CHAPTER 12
The crunch of glass underfoot startled me. It broke sharply but didn’t pierce my skin.
Rain pattered, rhythmic but disjointed, as though it were pouring from nowhere and everywhere at once.
I looked around, trying to place myself, but nothing held form, shifting with each blink. I stumbled, disoriented, now in a narrow alley on damp cobblestones.
My hand brushed against rough stone, and a hard jolt sent me reeling against a wall. Someone shouted—a garbled, rough voice—and my heart hammered wildly in fear.
The smell of rain blended with something acrid, like smoke, filling my lungs.
A man’s voice buzzed around me, speaking words that twisted together, breaking against the rain.
I tried to listen, but his words clashed with a mounting pressure in my skull, a pulsing ache that throbbed louder and louder until I couldn’t help but scream.
I woke with a start, my skin damp with sweat, my heart still thundering in my chest. Just a dream.
The massive bed cradled me as I sat up, taking in my room in Mountheim’s castle before reaching for the glass of water beside my ring on the nightstand.
Early light crept in through the window as I prepared to meet Gwinifer in the training room.
This time, I slid into black leggings and a snug black shirt, trying to follow her instructions. My hair was pulled into a high ponytail, though loose strands insisted on framing my face.
“Look at that. She really came,” Gwinifer said. “I guess I owe you.”
“I have no idea what that means,” I replied breezily as I strode into the room, its floor almost fully covered by a thick rubber mat that swallowed the sound of my footsteps.
Bright spotlights blazed overhead, making it difficult to see the ceiling.
In the far corner, Finnegan stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “We had a little wager on whether you’d make it to the lesson.” His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “And I won.”
“I told you I’d come. So, if you’re still up for teaching me, I’ll take you up on it.”
Gwinifer’s arms were firmly folded over her chest, one hip cocked to the side, looking every bit the unimpressed teacher sizing up a difficult student. Without a word, she motioned me over with a jerk of her chin, and I stepped closer.
Today it was just the three of us. We started with a warm-up, jumping and running across the mat in unison. Gwinifer and Finnegan moved effortlessly, their steps light and precise, like dancers whose movements were hardwired into muscle memory. I, however, was gasping for breath far too soon.
After a few minutes, Gwinifer demonstrated the defensive moves, stepping up to spar with Finnegan in what I could only describe as a real fight. I watched, trying to learn.
She was fast, though shorter and more petite than both of us. Her body was lean and defined, every one of her movements precise and fluid.
Finnegan’s manoeuvres were efficient, his larger frame giving him the upper hand in strength. Every now and then, he’d land a hit, and she would sway back a fraction, recalibrating her stance with a smirk that made me wonder if she liked the challenge.
“So, the key is to be faster than him. Don’t let him catch you,” I said aloud.
Her leg shot up, meeting Finn’s ribs with a solid thud that sent him stumbling backward. She dropped swiftly to a crouch, sweeping her leg out and knocking his feet out from under him. He hit the mat with a grunt.
“That’s correct,” she said, her breath a bit ragged. “Your turn.”
She tilted her head toward Finnegan, who was already pushing himself up, looking more amused than fazed.
“Get ready, Red. Set your stance,” she instructed, and I squared my feet shoulder-width apart, fists raised in front of me as I eyed the emissary.
“You’ll make the first move. Finn will block and then counter,” she instructed.
He stepped forward, and we began circling each other, matching each other’s side steps.
I waited for a beat, until he was mid-step, then threw a quick right jab aimed at his chin.
He blocked it effortlessly, his arms coming up in a practiced motion.
I pulled my fists back, and he followed up with a strike, controlled and softer than he’d shown with Gwinifer, though just as precise.
“Atkus.” Gwinifer’s voice cut through the room. “What was that? This isn’t some slow-motion drill.”
“I thought you said she didn’t have experience.”
“I don’t,” I replied.
“Then you need to learn the movements before I go full speed,” he argued with a mix of challenge and delight.
Gwinifer clicked her tongue, her hands on her hips. “You and Reagan never change. Fine. Carry on.”
We moved into a rhythm, Finn ramping up his speed slightly with each exchange. I focused on the instructions, working to match his pace.
After a few minutes, we took a quick break, then jumped back in, me replicating the movements they’d shown with as much precision as I could.
I was panting, my breath ragged and heavy.
