The others carry on the conversation just fine without him. Especially Evain and Freya, who seem like two of a kind. Marta becomes much more talkative too when morning’s over. Shae doesn’t say much from his position plastered under one of Arthur’s arms, but he answers Haldis’s practical questions about the road to Lyrisenia and the state of the Lanwatch Riverswords.
When he’s done eating, Leth stands up. He can’t sit still anymore. “I’m going to check on the horses.”
Evain catches up to him three steps later. “The horses could use ten more minutes’ rest. In the meantime, might I have the tremendous honor of sparring with you, fair sword-witch?”
Temptation halts Leth in his tracks.
This is hardly the first time Evain has asked to spar with him. Back in the Locksmiths, Evain used to ask incessantly, especially after the first time he saw Leth lay Ronan flat on his back. Leth always refused.
But he’s in a weird mood today, and maybe taking it out on Evain wouldn’t be so bad.
“All right.” Leth unbuckles the sword and knife from his belt. “No blades, no magic.” He doesn’t trust himself with a blade right now, and he doesn’t actually want to skewer Evain.
Evain sighs. “Agreed, though dueling to death would be very romantic.”
Okay. Maybe he wants to skewer Evain a little bit.
Leth sets his blades down on the bench, already feeling his nerves starting to settle despite Evain’s aggravation. He unfastens his coat as well.
“Oh, I love duels,” Freya says. “Who wants to bet with me?”
Haldis scoffs. “I don’t know about your Radiant Order, butourvows forbid gambling.”
“Yes, yes, it’s very bad.” Marta’s head bobs, and she moves to sit very close to Freya. “Extremely forbidden.” Then she leans up to whisper into Freya’s ear, and Haldis rolls her eyes.
Whatever they’re betting, Leth doesn’t care. He drops his coat on the bench and looks up in time to see Evain’s coat sliding from his shoulders too. The movement pulls Evain’s shirt across his shoulders, stretching the collar to bare a broader expanse of tan skin. Next, Evain rolls up his sleeves, revealing well-muscled forearms. His gloves are already gone, and there’s something distracting about the precise movements of his hands.
Freya whistles appreciatively, and Leth feels a stab of irritation. He stalks away from the fire pit. “First to the ground?”
“Perfect.” Evain follows close, and murmurs for Leth’s ears alone: “I’ve always wanted to see you on your back.”
Annoyance flares again. Leth’s never sure whether it’s better or worse that he knows Evain isn’t singling him out. The man’s like this with everyone.
“Want me to count you in?” Arthur calls out from the benches. When Leth nods, he doesn’t waste time. “On three. Ready? One, two, three.”
Neither strikes at first.
Leth circles slowly, light on his feet, and Evain mirrors him. All of Leth’s senses sharpen into focus. He doesn’t hear the voices of the guild merchants and travelers downriver, but he hears the slight crunch of Evain’s boots in the dirt. Leth’s blood heats against the winter’s chill, all his annoyance gone. Only anticipation remains.
The size advantage is clearly Evain’s, but Leth has been fighting people bigger than him since childhood. He knows how to use his speed and agility to overcome brute strength. What he doesn’t know is Evain’s hand-to-hand experience. He’s only seen Evain fight with magic before, usually at range.
Evain’s torso tenses under his shirt, telegraphing his movement an instant early. He lunges forward with an explosive punch—clearly a feint. Leth shifts his weight and spins around the real kick that follows. The world narrows to Evain’s shoulder, brushing his in a whisper of friction and heat.
Leth drives an elbow into the other man’s back, then barely swings his head away from Evain’s tensed fingers. He dances back, excitement brewing in his veins. That wasn’t a punch to the head, it was a grab for his hair. Fighting dirty. Evain is clearly more than just a ranged fighter.
A grin curves Leth’s lips. This is exactly what he needs today.
They meet again and again, trading blows that rarely land, designed more to test than to harm. Freya and Marta’s cheers are a distant accompaniment; all Leth hears is Evain’s breath. All he sees is a gleam of sweat on Evain’s neck, as they both warm with the exertion. Evain’s dark hair falls loose from its braid. The tempo quickens until Leth isn’t thinking anymore, only moving. Always moving. Always darting back at the last instant. He has to keep his distance to win this.
The next round should be more of the same. Neither of them has tired yet. Leth sidesteps Evain’s next move, raising his knee and bracing for—
His mistake is looking at Evain’s face.
The intensity of Evain’s gaze is arresting. A shocking totality of focus, all centered on Leth. As if the two of them are the only ones in the world. Loose strands of hair flow away from Evain’s chiseled features, and sunlight catches in Evain’s dark eyes.
Leth falters for half a step, and that’s all it takes.
Evain’s hand closes burning hot around his shoulder. With a strength far surpassing anything he’d shown before, he shoves Leth down. Leth can’t recover and can’t resist.
