“Well enough. And you?”
“You barely caught me. It scabbed over straight away. Fenix isn’t here. Just the usual guard and the people watching in the periphery.”I give him the information as quickly as I can.“They do a good job around camp of hiding it, but there is a distinct movement of people. I can’t see much from my tent, but every few hours there are people moving about, as if one group are coming back, and another one is going. My bet is they keep the perimeter.”Apart from that observation and the fact that my brother isn’t around, there’s little to report. Certainly, no cunning plan, hatched and formed.
“Kalan came to see us. He’s still here. And he told us?—”
“If your progress with magic is slow, perhaps your brother was correct in this assessment, and you’ll be a quicker study with weapons.” The Usher’s voice interrupts our connection, and I look out at Ten and Crimson, two swords in the centre of the ring.
“I won’t fight them.” And Fenix isn’t here to make them fight me.
“You don’t need to. But you will learn. Pick it up. Who you fight is up to you. I don’t care, but you will become proficient with a sword.”
“I thought you needed my magic, not my sword skills?” My hands shove to my hips and wait for the answer.
But he doesn’t give me one. Just stands there, the impression of a frail old man almost complete. “If you think waiting me out is the answer, be my guest.”
Aside from cracking a seam through the sky and turning it black that one time, I’ve not seen or felt the Usher’s magic. Is he a threat? Do I want to make him my enemy any more than he already is?
“Ten?”I look at him and Crimson, and I remember that this isn’t about me. It’s about them. So, I suck in a deep breath, and wish it made me feel better about doing this, because it goes against every instinct I have. Stepping forward, I pick up the blades and hand the other one to Crimson. She’s the Warrior. I nod as she takes the weapon, careful not to make any contact.
“Teach me.”
“Ever, your brother?—”
“I need to focus. We need to play along. Please.”I shove my thoughts away and block as best I can while I keep my attention on Crimson.
This isn’t like when I stepped into that ring back in Kirraisa, brimming with frustration and wanting to let loose and win at all costs. Now, I need to see Crimson as an ally. A skilled, lethal ally who can help.
And to her credit, she doesn’t take the advantage and come at me all blades blazing. She steps into a stance I’m familiar with and waits for me to copy before slowly moving through a series of positions with the sword.
I follow. Absorbing every single detail she puts on display for me. But we don’t fight. Not yet. She raises her dominant arm with the sword, and I follow, mirroring her. She picks up the pace, moving faster, combining a swing with a block and then a similar action but on the reverse side.
And in a very un-Crimson-like move, she nods to me before she springs forward with the blade raised.
I defend her first strike easily, the clash of metal reverberating down my hands and through my body, before I push her back. She’s not going full-throttle. I know what that feels like. This is calculated, giving me the edge I need to learn. To fight.
I make sure that whatever energy I have goes into shielding, so I don’t accidentally draw her power.
After a few minutes, my arms grow tired from the weight of lifting and swinging the blade back and forth, over and over. It’s not the weapon I’d ever want to choose in battle. It’s cumbersome and heavy. But with every strike we make, I think of Crimson’s blade as belonging to Fenix, and how I might need to defend or attack it.
Attack him.
A few more combinations, and I pause and raise my hand to stop as I plant the tip into the ground and use the handle as a support, while I drag air into my lungs.
“Ever?”
I shake my head at Ten.“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Save your strength.”
“Do you think Warriors will wait for you to catch your breath?” The Usher chastises from the sidelines.
“A Warrior wouldn’t. But they would also be fully trained. You can’t expect her to be as good as us without the time to get there. Now, back off.” Crimson steps forward to the Usher, defending me. Again. “She needs physical training. Not just her magic or her blade skills. She needs to be physically fit.”
The Usher pulls back his cloak and walks towards us, and every part of my body tenses with anticipation—and fear—as to what he might do to Crimson for her critique.
“Very well. You will be responsible for her fitness and skill. Her brother will support and utilise the other,” he looks over toTen, who’s waiting on the edge of the ring, “as he sees fit. Now. Again.”
“What’s the hurry?” I push again. “My magic doesn’t feel the same way here as it did in Kirrasia. I’m more tired and have nothing to… draw from.”
