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Chapter Twenty-Five

Vanni

“Grab your opponent’s arm and strike with your pommel or guard. Be sure to trap their forearm with your second arm, like this.”

Agnar is a more patient student than I expected.

As it has been for the past several days, a crowd has gathered to watch our practice. The fishermen have left the inn’s courtyard already, off to sea, but enough men remain to give us an audience. But I ignore them as I instruct the Voyager and my squire both.

“Slip the blade against their forearm.” Agnar does so to Christopher.

“Use your second hand,” a voice booms behind me, “to hold the blade while striking. Or slicing.”

Kipp.

A most unexpected guest for our training. Aedre had said he would send for me today, but I hadn’t expected him to appear here at the inn, especially not so early . . .

Galfrid’s son is full of surprises.

Agnar doesn’t hesitate to do just as Kipp suggested, which tells me all I need to know of Kipp in terms of how the others see him. Voyagers are not quick to follow orders.

“Can you trip or kick your opponent while holding the blade?”

I look at Kipp, who nods. “Aye. You can, and should, do whatever is necessary to win.”

“See if you can practice that maneuver with my squire,” I suggest.

Agnar grins at Christopher in a way that makes me wonder if leaving the lad with him is ill-advised. He will quickly learn the men of Murwood fight differently than Southerners.

“I’d not expected you here.”

Kipp, still leery of me, says nothing. Instead, he walks toward the door of the inn. He pauses before it, looking at me, but at my nod, we head inside.

At this hour, few patrons frequent the hall. By midday, it will be filled with fishermen and those who earn a living along the quay. My men and I are the only visitors, Sailor’s Inn more like a tavern most days than a lodging for travelers.

“Two ales?” the innkeeper calls to us. “Welcome home, Master Kipp.”

While Kipp greets the man, I lower myself into a chair at the table my men and I have sat at each day for meals. The day is warm, the inn’s shutters wide open, giving me a view of the docks.

What Murwood lacks in color—in d’Almerita bright reds and oranges are everywhere even during winter months—it makes up for in fresh sea air and a grit that I can admire. There are fewer luxuries here, but I’ve never had much need for anything.

Until now.

As Kipp talks to the innkeeper, who pours our drinks, I think of last eve. Of Aedre. Of her expression when she came apart in my hands. And of her words.

I would take it.

When I said I wished to give her more, I meant it. For the first time in my life, I find myself yearning for something other than a peaceful Meria.

“A meeting,” Kipp says, slamming a tankard in the middle of the table. “For Aedre.”

The message is clear: if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t have accepted this meeting. There’s a stubborn edge to this man, and for the first time I let myself acknowledge this might not happen. He might not come.

You must try.

Though the only other people in the hall are the innkeeper, two servants, and two older men sitting clear across the room, I lower my voice, getting straight to the point.

“I know Aedre told you of the shipwreck. Two hundred men perished, including the prince.”