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He must have been staring because her face appeared from behind her leg and she exclaimed with indignation, “Andor, get back to padahastasana. And breathe!”

He growled and looked at his toes.

“Now, a big step with your left foot.” Cathy made the movement, and Andor followed. “Bend the right knee to make a sharp angle. Stretch the left leg back. Heel back, as though your whole left leg is a straight line. Feel the burn? Good. Arms straight up, as though reaching for the sky. Arch the spine and tilt your head slightly back, but look straight. It’s called the equestrian pose, see? Now breathe through your third eye like I taught you.”

Andor followed her instructions, and this pose was more pleasant than the previous one. Equestrian pose required both the strength of his legs and stretching. His thigh still pained him, but he was glad to do this and not to lie around like a helpless log. Stretching was the most difficult for him. He found the positions when he needed to support his body with the strength of his muscles child’s play because he was used to rowing a boat for hours, which required much strength and endurance. Stretching his stiff sinews, on the other hand, brought to life parts of his body he had no idea existed.

What he liked the most, though, was that the magic of yoga he had observed before as a flow, as one story, was separated into distinctive positions, like building a three-row shieldwall.

And then there was the third eye.

During yesterday’s long horse ride, Cathy had started to explain it to him. Apparently, it was situated just above the space between his eyebrows. She had even made him try to breathe through it. He imagined he had a big eyeball between his eyebrows, staring into the distance. But the image did not bring him any peace. And how was it possible to breathe through an eyeball?

“This is useless,” he had said. “I feel like a fool.”

“Don’t give up. It’s unlikely it will work right away. You’ll see once we do the exercises,” she had assured him.

And today, just now, something had happened within him. Again, he imagined he had a third eye—but it was not an eyeball anymore. It was like a single point of concentrated sunlight. As he breathed, a new strength came rushing through his body. He could stretch further, he could bend lower, he could breathe easier.

But it was not just physical strength.

Somehow, the glimpses of peace he had felt when he had watched Cathy do yoga for the first time, touched him and stayed within him. And in that peace, there was no past, no future, and no guilt.

There was only here and now, and he had a glimpse of the life that could be his if he forgave himself.

But he could not.

With a jerk, he opened his eyes. Guilt gutted him. He had sworn never to betray Svana’s memory. And yet what was he doing? Was he not betraying her? Allowing himself happiness he did not deserve?

Andor withdrew from the position and stood up, his nostrils flaring. Yoga was a bad idea. Yoga was not distracting him from the ghosts. It was forcing him to face them.

He could not.

The scent of wet woodsmoke, the sight of Svana dying in his arms among the charred skeletons of his people’s homes, the last words she’d whispered to him in her gentle voice, “I wanted to be a good wife to you…”

All he could do was run.

“Now put your palms on the ground on both sides of your foot,” Cathy said, oblivious that behind her, Andor had already stopped.

He walked past her into the farmhouse.

“We should go,” he threw back as he passed her.

“Wait, we’re not finished! Andor!”

“I am. It was a mistake. No more yoga. Get your things. When we stop for food, we will double your sword-fighting training. I have no intention of saving your arse next time someone decides to attack us.”

He did not look back, but he knew that if he did, he would see that he had hurt her.

And even though it made him feel even worse, he needed to remember to keep his distance. The closeness he felt with her, the things he had confided in her, were an illusion. Like a drunken feast when one had too much mead, forgot about anything else, and had to suffer the consequences the next day.

It was the next day now. And he was sober.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

January 25, 878 AD

“Right. Left. Duck. Right. Left,” Andor shouted each time he struck his sword against Cathy’s.