The scent of chestnuts roasting over firepits drifted through the training field, mingling with the crisp bite of morning air. I rolled my shoulders, trying to unwind some of the tension. This training exercise doesn’t make sense. Seth had blamed it on Giulia’s death, but other than hearing whispers and speculation from my squadron mates, the officers had said nothing else about how the training was connected to that.
I bought a cup of morning wine from an enterprising member of our tribe who’d come up to the training field and headed toward the sparring rings. Better to get Darya’s orders over with sooner rather than later.
The areas around the sparring rings were packed. Unusually so. A dense crowd had gathered around one in particular, energy thrumming with excitement. I frowned, leaving my squadron and moving through the crowd to reach the ring master and sign my name.
A roar of cheers erupted just as I broke through the crowd. A half-naked man had pinned some poor fool to the center of the mat.
Not just any half-naked man.
Rykr.
I froze.
He stood in the center of the ring, the champion of the match and free of his irons. Sweat gleamed over his bare chest. A cut marked his temple, there was another on his forearm—seemed that someone had gotten close enough to nick him, but not enough to slow him down. He looked … relaxed.
The ring master, Jabari Bankole, lifted Rykr’s hand in triumph. Another wave of cheers. Rykr’s gaze found mine.
As though he sensed me.
The moment our eyes met, the corner of his split lip curled in a smile. My heart lurched and I tore my gaze away.
What the fuck is he doing here?
As another man from our tribe climbed into the ring for the next match, I spotted Tara, who sat with Amahle at the ringside, laughing.
Tara saw me and waved me over. I swallowed back a gulp of wine and pushed through the crowd, nearly spilling my drink as I walked.
“Are you off watchtower duty at last?” Tara asked when I reached her. She scooted over to make room.
I nodded, still thrown by what I’d just seen, then gestured toward Rykr. “What is he doing here?”
“We’ve been here since three in the morning. I brought my squadron over to get an early start on the sparring. Five hours later and … here we are.” Tara rolled her eyes.
That she had tolerated him this long boded well. Maybe he wasn’t as obnoxious with her as he was with me.
“He’s won matches for five straight hours?” I gawked at Rykr. He was barely breathing hard.
That also meant that he hadn’t slept. At all. He’d left me well after midnight.
“He had a couple of breaks, but yes, basically.” Amahle leaned forward with an amused shake of her head. “I’d say a few people have gotten their money’s worth already this morning. The bets started early.”
My gods, why does he have to be so good at everything? I knew he was skilled after the nights of training—but this? Five hours straight?
What else can he do for five hours?
The heated thought curled through me unbidden, and I prayed he was too busy fighting to have heard it.
“You know how to pick them,” Amahle said as the next match began. Her brown eyes glittered in the early morning sunlight. “He’s … impressive. I’ve heard more than one woman cursing your name this morning.”
Just what I need. “They can have him.” I avoided looking into the ring. “They won’t be able to fit in a tent with him and his ego.”
“You should be careful,” Tara said in a low voice. “The way some people have been watching him makes me want to claw their eyes out.”
The idea bothered me more than I cared to admit.
“Madoc is going to be so mad when he realizes he missed this.” Amahle smirked. “Not just the sparring championship, but the chance to kick the ass of the man who’s sharing a bed with his little sister.”
I held my breath, waiting for Tara’s reaction. For a second, her gaze clouded, then she blinked brightly at Amahle. “Yeah, he’ll be pissed.” She threw back a mouthful of mead, her smile tense.
