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He threw his head back with a sigh. “This Fortezza pass better be written in gold.”
“I’ll sign it in blood. Now, come on. Renata’s always tougher on me when she’s in a bad mood. I don’t need to be late, too.”
Outside the training room, Alessa kicked off her shoes and began removing her temple finery while Dante peered through the open doors. Most of the room’s surfaces were padded, and an array of weaponry, real and practice, hung from hooks and holsters on the far wall. Dante let out a soft sound of longing as he spotted the collection of ceremonial daggers.
Her temple dress slipped down to her waist easily enough, but she had to squirm to get it over her hips. As the fabric slipped down to pool at her feet, Dante turned back, his eyes lit with desire—forknives, nother—and her knees went wobbly.
Jerking his head up, Dante stared at the wall above her. “What kind of training?”
She shouldn’t have, but she blushed. Her thin, form-fitting training attire was crafted for freedom of movement, not modesty, but it covered everything it had to. “Fencing, I hope. I have a bo and sword, too, but they’re much heavier.”
At that, he looked at her with a curious half smile. “You know how to use a sword?”
In a perfect world, she’d whip a broadsword from its scabbard and prick his neck with a sardonicOf course, don’t you?but even if she had one within reach, her arms would likely give out. Instead, she propped her hands on her hips. “I’m no master swordsman, but I know how to swing it around a bit.”
Renata cleared her throat from inside the room. Her eyebrows flew up as Dante followed Alessa inside and found a corner to lurk in. Alessa had expected him to wait in the foyer, but she hadn’t told him to, and now that he’d invited himself in, she’d be damned if she let Renata catch her surprise.
Renata picked up a practice bo, and Alessa’s heart plummeted. Taller than she was, and almost too thick for her fingersto wrap around, there was a solid core beneath the cork coating. Practice weaponry might not inflict true damage, but it meant they were going to spar.
Renata wasn’t being intentionally cruel. She didn’t know about Alessa’s injuries, but that wouldn’t make the hits hurt any less. Ah, well. The scarabeo wouldn’t take pity on her, so there was no point asking Renata to.
Alessa raised the bo, vividly aware of her audience. This was her chance to show Dante that she was more than a weepy girl. She wasn’tgood,really, but she had nowhere to go but up in his estimation. Not that she cared.
The lesson started with a warm-up, both women swinging and thrusting at open air. Each movement brought twinges of pain, but the steady flow warmed and stretched her tight muscles, so it wasn’t all bad.
Renata spun, swinging at the back of Alessa’s leg.
Her knee buckled, and she hit the mat with a yelp.
Spoke too soon. Still, she could get through this. She would. She had to.
Gritting her teeth, Alessa got a few hits in before Renata knocked her down again with a thump to the gut. Thankfully, the blow only knocked the wind out of her.
Swing, parry, block, over and over, faster and faster, until individual bolts of pain merged into a constant throbbing misery. Alessa tried to step outside her body. She didn’t cry out.
“Break.” Chest heaving, Renata strode past Dante without sparing him a glance.
Gripping her weapon for support, Alessa dropped to one knee, her face twisted in agony. Turned away from Dante, with a curtain of sweaty hair to shield her face, she hoped he wouldn’t see.
Boots stopped in front of her. “Does she know you’re injured?”
“No. And she isn’t going to.”
“You’re hurt, and this isn’t helping.” Dante scowled.
“Neither is talking about it.”
She pulled herself up before Renata returned. When the older woman’s bo struck her shoulder a few minutes later, Alessa spun away, mouth open in a silent scream of pain.
Dante stormed out of the room.
So much for impressing him.
When Renata finally put their training materials away, muttering about servants who didn’t know how to polish weaponry, Alessa limped out.
Dante was leaning against the wall in the corridor. Sleeping. Upright. Eyes closed, full lips parted, thick eyelashes resting on his cheekbones like the stone wall at his back was a feather bed.
She’d barely convinced her mentors he was a vigilant and dedicated guard, and he was napping on the job.
