Page 78 of The Silversmith

Gemma, Finn, and Ezra were nowhere to be found while the rest of us ate eggs cooked with cheese, bacon, and sweet cinnamon cakes. Their absence angered Gavin—thwarted his plans to have me try and land blows on all our companions—but I told him to leave them alone. If I had a night like I assumed Gemma and Finn had, I’d want to sleep in too. And Ezra was undoubtedly determined to avoid Gavin. I couldn’t blame him.

Reluctantly, Gavin conceded. “Fine. You can practice with Caz.”

In response, Caz caught my eye with a wink and a truly feline smile. I rolled my eyes and laughed.

And when I started to wonder if I would ever have a night like Gemma and Finn had, I shoved the thought away.

Damond came out from the kitchen halfway through breakfast to join us, mercifully refraining from any mention of the body he’d dealt with during the early hours of the morning. I listened while he and Caz discussed the rising threat of Molochai’s Insidions as they pushed farther north. Villages that had once been safe havens were being decimated, and Elias’s forces, despite their training, were struggling to keep up.

Something was drawing Molochai farther north than he’d bothered going before. The obvious answer was me, but they assured me Molochai still remained unaware of my existence.

“But if they’re that close, shouldn’t we be going to the Caves?” Nausea churned my stomach and I felt the color leave my face. “I don’t know if I’m ready or if I want…” I paused, sucking in a breath. My wants didn’t matter when people were in danger. “But if they need me—need us—then why do we delay? Shouldn’t we insist Simeon just meet us there instead of Brinnea?”

Caz spoke first. “Simeon gave Smyth the order to bring you to Brinnea. He wants to meet his own daughter—speak with you, discover your powers—before you go to those caves. Brinnea is safe.” Caz shifted again, this time facing Gavin. “But—”

“But nothing.” His chilling stare was locked on the empty plate before him. Beside that plate, his huge, scarred fingers drummed restlessly on the thick oak table. “We have time. We will go to Brinnea.”

Part of me worried, most of me relieved, I didn’t object, even when Damond winced at his cousin’s stern insistence.

Aware of my uselessness without training and practice, I was the first to rise from the table, venture outside, and begin to run into the towering canopy of leafless trees on the north side of the tavern, away from the city. The walking and running from traveling, coupled with the much-appreciated birthday rest I received yesterday, left me far less winded than I expected. Still, when I completed my warm-up run with Gavin and Caz, I frowned when I saw both breathed so easily. They might as well have never moved.

More. I needed to run more, train more. Despite how much I’d improved, it wasn’t enough.

Caz and I sparred for at least an hour while Gavin assessed us against a maple tree, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Dead.” Caz held his hand at my throat in place of the blade he would use to take my life, if he held one.

I groaned. The amount of times he had “killed” me were well into double digits. Caz was tall, agile, strong, and well-practiced. No threat compared to Gavin, but that was a comparison unfair to anyone.

I lunged, and Caz dodged again. We repeated the dance for another half hour, halted only by the commanding call of my name.

“What?” I snapped.

Gavin curled a finger and motioned for me to approach him. Leaves crunched beneath my boots as I stalked over, hands on my hips.

He smirked down at me. “You’re holding back.”

Defeated, I shrugged. “I can’t beat him.”

Gavin furrowed his brow at me. “Wrong attitude, Ella. You’re practicing just as I taught you, but you’re a second behind him.”

“Because I’m not fast enough or strong enough.”

Another frown, but no denial. I was right, and he knew it.

He studied my face in silence. By now, he’d done it enough times that I was less fazed by his appraising stare and more bored while I waited for whatever conclusion he formed in that mysterious mind. Maybe one day he’d tell me all he was thinking, but—

“Punch him in the throat.”

“What?” I dropped my folded arms to my side. “No.”

“Yes,” he firmly replied. “Catch him off guard. See if he can block it.”

It was a savage move, certainly not one to use on a friend while sparring. We only made the motions of attack and defense without landing actual blows.

“That’s not fighting fair.”

“I’m not teaching you to fight fair. I’m teaching you to survive.”