Wesley stepped up to the railing across the stern, gun steady and aimed out into the open ocean. “All right. Let it go.”
Sebastian released the lever on the trap thrower, and the coil launched the clay disk into the air off the back of the ship. Wesley tracked it for a moment, then fired, the sharp crack echoing over the wind and ship’s engines.
The clay disk shattered midair.
Sebastian’s eyebrows went up. “Wow.”
“Flattering, I’m sure, but we’re not here for me to indulge.” Wesley stepped back, holding the shotgun out to Sebastian. “Here.”
Sebastian took the gun and stood where Wesley had been. He watched the white-tipped waves for a moment, not feeling a fraction as easy as Wesley had looked. “The clay isn’t bad for the fishies, is it?”
“Sebastian de Leon—”
“It was just aquestion. I still want to learn.” Sebastian raised the gun and nodded once.
Wesley released the trap, which launched into the air. Sebastian followed its path, then pulled the trigger.
The clay disk spun on, untouched, falling out of sight.
Sebastian sighed.
Wesley cleared his throat. “You, er. Had your knees locked. Perhaps if you eased your stance before you tried again?”
Sebastianwasstanding very stiffly. He tried to relax, loosening his shoulders as he brought the gun up again. Wesley launched a second trap, and Sebastian fired a second time.
Yet again he missed, the disk spinning away into the ship’s wake.
“That was—better?” Wesley said cautiously.
Sebastian huffed. “No. It wasn’t.”
“It’s possible you’re holding your breath—”
“Wesley.” Sebastian turned around, careful to keep the gun lowered. “Stop handling me with the baby gloves.”
“Kidgloves,” said Wesley. “And I’m not—”
“You are,” Sebastian said. “You need to be honest. You can’t—what is that word you say—you can’tcoddleme.”
Wesley frowned. “I’ve never coddled anyone in my life.”
“You’re doing it now.” Sebastian set the gun down on the closest deck chair. “You know I can’t rely on you and Arthur and everyone else for protection forever. I need to know how to defend myself without magic.”
Wesley sighed. “I won’t argue with you about that,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’m not a very good teacher.”
Sebastian shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true,” Wesley said. “I haven’t the faintest idea how to offer gentle correction; I only know how to teach by being harsh.”
So be harsh. I won’t break.Sebastian didn’t say it. Wesley’s sharp edges were a defense he’d built against life’s cruelties and too many people were willing to use him as a villain. Sebastian wouldn’t have ever wanted to be harsh with Wesley either.
But he’d bet Wesley was actually a very good teacher, if they could figure out a way Wesley would be in his element. “Did you ever teach your soldiers to shoot?”
Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going with this?”
“What if this was wartime?” Sebastian said. “You are Captain Fine again—”
“Collins.”
