’s my Training Hall.”
“Oh. Right.” I don’t know why that shocked me. This room, which was such a comfort to me, was created by this man who embodied the exact opposite. I struggled to imagine him sitting here, perhaps with his boots off, eyes closed, and head leaned back against the wall.
Wep scratched the jawline of his short beard. “Look, I’m doing my best here. This is new territory for me.”
“Talking to women? I can tell.”
His eyebrow quirked up. “She’s got jokes.”
“To the constant disappointment of my father. A daughter with a brain in her skull. Every lord’s nightmare.”
“I know a thing or two about fathers and expectations.”
A smile ghosted across his lips, and something inside me shifted and settled. No part of me wanted to find him disarming, but—Martyrs’ blood and bones—he was.
“I do care that you’re upset,” he went on. “I’m just saying, this is why we train. Healthy body, healthy mind.”
“Of course it is,” I sighed. Back to this again.
“Training doesn’t bring people back from the dead.
” I retreated to the nearest cushion and plopped down.
“Or missing, or whatever. We got a missive from the prince. His whole squadron is missing, likely dead.” I didn’t know why I was confiding this in him.
“My point is, today was… It doesn’t matter.
Either way, he’s gone. He was gone before I even left Inra. No amount of training can fix that.”
He stepped in front of me and knelt, forcing my gaze to meet his eye.
One hand reached out and caressed down my arm.
Despite the grief roiling within me, my shoulders dropped, and I leaned into his comforting touch.
I was on the precipice of danger, but Creator above, it was exactly where I wanted to be.
“This man, he was lost fighting for your king?”
I nodded, and my eyes prickled. I rubbed the heels of my palms over them, forcing away unshed tears and trying to clear my head of this temporary madness. I couldn’t let him—or anyone here—know my weaknesses. I shouldn’t be letting him see me cry.
“You miss him.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
Something in Wep’s eyes changed. A small pinch, a twinge behind his gaze. It was something akin to understanding.
“Do you love him?” he asked, voice low.
“Of course.”
“That’s why you hate it here. You were taken from the one you love.” He breathed a sigh that could have knocked me over with its weight if I weren’t already sitting. I’d never seen this side of him, and it made me wonder if he’d lost someone too.
“He was taken from me.”
Wep’s jaw clenched. He released it with visible effort. “What was his name?”
“Bale.”
“How did you meet?”
Meet? “No, he’s my—”
The door burst open. Wep stood and whirled around in one fluid motion. Somehow, he was always at the ready. The next second, though, his body relaxed, and he stepped aside, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Gerta stood in the doorway, panting, panic on her face, and holding my forgotten boots.
“Milady,” she huffed. “I didn’t know where you were.
I was hoping…but then the day and…” Her eyes darted from me to Wep, back to me, then back to Wep, trailing down his form, lingering on his bare arms. She dipped into a quick curtsey. “Forgive me, I’m interrupting.”
She made to back out of the room, but Wep motioned her in.
“No need. I’m leaving.” He pushed by her and was swallowed by the darkness of the stairway beyond. He didn’t so much as glance back at me before he was gone.
It shouldn’t have mattered. I didn’t need him here. What reason was there for him to stay? When no answer came, I dropped my head into my hands. Training today was going to suck.
THE HOUR came upon me far too soon. I showed up to training with puffy, red eyes and a semi-permanent frown.
When I walked into the room, I hardly recognized the place.
Stands polka-dotted the mat, each displaying different weapons.
My ranng chatted animatedly, pointing to different stations. I was the last to arrive.
“What’s going on?” I asked Ivank, the only one whose attention I could grab.
“Assessment day.” His brows did a little dance, and he pointed to a rack that held three different types of maces. “I’m going for the hammer first.” Indeed, one of the maces had a box-shaped head like an overgrown blacksmith hammer. “What about you?”
“Burning Martyrs, I have to choose one of these?”
“No.” Wep’s cold voice rang out across the room. “You’ll be trying everything you can manage to lift.”
“I’m not using these. I never agreed to weapons.”
“I don’t care what you use, they’re a part of training.”
“But—”
“Non-negotiable. Let’s begin.”
Oh. Fuck. Me. It was by far the worst day of my life in the Riht.
Wep went through the rest of my ranng first, all of whom selected one weapon to be tested on.
Lispen was a wonder with two short swords.
Ivank got to test with his hammer, though Wep disarmed him quickly.
Raif, Lex, and Teke all went for longswords, and Helene tested with a slender sword with a curved blade I’d never seen before.
It suited her reedy frame and flowed with her graceful movements.
Wep passed each one of them, even Ivank.
Then came my turn. I couldn’t lift the two-handed maces, axes, or longswords.
I managed to lift the short swords, but I didn’t have the coordination to hold two at once without dropping one.
I tried with one sword and a shield—that was a joke.
The daggers worked just fine in my grip, but as Wep pointed out, they were highly situational and always required close quarters, which I couldn’t even attempt without getting smacked by the flat of his blade.
Between my poor performance and uneven balance, I wasn’t even allowed to try the pike or spear.
“Come,” Wep said once all stations in the training room had been exhausted. He walked out the open door and into the sunlight.
I followed, and he led me to a series of sprawling training pitches.
There were grassy patches, circles of sand, and squares filled with small, reddish pebbles.
He led me to the last area, which was covered in wood chips and set up with targets at the far end.
On the stand nearest us were different types of bows, and another held quivers of arrows.
“Oh, archery.” A small thrill bubbled up inside me.
Wep nodded, then plucked the smallest bow from the rack. He tested the string, then handed it to me. “Do you need a demonstration?”