Page 57 of Blood of the Sands

My brows rose. I hadn’t actually expected her to agree to anything. “Fine?”

“You can try to teach me, but it doesn’t change anything else. I won’t let you win the Trials, and I won’t forget that you tried to kill me.”

“You were trying to rob me in my sleep,” I pointed out.

She ignored me. “And I’ll only talk to you at night. Nobody can see us together.”

“Of course. It wouldn’t do for that handsome diplomat to see you consorting with the Viper.” The retort came out more bitter than I’d hoped, but I knew she was right. I doubted Lord Alasdar would be pleased if he heard of me giving any aid to one who so clearly sided with Kelvadan. Keera was a distraction from the mission, but the whispers of the desert in my mind nudged me toward her insistently. First at the oasis, and again and again during the Trials. I got the overwhelming impression that her power was something important, and with the desert tearing itself apart at the seams, I couldn’t afford to ignore any signs.

“Then I’ll see you tonight, after most of the encampment is too drunk to notice me slip away.”

With that, Keera stood and marched back the way she came. Zephyr let out a low crow beside me as I watched her go. What had I gotten myself into? The voice of the desert in my head muttered in anticipation.

Keera’s approach broke me from the focus of my meditation, but I didn’t move right away, remaining kneeling with my fists clenched tightly on my knees. I took the opportunity to observe the writhing turmoil that sprouted from her in magical waves, amazed that I had been able to overlook it when I first encountered her. Perhaps it had grown wilder and more untamed, as mine had whenever Queen Ginevra insisted I suppress it.

I nearly snorted at the thought of anything about Keera being more untamed and feral than she had when I first met her. As if to prove my point, she lightly kicked sand at me and huffed noisily at my lack of acknowledgement.

“Saber forms,” I said as I stood with no other preamble.

Keera crossed her arms. “I already know saber forms. If this is just a trick to rob me of my sleep so I’m tired in the Trials, then I will march right back to the city.”

I ignored her accusation. “How do you feel when you practice your forms?”

Keera narrowed her eyes at me. In the dark of night, her face was mostly inscrutable, but the stars still caught in her golden eyes. “Better,” she admitted.

“The desert appreciates action. Practicing fighting, even on your own, can help calm your magic,” I explained.

She tiled her head in consideration but did not argue.

“Do the first form with me, and focus on how the magic inside you reacts, not just the movements,” I ordered.

I settled into the opening stance, feeling slightly off in the position without my saber in hand, but it wasn’t uncommon to train the movements empty handed. I hadn’t brought my sword, fearing if we were discovered with our swords drawn against each other, the incident would be twisted into foul play that ejected me from the Trials. As it was, I was taking an unconscionable risk by doing this.

After a moment of stillness, Keera settled into the stance next to me. We began to move, and after just a few breaths, Keera was already a few beats ahead of me. Perhaps she was surprised by how slowly I moved through the forms, many thinking that completing the exercises quickly was a sign of competence. For this purpose though, slower was better, and she soon fell in time with me.

By the end of the first form, when we both stood in the final position, our hands folded, palms facing down. Magic pulsed in the air. Maybe it was the reaction of my own power to her, but it seemed to ripple in time to my breaths.

“What did you feel?” I asked. The question sat oddly on my tongue, perhaps because such prompting was never how Lord Alasdar had taught me. Given our situation though, Lord Alasdar’s methods of pain and brutal discipline in teaching were not an option.

“I feel… good.”

Keera’s answer was simple, but I felt the truth in it.

“The magic responds well to an outlet of aggression and anger, although forms are a relatively controlled way of doing it.”

Keera stiffened before the words were out of my mouth. “I’m not aggressive.” She nearly hissed the words in a manner so at odds with her statement that I let out a snort of disbelief.

“You’re a feral little fighter,” I argued, although the insult came out less derisive than it sounded in my head.

She tilted her chin up in a set of defiance. “Maybe, but I’m not cruel like you.”

“I’m no crueler than the desert in which I live.” My tone held a growl of warning. “And you can lie to yourself about that if you like, but I know better. You almost let me die in that sand pit. Go ahead and reassure yourself of how noble you are at saving the life of your enemy, but I know you considered leaving me. Your spy told your queen”—the word came out as a curse—“that my winning the Trials would lead to the clans uniting against Kelvadan, and letting me die could have solved that problem.”

Keera’s shoulders pulled toward her ears with tension, and her nostrils flared when I mentioned the spy.

“What did you do to Oren?” she demanded.

“Me? Nothing,” I admitted. “But Izumi drove her saber clean through his chest. He gave himself away by trying to cut a deal for information with one of the clan’s best riders.”