Chapter 40
With our offer sent to Sea, all we can do is wait.
The days of long winded silence are mind-numbing, the nights even worse.
Between official business in the city and extra patrols into lurker territory, Jace has made himself scarce.
I haven’t seen him since our conversation after the blood moon, and maybe that’s for the best. The dust needs time to settle, and my damned body needs to calm the fuck down before I find myself alone with him again.
This push and pull has me feeling like a teenager—angsty, immature, and reckless. Have I forgotten I’m a woman grown and there’s a bloodthirsty nightmare hidden under his skin? The thrill of those talons and fangs coils like a serpent in my belly, though.
No, wrong reaction.
I should run screaming for the hills, but the way he held me in the tomb, the way he whispered against my neck and claimed me as his.
My mind grips that memory tight. I’ve replayed it over and over again.
He’s the last face I see before drifting to sleep, and it’s not fear that keeps me in this chokehold… no matter how much I tell myself it is.
“I think you’re ready to spar,” Isra says, knocking me from myself.
“With blades?” I force my eyes back into focus. We’ve been up since dawn, both unable to find sleep. First breathwork, then a run around the grounds that left me gasping for air, and now he tosses me a roll of binding tape.
“I’ll go easy on you, don’t worry.” He nods. My lips spread into a grin. Finally, something useful after weeks of endless exercises.
“Well, that’s a mistake,” I rasp, winding the tape around my knuckles.
“We’ll see.” Isra draws a blunt training blade from the pile of weapons he’s carried on to the lawn. “Here, I’ll walk you through a few maneuvers first.” He tosses a sheathed weapon toward my boots.
A groan escapes me as he steps to the center of the grassy sparring ring. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?” Isra raises a brow.
“That this wouldn’t be an actual sparring match, Is. You’ll walk me through the motions and have me practice beginner movements until I want to rip my hair out.”
“Slow down, oh violent one. I know you’re desperate to get a blade in me after I knocked you on your ass the first time we met, but these are larger weapons, heavier swords.”
“Gods Isra, for combat training we haven’t seen even a shred of combat.” I roll my eyes like a child but settle back into my seat. “I’m listening.”
“Good girl.” He grins and raises his sword. “Now, with the heavier weapon, leverage is your best advantage. Work with the sword’s weight instead of fighting it. A lethal counter is a slow strong arc rather than short bursting jabs like you’re accustomed to.”
He prods a step forward and swipes the blade through the air.
The whoosh of its edge bristles the strands that’ve fallen free from my plait.
Isra exhales a short forceful burst of breath as he moves again, quicker than a lightning strike.
His footwork is fluid and swift, so much so my eyes strain to keep up.
By the time he’s finished, I’m dazed. “Damn, okay. I haven’t learned whatever the hells that was.”
“Hate to say I told you so, but alas.” He shrugs and finds a seat beside me.
“Can I ask you a question before we start?” I glance toward him.
“That depends.” Sweat trails his jaw, even in the brisk morning temperatures as he pulls his knees to his chest. “If it’s about Jace’s past with Samkiel, the secret plan A, or his soulless form, no.”
I nudge his shoulder. “Fortunately for you, this time it’s not.
You were wounded when we first met back at Fleetwing’s, but it didn’t impact your form at all.
I sliced the fuck out of your arms and landed a blow to your cheek, yet you didn’t waver even the slightest. How do you manage the pain so well? ”
“Breathwork…and lots of experience being stabbed.” He throws me a sheepish shrug. “When you’ve fought your whole life, the pain becomes a part of you.”
My heart cracks for the warrior seated beside me, now running his hands over the scars riddled up his forearms. Each one from a separate battle, every raised white ridge, a kill in his docket. Maybe Isra isn’t quite as whole as I thought.
“I’m no stranger to pain, but it still hurts.” The scars across my back tingle with the residual memory. My mother’s final breath. The slave sellers vicious whip cracking through the air. All of it haunts me still, even twenty years later.
“It’s easier to embrace your wounds than it is to run from them.”
“Gods Is, you speak like you’re some wise old sage.” I laugh, but his words ring through me like a bell.
“I can’t take the credit for that one as much as I want to.” He traces a scar on his thumb. “Jace told me that once—shit, it feels like a lifetime ago now. He wasn’t always this stoic, believe it or not.”
“What? You mean to tell me under all that silent brooding King Ashborne has a heart?”
Isra barks a laugh. “Broken it may be, but yes. He’s my oldest friend. Jace saved my life, and not just on the battlefield.”
