“Better.” He steps in front of me. “Now breathe.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I am breathing.”
One of his brows arches. “Maeve.”
“Okay, okay.” I take a heavy breath, then exhale.
“Inhale through your nose. Slowly. The breath should expand here.” He reaches out, very gently touching the area just below my ribs. “Not here.” His fingers drift to my sternum, making my heart pound. “Try again.”
I do. He makes me breathe like that for so long that I wonder if this is going to be the entire lesson. But by the time I get the hang of it, I’m surprised to find that my racing heart has calmed, and my muscles feel looser, lighter.
“Your magic surges because you surge,” he says. “Everything comes from within.”
I continue to breathe.
“Now, raise the sword.”
Still breathing, and being mindful not to grip the hilt too hard, I lift the sword.
“Not from your shoulders—from your center. Try again.”
Trying not to be annoyed, I lower the sword, then lift it again, this time engaging my stomach muscles as I do. There’s a subtle difference, but a difference nonetheless.
“Now step forward with your right foot.”
Following his instructions, I step forward, but the weight of the sword pulls me off-balance, and I stumble.
“Try again. Be mindful of the weight you’re carrying.”
He has me practice stepping forward and back, and when I no longer wobble, he guides me through pivoting, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. Itsoundssimple, but my body is already starting to ache, and I haven’t even swung the sword yet—all I’ve done is lift and lower it and hold it aloft.
“Close your eyes,” he says softly. “You shouldfeelwhere your body is without needing sight to ground you.”
I take a breath—the way he taught me—then let it out slowly and close my eyes. Immediately, stepping and shifting my weight becomes much more difficult, and I stumble a few times before getting the hang of it.
“Well done.”
At his praise, I open my eyes, and somehow, my vision feels sharper.
Severin steps in front of me, holding his own sword. “Now,” he says, “we begin.”
Nowwe begin? An hour must’ve already passed, and my muscles are aching. But I bite back my complaint and give him a subtle nod.
I want him to know that I can do this. I want to prove tomyselfthat I can do this.
“Do not strike,” he says. “Follow. Mirror my movements. Remember your balance, and don’t grip.”
He readies his stance, and I copy him. Then he lifts his sword and moves, sweeping it slowly and deliberately to one side. I follow the movement, arm muscles trembling, and am once again surprised at how difficult this is. He makes it look soeasy, like anyone could pick up a sword and start swinging it around. I realize now how much work he must’ve put into his art.
Bringing the sword up, he sweeps it the other way. I follow. Then he lifts it toward me, and when I lift mine, our swords make contact, and the vibration rumbles up the blade and into my fingers.
“Find the resistance,” he says, still pushing his sword against mine, forcing me to meet him with equal pressure. “Don’t push into it. Redirect it. Let the energy flow.”
Gritting my teeth against his balanced strength, I shift my wrist just a bit, and it’s enough to send Severin’s blade gliding along my own, until it slides away and meets the air again.
He smiles at me. “Good. Now, again.”
We continue in this way, with me mirroring him, until I no longer brace for impact when his blade meets mine. And when I send his sword gliding harmlessly off mine, using my breath to help guide me through the movement, he nods and lowers his weapon.
