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Kaevin refused to turn back after his harsh words with Alora. His pride wouldn’t let him admit he was still weak from the morning session with Laethan and needed something to eat. Deep down, he knew his anger stemmed from his own insecurities.
How could Alora and Jireo do such a thing behind my back? It seems there’s no one I can truly trust.
He kicked at a rock on the trail, sending it flying down the hill.
What if she’s right? What if I fail to protect her from Vindrake again? What if I can’t even keep myself alive, and she dies because of me? Perhaps the council is right... she may have a better chance of survival if she isn’t soulmated to me.
One thing was certain—he’d become soft residing in the safety of Montana these last moons, having no one to spar with save Jireo. Not that his defender brother wasn’t a skilled warrior, but Kaevin knew him all too well, anticipating every move before he made it. And the few times he’d practiced with Daegreth, the former Water Clan guard defeated him with ease. Knowing Daegreth had been the top trained warrior and part of Vindrake’s personal honor guard didn’t make the loss any easier to swallow. It only emphasized the fact Kaevin wasn’t skilled enough to protect Alora from another attack.
And so, it wasn’t really an accident when he found his way to the practice field, almost empty since most warriors had gone in for the midday meal.
At the edge of the field, he found a low, horizontal fize tree branch and climbed to a comfortable perch, his feet swinging below as he munched a fruit he plucked on his way up.
Only two young warriors were still sparring—one a stranger to Kaevin, while he recognized the other as Saravo, a seasoned warrior having about twenty-seven years. Sticks and leaves littered his disheveled brown hair as he stumbled away from the stranger’s steady advance. Saravo wore the traditional protective leathers, while the other warrior fought bare-chested—possibly because of the heat, but most likely out of arrogance.
Saravo grunted with effort as his blade sliced through the air again and again, while the second warrior deftly dodged his sword. Finally, the stranger answered with a blunt stab to Saravo’s chest, knocking him to the ground. The victorious warrior offered him a hand and, pulling Saravo to his feet, presented his sword in invitation to another round. Refusing the offer with a weary shake of his head, Saravo gave a perfunctory bow and trudged away.
The stranger spun in a slow circle, eyeing the empty field until he spied Kaevin in the tree. Ambling over, he picked a deep red fize from the tree and propped himself against the trunk, taking a bite before he introduced himself.
“I’m Judaene,” he said, around a mouthful of seedy fruit.
Though Kaevin had learned it was considered impolite in Montana to speak with food in your mouth, the habit was considered a gesture of openness and friendship in Tenavae, as if one had nothing to hide.
With his own half-chewed bite of fruit, he answered, “I’m Kaevin.”
Judaene didn’t flinch. “As I thought. You favor your father.”
Kaevin nodded, studying the young man. Shiny brown hair hung straight to his shoulders, framing almond-shaped green eyes. He appeared to have only a few more years than Kaevin, but he had scars all over his chest. Must come from practicing without leathers.
“Want to spar?” Judaene asked.
Kaevin’s decision was made in an instant. This is exactly what I need.
Wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve, he dropped the short distance to the ground. “I’d love to go a round or two. All I have is my fighting blade. Let me fetch a practice sword and throw on some leathers.”
“Why not practice with our real blades?” Judaene suggested.
Kaevin considered the idea. He and Jireo often sparred without blunted blades, preferring to practice with the balance of their own fighting swords. But the two had sparred together so often, it was almost a well-rehearsed dance. His hand slipped down, caressing the hilt of his blade. He’d missed his sword during the moons of his Montana stay—missed fighting with it, like he would an old friend.
“I might hurt you,” Kaevin argued, though he’d already agreed in his mind.
“I can stand a few scratches if you can.”
Now he would seem like a coward if he insisted on wearing leathers while Judaene fought without a shirt.
Kaevin lifted his chin, repeating a line from his favorite picture story or, as Alora called it, movie. “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!”
“Huh?”
Laughing at his opponent’s confused expression, Kaevin drew his blade, flipping it in his hand and enjoying the feel of his blood coursing through his veins as his heart thudded happily in his chest. “Let’s have a round!”
**************
Alora waited about forty-five minutes before she went after Kaevin, allowing herself enough time to rest and recover, and hopefully giving Kaevin enough time to cool off. She would have waited longer,
but she could sense him getting angrier.
She was prepared to pop back to safety when she transported, just in case he was hanging out on the edge of a cliff or up in a tree. But she wasn’t prepared for Kaevin to almost stab her through with a sword.
