Page 33 of Ashen Wings

I almost laugh in the King of Shadow’s face.

“Our agreement didn’t come with any assurances, oh wise king,” I spit, but my cheeks blaze when Jace’s eyes crease at the corners.

“No, it didn’t.”

“Then you’re a fool,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You won’t simply run, Nova Lindwen.” Gods, my name on his tongue is the sweetest of forbidden fruits. “Because I’m going with you.”

15

“Listen, take it up with Jace if you want, but I’m here to train,” Isra says, rolling the binding cloth around his knuckles. It’s been two days since the plan to search for Yaris Lightbrood was agreed upon, and while I would never inflate Isra’s ego with an admission that I’m excited to train with him, my fingers twitch with a sort of electric anticipation. I lock down the scowl that’s found its way across my lips and throw him a glare.

“I know my hand-to-hand needs some work, but couldn’t we have at least waited until after sunrise?”

Isra huffs a laugh and tosses me the roll. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today so try to keep up.”

I sigh and stand from my seat. The back courtyard is glazed in dewdrops and early morning shadows. There’s no birdsong or scurrying squirrels though, only silence. Dread seeps through my skin in the chilling quiet. I shove it down as best I can by focusing on securing my wrists with the binding tape.

Jace assured us we’ll receive a crossing authorization from Raine within the next few days, and I need a distraction from this place—violence like this is familiar, normal. It’s fucked up, but I’m at home in the sparring ring. Besides, what better way to waste time than kick Isra’s ass?

“Where do we start?” I ask, securing the final tie around my knuckle.

“A warm up.” Isra’s lips spread into a grin. “We’ll start with some stretching then a jog to get your pulse up.”

My brow raises. “A jog? I expected combat training, not what? General fitness?”

“They’re one in the same, Nova. The stronger you are, the harder your hits. The more endurance you have, the longer you can fight.” He taps an index finger to his left cheek. “We train to withstand, so when the time comes, we don’t get knocked on our asses by some scummy fucker in the backrooms at Abe’s.”

My eyes narrow. “If I had my weapons that asshole wouldn’t have gotten close.”

“If you had proper training he wouldn’t have gotten close regardless,” Isra says. Gods, I know he’s right, but again…his ego doesn’t need the reminder.

Finnick’s training wasn’t about combat or strength. It focused on stealth and survival at all costs. Rather than practicing footwork or quick attack maneuvers, we were taught how to blend into the shadows, how to kill without even a trace of suspicion. If you found yourself confronted by the enemy, then you’d learn quickly how to survive.

For me, that was absorbing my attackers style. Learning their tactics and becoming a worthy match if provoked, but I’m not in Smoke anymore, and not all of my opponents trained in military regiments.

“Now, let’s get into some breathing exercises and then move on to range of motion. Really focus on strengthening your joints.”

I nearly laugh as he circles me, his hands laced behind his back. “We’re going to practice…breathing?”

“Just trust me, okay? The foundational work is the most important, even if you think it foolish. Now, let me see you breathe,” he commands, scrutinizing the rise and fall of my chest.

“Is this truly necessary?”

“It is. Now stop talking and just breathe.” He hurls a glare at me. I scoff but steady my breath. He approaches and hovers his palms on either side of my abdomen.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“Depends on if you’re going to try to kill me again?"

“No, not today.” He grins, his emerald eyes flashing in the morning light.

“Fine,” I reply.

Isra places his palms on my abdomen and lower back. “Focus on keeping your breath from here. When you inhale, fill this space.” He presses inwards, stabilizing my core as I draw in another breath. If I close my eyes and focus on the air filling the space between his palms, I can feel the expanse of my belly.

“Good, now do it again, but really try to push my hands away,” he says, pressing in on my stomach a bit further. I draw air into my lungs and picture it flooding down into my stomach like an empty chamber as Isra’s hands push apart.