Right now, Mist is out patrolling, giving us time to train. My bonded familiar and I are both on edge—we have been ever since we left the inn. Even though we have successfully avoided people so far, every so often, I feel eyes on us. I can never find the source, though.
We won’t be able to avoid others forever. Our supplies are finite, and we’re going to run out soon. All I can hope is that we reach our destination before then.
Wren quirks a brow. “What I’m hearing you say is I need a bigger weapon.”
“You think you’re ready for that?”
She circles me, grinning. “Maybe. You tell me.”
“Eventually. You’re paying attention, right?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Remember—” I start to say. “A distracted warrior is a dead warrior,” she finishes with me. The mantra is one I’ve gone over with her time and again since we started these lessons.
Heat suffuses my chest, knowing that she’s been listening.
I mirror her movements, easily falling into this familiar dance. I’ve been training with weapons ever since I could walk, and it feels as natural as breathing.
Wren’s eyes are glued to me as she tries to anticipate my movements. Watching. Waiting. The first time we practiced her defensive tactics, I had her pinned to the ground in less than a minute. But she didn’t give up. Instead, she got to her feet and asked to go again.
So we did.
I feign lunging at Wren before changing direction, coming at her left. She moves away. I follow. She steps back, and I come at her.
Each of her movements is quick, becoming more instinctual with every passing day.
I thrust my dagger, and her arm rises. Our blades clash, and I grin as she pushes back against me, stopping me from coming closer. Wren’s chest heaves, and her teeth are gritted. Determination shines in her beautiful eyes.
“Good job, little bird.” The praise comes easily, and the flush of her cheeks has me wanting to draw that look from her every day. “That was your fastest block yet.”
“It was good, but not great,” she says, panting.
“These things take time. Practice and patience. You’ll get there.”
Wren’s eyes move from where our daggers meet to my face, her lips pinched together. Her Mark pulses, and a moment later, she steps back. Shakes her head. “What if we don’t have a lot of time? What if your nightmares come true?”
They’ve been haunting me, these warnings from the king. They’re all the same. The crimson dragon. Burning flames. Wren screaming and being taken from me.
He’s searching for us; I can feel it in my bones.
“I promised to protect you, and I am a man of my word.” Lifting my blade, I incline my head. “And as for time, we shouldn’t waste a second.”
Wren adjusts her stance and exhales. “Again?”
I make a “come here” gesture with my free hand. “Again. Come at me, little bird. Show me what you can do.”
And she does.
“You’re such a good horse, do you know that?” Wren’s soft voice reaches me as I approach her on silent feet.
She’s standing in a small cluster of trees, running a brush down Chaos’s flank. Like Mist, the horse seems enamored with Wren. If she tried to braid the gelding’s mane, I’m fairly certain he’d allow her the privilege without uttering a single complaint.
“I used to think that riding was awful, but I’m getting used to it,” Wren murmurs.
Her hood and cloak are on, hiding her indigo hair and Mark from view. Snow has been lightly falling for hours, since midday, but the nearby mountains shield us from the worst of the weather.
I’m less concerned about the forecast and more about the state of our supplies. It’s been nearly three weeks since we left the inn, and we have enough food to last us three more days if we stretch it.