I thought I was in decent shape since I walked to work and took dance classes.
But that didn’t compare to this. Gwinifer and Finnegan had bodies made of all lean muscle and control, while mine felt softer, a bit slower.
Dancing had given me some agility that came with stamina and a slender frame, but this was something else.
It was precise and demanding. Sweat was already beading on my forehead, rolling down in stinging tracks.
“How often do you fight like this?” I asked, catching my breath as I blocked a punch Gwinifer aimed at my side.
“You mean in real fights?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she motioned for me to strike. “Often enough. I would say, at least twice a week.”
“Do you fight just people or creatures, too?” I threw a punch at her shoulder, but she sidestepped it.
“Both,” she answered with a quick nod. “But most creatures we can usually see coming and manage to wield a charm in time. Assholes can get you off guard more easily.”
“Are assholes common at the bor—”
Her fist clipped the side of my face, hard enough to make me step back, blinking. I raised a hand to my cheek, feeling the dull throb where she’d struck.
“If you’re serious about learning, better get used to that,” she said, dropping her arms to her sides. “And to answer your question, they’re everywhere. All sorts of idiots.”
My frustration flared as the ache in my cheek sharpened. “If they’re idiots, it should be easier to just use your fancy abilities. All this hand-to-hand fighting feels like a lot of work.”
She gave a dismissive laugh. “Oh, it’d be easier. But unfortunately, it’s still forbidden to use our powers to torture anyone who attacks or endangers Mountheim. But this I can use.” She gestured to her fists.
“I didn’t say torture,” I pointed out.
“Right,” she replied, eyes glinting. “Of course, you’d just kindly ask them to stop, wouldn’t you?”
I rolled my eyes. “What exactly is forbidden, then?”
“Good question,” she replied, the grin leaving her face. “Best to learn that sooner than later, especially hexes.”
The word caught my interest.
“Remember when I told you about the illegal crafts?” Finnegan asked from his place on the bench, leaning back against the wall.
“Torture is possible through a hex. All hexes are considered illegal crafts. They are forbidden, with exceptions. Some are outlawed because of their consequences, like the Praeruptum Hex for time manipulation. No mageborn is allowed to interfere with the threads of time. But the good thing is, it’s extremely difficult to do.
Thankfully, only a handful are capable of that. ”
Distracted, I nearly missed the next punch Gwinifer threw, blocking it just in time. She bowed her head in silent approval.
“There are the obvious hexes for necromancers that can raise the dead. Even fewer people can manage this one, and magisters treat it as one of the greatest offences in magecraft. Every single hex comes with a natural cost to even the scores.” He paused, his voice reluctant.
“The same goes for ending someone’s life. It’s called Morscium, the death hex.”
Gwin signalled for us to stop; every trace of amusement had drained from her face. “And with that, we’re done for today, Red.”
◆◆◆
The next day, Reagan joined us, and we ran through the same warm-ups before pairing off for sparring. Gwinifer paired with me, saying the gentlemen wouldn’t do me any favours by going easy.
I agreed with her, appreciating the way she pushed me. Each strike was precise, as if she were testing my limits, not treating me like a defenceless person.
She’d show me each move slowly, then let me mimic her.
More often than not, my own lack of control ended up hurting me more than her punches.
Still, she managed to catch me on the chin, the arm, and several times sent me to the mat.
I’d pant, mutter a few cursed words, but each time, I’d get back up.
Then came the jab that caught me off guard. A sharp pain shot through my side, intense enough to make me sink to the mat and stay. I struggled to catch my breath while Gwinifer crouched beside me, guiding me on how to breathe through the pain.
“Focus on your breath,” Gwinifer instructed, placing a firm hand on my back to guide my inhales. “Mind over matter. Think of it loosening, leaving you. It will pass. Keep that in mind.”
I followed her advice, taking short, controlled breaths, focusing on the idea that the sting would fade.
Moments later, we were back on our feet.
Across the room, Finn and Reagan sparred on a different level, not because they were men, but because they flung.
The sudden vanishing of one, the electric tension between them, kept pulling my eyes.
Fast. Fluid. Their leaps behind each other left me struggling to follow.
Muscles shifted beneath their shirts, a warning of surprise blows I’d prefer not to feel aimed at me.
My awe was cut short by hard knuckles slamming into my shoulder, knocking me off balance. The impact reverberated through my entire arm.