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His rhythm changed again, as I easily flowed through one of Lumeria’s most famous water dances—a choreography I’d mastered at thirteen. We’d begun adding choreography to my fighting routines months ago to allow my mind to relax, for my muscle memory to strengthen. Rhyan wanted me to feel like the sword was part of me, so we focused our training on movements which I felt most natural engaging in, like water dancing.
I began to shimmy my hips, walking forward, the sword now in front of me before I undulated again, lifting the sword and using my left hand to hold the blade, offering my right hand a break.
Rhyan began to drum on his knees, the final choreography of the dance at the fastest tempo. The dance told the story of Asherah beginning with the Goddess in Heaven being chosen as a Guardian of the Valalumir after the akadim tried to steal it. Then, as the tempo slowed, the dance became more sensual, representing her affair with Auriel. And finally, the fastest part of the dance portrayed Asherah’s fall to Lumeria, her becoming mortal. Asherah became arkturion and led her soturi against Moriel’s forces, against the God who’d been banished, and took control of the akadim.
I moved the sword in front of me, pointing it at Rhyan, my hips swiveling side to side before they began to shake. I twirled, handing the sword off to my left hand as I spun and completed the performance, my right hand undulating in a final flourish.
Rhyan’s eyes darkened, a heated look in his expression as he watched me. He stopped drumming, stood up, and widened his stance to prepare for battle. “Attack,” he commanded.
I tossed the sword back into my right hand, my fingers wrapping around the hilt with a quiet practice that almost felt natural. Almost.
“Keep that angle,” he said, backing away from me. He raised his own sword, pointing it at me. “Guard your front.”
Our steel clashed just as some clouds moved through the sky. The sun’s rays burst past the glass window of our training room. Red flames ran up and down the silver blades. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my hair, braided and flying over my shoulder, transform from dark brown to bright fiery red.
We pulled our swords back, Rhyan’s eyes flashing emerald, before the clouds descended, obscuring the sun. My hair returned to its original color. Our swords were silver once again as the sky darkened, taking on a grayish hue. The first snow of the season had been predicted for that night.
Our feet danced across the room, lithe and fast, back and forth, back and forth, as we took turns attacking and retreating. Our swords clanged and swung and reset. We began again.
All the while, Rhyan quizzed me for the Academy’s first end-of-term written exams. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about with the Emperor and his entourage arriving tonight for Valyati’s winter festivities.
“First rule of being a soturion.” Rhyan charged.
“Stop the threat.” I blocked, pushing his sword back. I spun out and attacked, engaging in an old choreography I only used when trying to surprise Rhyan called the Descent of Auriel.
He pivoted at the last second, one eyebrow lifted. “Good. Second rule?” With a swift lift of his arm, our blades slid against each other, ringing until I pulled back.
“Akadim are living weapons.” I raised my sword over my head, breathing deeply, fingers tightening and loosening. I let my grip be easy, my movements swift, willing the sword to become part of my arm, my muscles strong enough to withstand its weight.
“Three ways to kill an akadim?”
I lunged, crashing my sword down Rhyan’s shoulder. He blocked, the impact so forceful I turned toward the wall. Kicking it, I used the impact to spin back and raced for him.
“Fire,” I said as he dodged my attack. I swung, using both hands, turning the sword so quickly he was forced to retreat.
“And?” He feinted left, then lunged right.
I threw out my foot, tripping him. He rolled to the ground, spinning away from me. I was on him in a second, my sword poised beside his neck. “Beheading.”
He stared up at me, his eyes meeting mine in an emerald blaze before he rolled again, out of reach of my attack. Jumping back to his feet, he ran behind me. I spun, trying to catch him. But he was too fast, dodging and retreating, spinning back and forth as he feinted until I was nearly dizzy from it.
I stilled, inhaling his scent. It was mixed this morning with the sweet sugary icing left from the plate of lemon cakes.
Since today was the last day of training before the winter break, there was no run this morning, no lectures, only final training preparations between novices and apprentices. Rhyan and I had been holed up in here for hours, practicing and eating and practicing again. The lingering aroma of our morning coffee, sweet and spicy, still roamed heavy in the air despite our emptied mugs. I exhaled, clearing my nose, and started again, observing the training room until I got the clear fresh scent of pine trees, and the deep, sensual, musky scent that always clung to Rhyan. I could sense him, feel the way his scent carried itself, stronger after hours of exertion. The scent was most overwhelming just behind my left shoulder. I turned on my heel and charged, pointing the tip of my blade right at Rhyan’s chest, backing him into the wall.
“Heart,” I said, out of breath, “is the third way to kill an akadim.”
Before I could claim victory, he knocked the sword from my hand. Rhyan gripped my waist and pushed me against the wall. The point of his sword pressed between my breasts, the blade of his dagger flush with my neck. I rose up onto my toes, my heart hammering.
We’d been here before—many times over the past weeks. And still, every time, I felt desire burning through me, that tension that had begun the first time he’d pressed me into the wall and the way we’d barely satiated our hunger the next morning.
Every second I spend with you, I grow closer and closer to breaking my oath.
Rhyan’s nostrils flared, his chest heaving with exertion. “And to defeat them?” he asked. His knee lifted, centered between my legs, trapping me between him and the wall.
Desire swelled low inside me. In the same breath, I pinched his armpit, right in the spot he’d shown me was the most sensitive.
He loosened his hold on me, cursing under his breath, his blade pulling back just enough for me to reach down, retrieve my own dagger, and slide my blade against his neck, forcing him back until I hadhimpinned against the wall. At my mercy.
