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“Awesome.” I leap up and race over to the cabinet for my trident. Even my weapon won’t talk to me.
Mr. Brant goes hard on me, pinning me to walls more times than I can count. The determination in his eyes tells me this is personal. Other students stop sparring to watch us. Earwyn and her dogfish are full of snide comments.
He doesn’t give me two seconds to recover and hope to attempt to gain the advantage. By the time the class is over, every muscle in my body aches and burns.
“Did you sign up for your four sessions?” Mr. Brant asks. I swear he’s mocking me.
I hold my head high. “Did it last night.”
“Good. Don’t be late.”
“You either.” That was a lame comeback but at least it was something.
I get to my next class a few moments after the bell rings. The teacher—my father—doesn't seem to notice. He’s talking on the phone. I collapse onto a chair and close my eyes. Hope his call takes the entire hour. I’d love to sleep the whole time.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “Your mother couldn’t make it because a dignitary from the Indian Ocean showed up unexpectedly.”
I struggle to open my eyes. “It’s fine.”
“I’m working to get the trials in order.”
“Seriously?” I groan.
“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”
“Because I already have enough on my plate, without adding this to my long list of things I need to do.”
“Like what?” He sits next to me.
“The sparring competition, for one. I’m facing off with the reigning champ, and the academy is depending on me—a girl who grew up on land! Mr. Brant is making me practice four times daily plus lift weights.”
“That competition is a big deal. Those in line for the throne routinely spar all four years. Drake and I battled each year.”
I notice he’s referring to his brother by his first name to me but I don’t react. “Who won?”
“I was the champion each year, and Drake came in second. It drove him crazy, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“I’m sure it did.”
“You’ll win too.”
I look at him like he’s crazy—because he clearly is. “I’m getting my butt kicked in the practices! I can’t keep up. How am I supposed to beat Zayn Landon?”
He puts his hand on top of mine. “I’ll speak with your teacher and let him know I’ll take over your practice sessions. He need only worry about class time.”
Relief washes through me. “You’d do that?”
“You’re my daughter, Marra. I’d give my life for you. This is nothing.”
My mouth drops open. Where has this father been my entire life?
“I’ll just need you to come to the castle for the sessions. Is that doable with your schedule?”
I nod, unable to find words.
He pulls out his phone and makes a note before turning to me. “One of my top servants is on his way to speak with your teacher right now.”
Mr. Brant will probably be angry with me in class tomorrow, but I don’t care. “Thank you. When should I be there to spar with you?”
