Page 59 of Embers of Ruin

Fine. Let them escape. At least one part of me should.

Mazelle is waiting outside my chambers with Onyx, Briar, and Riven when I step into the corridor. Briar shoots me a sympathetic look. Riven, on the other hand, looks far too pleased with himself, as though he'd love nothing more than to see me knocked on my ass.

I point a finger at him. “Don't look so excited.”

Riven's eyes widen with practiced innocence. “I would never, Lady Tarethyn.”

“You absolutely would, and you fucking know it.”

“Enough,” Mazelle says, already striding down the corridor.

I fall into step beside her, resisting the urge to drag my feet like a child being marched toward punishment. The guards follow a few paces behind us, their armor clinking softly with every step. I can't decide whether they're here because Mazelle expects me to run... or because she wants witnesses for what is almost certainly about to become the most embarrassing moment of my life. Knowing Mazelle, possibly both.

We don't head toward the Sacred Gardens this time. Instead, Mazelle leads me through a lower level of the palace I haven't seen before. Granted, that isn't saying much. I've seen embarrassingly little of this palace.

The corridors widen as we descend, the stone floors scuffed in places where countless boots have worn them smooth. The air smells different here. Less fragrant, more iron, sweat, and oil.

We emerge onto an enclosed training court open to the gray sky. High black walls surround the arena on every side, with a stone walkway running along the top where guards stand watching below. Their eyes follow us as we step onto the dark sand, making it abundantly clear that whatever is about to happen is expected to be worth watching.

Several guards are training in pairs across the yard. They stop immediately when Mazelle enters. That tells me far more than any title could.

Mazelle strides into the court like she owns it, and perhaps in some terrifying way, she does. Every soldier straightens. Riven moves to the side wall, arms crossed, watching with quiet interest.

Onyx slows just enough to murmur as he passes, "Don’t let her get close to you." Then he keeps walking toward the wall with Briar close on his heels. I should probably be worried.

Mazelle stops in the center of the yard and turns to face me.

“What exactly are we doing?” I ask.

“Establishing how much work you require.”

I grimace. “That sounds insulting. I’m not that bad with hand-to-hand combat.”

“If you took it as an insult, that speaks to your confidence, not mine.” She smirks, settling into a defensive stance.

I glance around the yard, noting the number of guards watching.

“And this requires an audience?”

“They are training.”

“No, they’re staring. There’s a difference. I don’t need spectators for training.”

“We’ll just call it multitasking.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

There it is again. That almost-humor. That tiny sliver of personality beneath the severe uniform and colder-than-death expression. I would like it more if I were not almost certain she is about to hurt me.

Mazelle removes her gloves and hands them to the closest guard. The gesture is simple, but the guards nearest us shift subtly, attention sharpening. Riven’s expression brightens.

Oh. Oh no.

I look at Mazelle with a flat expression. “You're not going to go easy on me, are you?”

“Why would I?” she asks. “I am here to see what you're made of.”