Page 126 of Blade of the Nightking

There. The opening I'd hoped for.

I twisted hard to one side, slipping a hip out from beneath him before he could settle his weight again. The movement drew my knees tighter to my chest, freeing one leg completely. I planted my boot squarely against his chest and shoved with everything I had.

He rocked backward and landed hard on his ass.

I was on my feet in an instant, retreating across the mat as adrenaline roared through my body.

I’d done it. I’d actually gotten out.

I braced for his fury. But Rìan only looked up at me from where he sat. One corner of his mouth twitched.

Slowly, he rose back to his feet. Then he squared himself opposite me once more.

“Again.”

And so the hour wore on.

He would throw me to the mat.

And I would escape him.

Hip thrust upward. Twist sideways. Knee tucked tight to my chest. Foot planted hard against his sternum. Shove.

Over and over until the movement stopped feeling clumsy and desperate and instead became smooth. Fluid. Instinctive. Every successful escape sent a fierce thrill racing through me.

I'd figured out how to break his hold. Me. The realization ignited something deep inside me.

Finally, after one particularly vicious kick to his chest shoved him back farther than before, he lifted a hand. “That's enough.”

I collapsed at the edge of the mat, breathing hard. Sweat clung to my skin, dampening the back of my shirt. A reckless sense of triumph welled inside me. "Had enough?"

He snorted softly, though not even the ghost of a smile touched his face.

“Arrogance is often just as dangerous as stupidity,” he replied. “Don’t add it to your already impressive list of deficiencies.”

A growl rose in my throat at the insult. “Seems like quite the oversight, teaching me how to beat you.”

“I'm not teaching you to beat me. I'm teaching you to survive me.”

I scoffed, shaking my head.

He rested an arm across his raised knee. “Physically, you're at a disadvantage. You'd be a fool to believe otherwise. So sharpen your mind. Think quickly under pressure. Adapt. React. If you can do that, it becomes possible—not guaranteed, but possible—to survive situations you otherwise shouldn't.”

Something about the blunt practicality of it irritated me all the more.

“You think very highly of me.”

He rose smoothly to his feet with a shrug. “Segolayne seems to. She warned me you have a semblance of a mind. Even if you only use it selectively.”

I stared. Segolayne had said that about me? She'd never once given me a compliment. If anything, she'd spent weeks tearing me down. And yet she'd spoken well of me behind my back.

Any warmth the thought inspired vanished beneath the memory of the slash I'd left across her face. She had every reason to hate me now.

Rìan brushed the dust from his trousers. “She’s fine,” he said, as though plucking the thought straight from my head. “Though I thought it best to move her from the apartments for now. She's not particularly pleased with you at the moment. Nadja will occupy the adjoining room instead.”

The image of the servant's mouth rose unbidden. The dark, empty space where her tongue should have been. Fresh anger surged through me.

Rìan looked up sharply. “What is it now?”