Though Ethenn hesitated, he reset his grip. He adopted the steady expression he usually wore during combat, a flat, almost-bored look that Evylin had learned meant he was concentrating.Though it seemed laughable that Ethenn’s four months of training could hold up against Brea’s untold years as a soldier, Evylin couldn’t help wondering if he could beat her. The hunter’s strength and natural skill gave him enough of an edge that he just might outfight the lieutenant.
Ethenn moved first. He swung his sword to arc under Brea’s blade, but he’d been too slow to bring up the strike, showing his hand early. The swords clanged together, and Brea adjusted appropriately to bear the brunt of its force. Another four connections rang through the air. Brea was fast and controlled, even more so than Evylin, and the young man struggled to keep up with her steady ripostes. Her feet shuffled lightly, her small stature keeping her agile as she moved around Ethenn’s attacks. And in the end, it took only thirty seconds for Brea to find the opening in his defense. With lightning speed, she slapped the inside of his wrist with her blade, lunged forward, and drove one of her triceps up into his right forearm to knock it back, leaving his chest wide open to the tip of her sword.
Staggering to a stop, Ethenn grunted as the blunted tip dug into his stomach.
Evylin slapped a hand over her mouth, unable to hold in her amazed laughter. Ethenn sent her a sour stare. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was just over so quickly.”
Letting down her defense, Brea pointed the sword into the dirt, leaning on the hilt. “Four months of training in swordplay seems about right,” she remarked. “You’re good, but it’s clear that you’re a hunter and not a true soldier. You’ll need several more years of practice to truly become a master.”
A beleaguered expression came to Ethenn’s face. “I know.”
Brea noticed the shift in his demeanor too. “And yet, the truth troubles you?” she noted.
Ethenn hesitated, glancing at Evylin. “It’s only...” He sighed and shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just daunting, knowing I have so much work ahead of me.”
Watching the exchange, Evylin frowned. After their time training in the moors of Wauld, she knew Ethenn well enough now to know he wasn’t telling the whole truth. Only just overcoming her own tendency to distrust others, she allowed him to withhold his private thoughts.
“Don’t worry,” Brea said, unaware. “Your inexperience won’t damn our mission. Together, you’ve both done well over the last two months. You’ll do even better with my training.”
Ethenn gave her a half-smile.
Resuming their lesson, Brea talked with them about the individual strengths and weaknesses that she noticed and how she intended to improve them. Many of the things she’d told Ethenn were the same areas that Evylin had pointed out to him during their one-on-one sessions the last few weeks, which was gratifying. She’d never imagined herself to be a teacher, but it felt good knowing she was better than she’d expected.
However, Evylin didn’t appreciate it when Brea directly contradicted Hewitt’s training by correcting her grip.
“That’s not how Hewitt taught me,” Evylin protested.
“Perhaps not,” she replied, unbothered. “But this is a better way. It’s how the Schonese Imperial Guard are trained.”
Evylin gave her a flat glare. “We’re not in Schon.”
Brea raised a brow but didn’t reply.
Pressing down her defensive reaction, Evylin pursed her lips. “I understand that there are different ways to do things,” she said. “But this worked for Hewitt his entire life, and it works for me. There’s no reason to change it.”
“I would not tell you to do something without reason, Evylin. The grip I’ve shown you is better because you are a woman. It allows you to take less brunt of the blow with your wrists,prolonging your strength.” Brea tapped Evylin’s current grip. “The way you have it now, you don’t have the same mobility. While I’m sure that it worked just fine for your six-and-a-half-foot beast of an uncle, it is not sustainable for your build nor your quick, springy fighting style.”
Feeling as though she were betraying her uncle, Evylin accepted the critique and adjusted her grip. It felt wrong, and she dropped the sword several times during her training bouts with Ethenn, but that was to be expected. Every new skill took time and patience to master. Something she’d learned with Hewitt more than a decade ago.
Brea assigned each of them skills to practice when they weren’t training. She wanted Evylin to work on her dexterity by learning small tricks with knives, as well as improve her accuracy by throwing them. Ethenn’s tasks were to refine his finesse and control. She demonstrated numerous exercises to help tighten his range of motion and make him more aware of his body movements. One of the practice assignments surprised both of her students.
“You want me to do what?” Ethenn asked.
“Dance,” Brea said. “Dancing requires grace, stability, and control. It will sharpen your skills faster than most things. And it’s far more enjoyable than simply standing there, thrusting and brandishing a stick.”
Ethenn grimaced in doubt. “It isn’t like I have an opportunity for dancing.”
Evylin smirked at his discomfort. “We can make an opportunity. I’m sure Ilain would be thrilled.”
He pursed his lips, but Brea nodded. “That’s a good idea, Evylin,” she said. “Perhaps you could start tonight.”
“One problem,” Ethenn said. “I don’t know how to dance.”
“Oh, that’s not true,” Evylin returned. “You danced with me after we saved Prince Ephren.”
“You were drunk.”
“So were you.”
