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The boots were sturdier and far more manoeuvrable than her slip-ons, so she incorporated them into training and pitted herself against Kaniz’s aerial k?st crew.
They were a lively bunch. In time, Sana’a even learned from the handful of select proteges, for true masters always opened their minds to new competencies.
Kaniz shared a series of bloodthirsty, airborne fight sequences that resembled dancing yet ended with sab?rs through eye-sockets and violent impalings.
Her signature techniques had chilling titles like the ‘wrath-hack’, ‘pinion pucker’, ‘spar and tar’, ‘de-skuller’, ‘de-krester’, and the ‘wing shear’.
She also gave casual instructions on how to choke one’s opponent to unconsciousness.
‘When necessary, of course,’ she added.
Sana’a approved.
Kaniz was patient, guiding her charges on the minutiae, from the strength with which blows were landed to the tempo at which different moves were performed.
Including how long to linger in each position and the exact angles of their blades as they slashed through the air.
‘It’s like learning a mid-flight masquerade,’ Sana’a told Kaniz, relishing the new tricks she was absorbing from the Katánian she was coming to respect.
‘’Tis a dance to death, for the fight sequences are how we Katánians go to battle.’
While nuanced and elegant, the Shotelai way was grounded and savage.
In contrast, the Katánian way was aerodynamic and had predatory grace, from the midair circling to the lightning-quick shallow dives, which were agile and breathtakingly graceful.
Sana’a took the time between sessions to learn the íkan kätu that the Katánian used on their swords.
Fascinated by its mysticism, she studied the k?thi kavaliers train in the arena whenever possible.
The three-dimensional glowing tendrils were complex swirls of life force that circled each blade. This created a delightful, energetic flurry of emotion and energy that propelled the blades faster through the air.
That said, her SHärd daggers were quicker and more dextrous, imbued with pre-perception and precognition.
Still, she kept them hidden, saving their ferocity for when they would be most needed—for her intended purpose.
Which she hoped would be soon.
Very soon.
She lay on a divan in the Sab?r íkhara’s common room, taking a nap.
When Killen ghosted into the room, she didn’t stir, but he sensed a wild spirit pulsing off her, a tangible heat that radiated from her core.
He slowed, landed and darted his hawkstone’s luminescence around.
The sparse room was barren and lifeless, a ghost of its former bustling self, a void in the heart of the íkhara. The chairs sat empty, like forgotten warriors on a battlefield, and the floor was a desolate landscape devoid of any signs of life.
More crucial was the fact it was clear.
Minutes earlier, he’d sent a powerful kusudi intent throughout the place.
Not a soul would disturb them now.
He sauntered to stand over her, staring down at her, mesmerised.
It was as if she were a living flame, and he perceived the strength and power that hid beneath the surface.
Even in slumber, her body was electric and alive, full of passion and energy that crackled and sparked.
