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I wanted him to know it was me who had taught him how to use a sword. That I knew how to impale one’s heart, and his was no different.
He executed a perfect passe arriere. “The touch of a blade is preferable to the touch of a human.”
“What’s wrong with humans?”
“Everything.” He attempted to hit my shoulder, but I ducked, twirling in place. “You, for instance, talk too much for my liking.”
“Find another trainer.”
A frosty chuckle chilled the air. “We both know you’re too talented to replace, something that cannot be said about the majority of workers.”
“Andras is a better instructor than me.”
“Andras is a dead horse. Bitter and mad at the world. A victim cannot become a victor. And I do not employ losers.”
Our swords zinged, meeting, pulling, then turning away from oneanother.
“You think so highly of yourself,” I growled.
“Only because most creatures are so lowly. Don’t you agree, Jane Doe?”
I advanced, lunging so fast, I left a gust of wind in my wake.
Through sheer athleticism rather than technique, he dodged my two jump flicks and tried but failed to aim at my heart.
I attacked him faster, relentlessly, refusing to give him a break between parries. He stumbled, falling to the floor, his back plastered against the piste.
Get used to this position.
After all, it’s how cooked lobsters are served.
Zach tried to recover. To spring to his feet. No matter how stellar his reflexes, he couldn’t match my practiced speed.
By the time his neck lifted off the alloy, his mask met the tip of my sword, making up for the two times he had his knife aimed at me.
The scoreboard beeped.
9-7.
A knot untightened in my stomach as I pressed my foot against his knee, stopping him from standing.
With a flick of my sword, I tossed the épée from his hand.
Zach remained on the piste, calm and collected under his mask, his chest barely rising with his breaths.
“That’s one very red card, Jane Doe.”
“Red happens to be my favorite color.”
I used the point of my épée to remove his mask, neck to scalp, careful not to graze his beautiful face with my blade.
As much as I hated to admit it, ruining such art would be a waste.
Zach was revealed to me inch by inch like the slow draw of a theater curtain, his stoic face unwavering and utterly breathtaking.
Somehow, his eyes tangled with mine through my mask. A shiver ran down my spine.
We weren’t touching.
