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Biting my lip, I turn to Sabelle. “My father needs help. I have to go to him.”
“I heard—with my ears. You can’t leave. It’s too dangerous.”
She’s right. Going out alone is like a neon sign to Mathias to abduct me. And if my father is being coerced or does have any lingering allegiance to the creep, I’m playing into his hands.
Now what? “I have to help him…”
“Invite your father here. I’ll let him past our protections for the day. We can help him find a secure location to dodge the Anarki.”
I squeeze Sabelle’s hand. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“I heard it. You forgot to sing.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Marrok
Minutes after commencing training, I shake my head. The wizards are terrible. Their fisticuff skills are deplorable and their sword fighting laughable. Firearms…I fear attempting that. No telling what—or who—they might shoot. Clearly, anything as complex as martial arts, much less explosives or modified weaponry, must wait. But as I doff my sweaty shirt and the surprisingly strong October sun beats on my back, I find myself surrounded by men committed to becoming great fighters…and feel a kinship I haven’t in over a thousand years.
I enjoyed the brotherhood with Arthur and his army. In some ways, Bram reminds me of my king: shrewd, fair…deceitful when it suits him. I suspect he has a secret plan beyond our alliance, but that was often Arthur’s way. I hate to admit thus, but my opinion of Bram increased this day. The spoiled, attention-seeking coxcomb is actually a leader.
Still, I trust him not. Well, not completely. He is magical and used to manipulation to win his way. At the moment, his goals align with mine.
For now, that is enough.
Afternoon rolls into early evening. Hours after nightfall, the sweating, exhausted wizards head inside. Massive amounts of food are consumed in minutes.
“You poor nonmagical bastards.” Ice rolls his shoulders, working through unaccustomed soreness. “You did this every day for years to master that rubbish?”
Duke groans. “This makes waving a wand look damn easy.”
“Hell. I’m not sure I’ve got legs anymore,” Shock complains.
“You will feel them tomorrow,” I quip. “The lot of you is pitifully out of shape. You look fit…”
“We aren’t meant to lift fifty-pound swords for five hours or knock off one another’s heads with our fists.” Lucan grimaces, stretching his tightening neck.
“Think you of how much better prepared we will be to meet the Anarki,” I reply.
Bram rolls his eyes. “That’s the only thought that’s kept me moving for the past two hours.”
Lucan snorts. “Precisely. I’m motivated by not allowing some soulless, flesh-rotting bastard to mop the floor with me again.”
“More, gentlemen?” Sabelle calls from the far end of the obscenely long dining hall, lifting a platter laden with food.
Duke and Lucan both thank her and decline. Shock follows suit, rising to his feet with a vicious curse.
“Naught more for me,” I add. “My thanks for a wonderful meal.”
“Anytime. I just wave my wand…” She shrugs. “I have it pretty easy.”
Bram tries to shoo her out. Instead, she smiles and turns to Ice, who stares back.
He looks as if he wants to consume her whole.
“We haven’t met. I’m Sabelle.”
He shoots to his feet, towering over her and closing what little distance lay between them. His green eyes burn into her as he sticks out his hand. “Isdernus Rykard.”