I bite my lip, thoughts slipping to that place I try so hard to lock away.
“Now, do you want to discuss our fearless leader or should we fight?” The grin spreading over his lips is wicked, but the brightness flooding my chest is lighter than air.
“Ready to get your ass kicked?” My brow arches. “Again?”
“In your dreams, little one.”
We find our positions in the sparring circle. I grit my teeth, arms straining against the unfamiliar weight of the training blade and widen my stance to compensate.
“Slide your foot back ever so slightly and square your hips toward the attacker.” Isra gestures to my left boot. I follow his command and my posture adjusts to the defensive. “Good. Are you ready? I’ll slow my movement down until you get the hang of things.”
The shift of my dominant side leaves me more exposed than I’m comfortable with, but I trust Isra’s guidance and welcome the oncoming attack. When he swipes his blade toward me, my usual counter falters and I trip right on my ass.
“Get up.” He offers an outstretched hand.
He lunges for me again, and again I’m off balance. The edge of Isra’s weapon scrapes my abdomen. My knee falters under the weight of my raised blade, and a moment later I’ve got a mouth full of dewy grass.
“Get up, Nova. Again.”
My building rage escapes with a grunt as I heave myself up and fall back into step.
“You’re still fighting the weight.”
An hour passes with the same results. My biceps burn as Isra charges again, but I force the muscles to move. I’m drenched in sweat and green with grass stains.
The air rushes from me with an “oof.” My blade skids across the lawn, stopping short when it thuds against a black boot.
“Mind if I tap in?” Jace asks as he retrieves my discarded weapon. He skims an index finger down its edge, eyes dark and deadly.
“Jace…she hasn’t landed a single blow against me, I don’t think she’s anywhere near ready to face you in a sparring match.”
“Isra!” I clench my teeth so hard they might crack.
“What? It’s the truth.” He shrugs and leans against his practice sword.
“Perhaps it’s your teaching methods. Let me give it a try.” Jace impales the blade into the grass. His hands brush over his collarbone as he undoes his black overcoat. Those fucking fingers, slender and precise. I tear my traitorous eyes from them and focus on the ground.
The golden buckle clanks as his jacket falls beside the sword, revealing a white linen tunic, thin enough it’s almost sheer. “Unless you’re too nervous.”
Oh, fuck no. I’m seconds from punching that pompous smirk right off his face. “If I had my own weapons you’d be on your ass by now. Or did you forget how many Smoke guards I slaughtered back in Storm?”
“I haven’t forgotten. Sweat-soaked and rabid might very well be my favorite version of you, starling.”
My jaw cramps with the fury now coursing through me. “Fine. I’ll fight you. With that godsdamned blade, too.”
Isra scoffs and throws up his hands. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Raise your blade.” Jace saunters to the center of the sparring circle, dragging the sword across the dew speckled lawn before dropping it beside me.
“With pleasure.” I don’t wait for Isra to give us the okay before I pounce. I know I’ve taken Jace’s bait. My heartbeat slams against my chest with the rage he’s so easily stoked, but I don’t care. Those perfect smug lips of his send blood rushing right to my ears.
He dodges with ease, fast and fluid. I spin on my heels and attack again. My lungs threaten to burst, my already exhausted arms roar in protest, but I raise the blade and strike.
Jace counters with a swipe of his own weapon, tapping the hard, blunt edge across my wrist. My fingers jerk open in response, but I suck in a breath and stifle the movement before I lose my sword. Embrace the pain. His eyes flash midnight as I sidestep, and my fist connects with his cheek.
Satisfaction roils through me like a swell against rock. With the opportunity, I charge and send my blade. He blocks with his own, holding me against him so close our noses brush.
“Don’t be greedy. If you want your hands on me, you’ll have to try a little harder.”
“Fuck you,” I spit.
My throat is raw and ragged and laced with fire as he wags his index finger at me. “Such a wicked girl you are.”
My teeth gnash as I press off his blade. “You’re dead, King Ashborne. Mark my words.”
Jace spits blood and drags a thumb over his lip. When his gaze lands on his red-stained finger, his features shift. Those inky eyes ignite in a flurry of burning starlight.
My boots fucking fly as I plummet toward him, no less than a comet blasting through the cosmos. I raise my sword and ignore my body’s protests. Jace doesn’t take a counter or defensive position, he stands entirely still, entirely relaxed.
Arrogant fucking asshole.
Just as I reach him, I sidestep, mimicking Isra’s instruction from earlier. The weapon comes mere inches from his chest, then he dodges. Swift, simple, clean.