Even that stings.
“Back to formalities?” I ask as I cross the tower to the bench where my practice sword is waiting for me. Severin says nothing, and I try not to let him see the hurt it causes me.
Keeping my face neutral, I unclasp my cloak from around my neck, then shiver lightly in my long-sleeved tunic. I’m cold now, but once I start to move, my body will heat up.
I unsheathe the sword and admire the way it gleams in the light of the setting sun. Then I draw a breath and turn to face Severin.
His expression gives me pause.
Usually, he’s stoic, cold and hard as polished marble. But right now, with the golden light cutting across his face, he looks... tired. Worn. Like he’s becoming depleted before my eyes.
And I know I could feed him. I want so badly to give him the sustenance he needs.
But if I push the topic now, he’ll push back even harder. It’s not yet the time. So instead, I flex my fingers around the hilt of my practice sword and move to join Severin in the center of the tower.
I take my fighting stance, the one we started with all those training sessions ago.
The crisp wind tugs my hair back from my face, and somewhere far below the tower, laughter drifts upward through the air, coming from students still lingering on the academy grounds before nightfall. Up here, though, with Severin’s gaze on me, I feel like time is suspended, like it could go on forever and I wouldn’t even notice it passing by.
Is that how he feels, having lived such a long life? Does time feel meaningless to him?
“Your stance is too stiff,” Severin says, gaze dipping to my feet where they’re braced against the stone.
He’s right. I take a moment to shake out my arms and legs, trying to release the tension. Then I try again, taking my stance once more. We’ve drilled these so many times now, I’m familiar with them.
What I’m not familiar with is the distance Severin keeps from me as I begin to move through my combinations. He circles me, keeping a watchful eye without stepping too near me. And that distance hurts.
“The power should come from your core,” Severin explains after I demonstrate a sloppy thrust. “Not from your arm. Try again.”
Typically, he’d be beside me, brushing his fingertips over the muscle groups he wants me to activate, adjusting my hips while his breath brushes my ear. But not tonight. Tonight, it’s almost like we’re strangers again.
I hate this.
I thrust again, gritting my teeth as I channel my power into the movement. And without meaning to, I send a spiderweb of blue-and-white sparks dancing along the length of the sword. The air snaps with the electrical current, a sharp crack that echoes off the stone wall encircling the spire.
Severin stills, his eyes narrowing as he watches me. And for a moment, he doesn’t speak, just waits as the sparks webbing along the sword flicker out, leaving us once more in the fading light of dusk.
“Again,” he says, his voice low, emotionless.
My frustration mounts as I reset my stance, static building in the space around me.
Why is he being like this? He said he couldn’t feed from me again, not that he couldn’t be with me, touch me,holdme.
I swallow down my emotions and ready my sword again. This time as I move through my combinations, my sword arcing through the cold air, I shift subtly in Severin’s direction, trying to bring myself closer to him. But with each step I takeforward, he takes one back or to the side, carefully maintaining the distance between us.
And finally, I’ve had it.
“Stop,” I growl, breaking my combination and lunging toward Severin.
As I expected, he lifts his sword and parries me easily, as if I’m nothing but a kitten batting at his finger.
“Stop what?”
“Acting like this!” I swing at him again, and our swords meet with a violent clang, sending vibrations through the steel and into my hands where they’re gripping the hilt.
Severin pushes back, sending me stumbling.
“How would you have me act?” he asks, lifting his sword now, taunting me into a strike.
