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“If you could beat me, then I might let you,” she said, flat as a board.
He didn’t take her meaning at all. Didn’t seem high on nuance. Just laughed and cheered his way out of the breakfast hall.
She finished her bowl of oatmeal in her melancholy and took it back to the kitchen. The Andine style of dress was even less constricting than the Domaran style. The green was flattering and the material lighter, almost breezy. She wondered why they’d wear the tighter, drapier white material in Domara if the Andine style was more comfortable in this weather. But considering their recent relations, it was probably another cultural problem.
“Kerrigan,” Danae said softly from the kitchen door.
She closed her eyes at the name. It was a relief to hear it, but also a violation that Danae knew it at all. “Yes?”
“The tutor should be here within the hour. If you wanted to come to the study with me.”
“I’ll be there when they show up.”
“Okay,” Danae said. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts then.”
The girl hurried from the room. Kerrigan winced. It was hard to dislike Danae. It had clearly been an accident. Though it did nothing to reduce the violation. She’d have to deal with Danae eventually, but she had other things on her mind until then.
She returned to the parapet where she had watched the gladiators yesterday. She’d seen a few entrances to the training pit, but she hadn’t investigated further after being warned off. Now she wanted a closer look.
Winding through the estate proved trickier than expected. She backtracked twice through the pool and away from the gladiators’ dormitories, but she finally found an entrance to the grounds. She pulled the door slowly open and observed the gladiators from the ground level. From here, she could more clearly see the mistakes she had witnessed earlier. Not all of them were bad. Myron, in particular, was very good. He had incredible speed and strength. Plus a mastery of the staff. Though he was less efficient with a sword. She wouldn’t want to go against him with a staff when his reach was already a foot longer than hers.
Evander worked them hard, but she could tell the difference between performers and soldiers. When she’d been in dragon training, it was with the understanding that she was going to war. That she would have to protect Alandria, even from itself. She had no other choice but to be the best because they had expected her to fail at every turn. She’d had to prove them wrong. The men didn’t have enough drive. Even though they were all Andine, the tournament wasn’t the same as a fight for their homeland.
“Hey, love!” Theo called from where he had been sparring with a practice sword.
She caught Evander’s eye. She hadn’t stepped foot into the training ring. Technically, she hadn’t done anything wrong. His reproving stare made her want to slink back into the shadows, but she refused to do so.
Theo slapped the wooden sword against his opponent’s back and then swaggered in her direction. “Come to see real men?”
“Well, she wouldn’t be looking at you then, would she?” someone called back.
The men laughed good-naturedly. Theo ate it up.
“Come onto the sand.” Theo brandished his sword dramatically. “I can show you how to handle a sword. You use both hands.” He made a perverted gesture, and the men around him groaned.
Kerrigan arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You think I’d need both hands to handle your sword?”
A chorus of oohs, followed by Theo touching his heart, wounded.
“What is she doing here?” Myron bellowed in outrage. “She’s interrupting.”
“Get back to your station, Theo,” Evander croaked. “Or I’ll pair you with Myron next.”
Theo laughed and jogged back to his position. “All in good fun. We have to learn to love the crowd. Having the crowd’s favor is every bit as important as the fighting.”
Myron snorted, and he muttered something under his breath that read like bullshit.
Kerrigan didn’t exactly disagree. She had seen crowd’s favor turn, and the tides turned with them. But none of that mattered if you were the best.
“Switch opponents,” Evander snapped at Theo. Then, he stamped closer to her and said, “You can stay if you keep a low profile. Don’t go distracting my men.”
“Are your men that distractable?” she asked with a smirk.
He grumbled and walked away. “Myron, Cordon, you’re up.”
Myron yanked a sword out of the rack and waved it. Yeah, he definitely wasn’t as good with a sword. His opponent, Cordon, a fair-haired man with crisscrossed scars across his back and chest, reached for his own weapon. She’d noticed him before and not just for the scars. He’d been training some of the other men in footwork. They were running through paces she wasn’t used to. He had been fighting a losing battle by trying to impart the importance of the dance, not just sword play and bulk.
