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“I’ve signed us both in and reserved a sparring area. West corner. Ground floor.”
He took a moment to find an empty locker in the changing room and placed anything he didn’t need inside. Wearing only pants, boots, and a pair of daggers sheathed and strapped to his forearms, he made his way onto the heart of the arena.
Hard-packed golden sand covered the floor, providing firm footing and a slightly softer landing surface to anyone knocked from the air. At least, that’s what he’d been told, but personal experience suggested the only ones who believed the sand cushioned anything had never fallen onto it.
He circled around the outside of the arena, careful to watch overhead for falling objects like dislodged armor, weapons, and occasional bodies. This might be called a practice arena, but it still held its dangers. That thought lingered in his mind as Sulat caught sight of his anrik.
Tariq stood, shoulders squared and arms crossed over his chest, in the space he’d reserved. They’d be tucked into a corner, beneath an overhang that provided shelter and privacy while limiting the users’ ability to fly. It was exactly the kind of place they’d had some of their harshest discussions over their time together.
The gear he wore was as well-worn and battered as his own, though Tariq’s looked like it hadn’t been cleaned or oiled in some time. Still, it would serve its purpose—deflect and soften the impact of the blows about to be exchanged.
“Took you long enough,” Tariq grumbled, his entire body tense with barely contained emotions.
“I slept late. You know I’ve never been one for early mornings.” He waited a beat before adding, “But we’re not here to banter. Are we, Riq?”
“We’re not.”
Sulat rolled his shoulders and settled his weight on the balls of his feet before speaking again. “Speak your truth, Tariq. It’s long past time we had this talk.”
“My truth?” Tariq almost spat out the question. “My truth is the same as yours. We lost the one female we were meant to love. We should live the rest of our lives alone.”
“And that’s the problem. You think we’re in agreement on this, but we’re not.” Sulat narrowed the distance between them and opened his hands, palms outward. “We’ve never had this conversation.”
“We did. We moved to Haven so we could mourn in peace and solitude. The agreement didn’t change. You did! You’re letting your cock guide your thinking. And no matter how intriguing or lovely Jody is, she’s a wingless, soft-skinned human!”
Tariq moved before he finished speaking, rushing Sulat with fists raised.
The first exchange of blows was explosive, wild swings and undisciplined punches fueled by raw emotion on both sides.
“It’s not just my cock that’s interested in Jody.” He timed the words to land between blows. “And don’t think I didn’t hear you say she was lovely and intriguing.” Exertion made the last few words come out as a snarl.
“Of course you’d focus on that bit and nothing else I said.” Tariq hammered him with several hard jabs to the ribs, leaving him too breathless to retort. Instead, Sulat extended his wings, flapping them hard enough to lift him up and back, out of his anrik’s reach.
Tariq hissed in frustration and lunged at him again, but this time Sulat sidestepped in time to avoid the charge and catch his breath. “I heard what you said. What I want to know is why you’re so intent on riding the winds of our grief for the rest of your life? Raenia was the sun that lit our sky, but there are other lights in the universe.”
The next attack came so fast he barely had time to raise him arms to block the barrage of blows. “Is that what you tell yourself? When she died, I lost all the light in my life.” Tariq’s pain drenched every word he uttered, leaving Sulat stunned. This wasn’t what he’d expected to hear today. Though maybe it should have been.
Sulat went on the offensive, using words instead of his fists. “You didn’t lose everything, you stubborn bakaffa. I’m still here, and so is our daughter. Vixi’s light is as bright as her mother’s. If you are lost in the dark, it’s not because you’re alone in the present. It’s because you’re choosing to dwell in the shadows of the past!”
Tariq lunged again, and this time Sulat caught a glint of metal as it flashed through the air. Their fight had escalated to blades already? So be it.
He drew his own weapons in time to parry his anrik’s attack. There was no real threat. The blades were dulled and Tariq hadn’t seen the inside of a practice arena in so long his reflexes and endurance lagged behind his.
“It’s all I deserve,” Tariq said.
“What you deserve?” Sulat snarled and swiped with his blade, striking Tariq’s flank with bruising force. “Has grief made you blind? Or are you too stubborn to see beyond your pain? I don’t understand why you are determined to punish yourself, but I do know this. You are dragging Vixi and me along with you.”
They both lapsed into silence, too busy trying to score a hit to speak. Sulat focused on the small details—the hiss of sand beneath booted feet, the rhythm of Tariq’s breathing, the thud of flesh striking flesh punctuated by the occasional ring of clashing blades.
He caught Tariq with a vicious backhanded blow that made the other male stagger to one side. In the brief respite Sulat regained enough breath to speak. “Why, Riq?”
Tariq spat out a mouthful of blood and glared. “Because it was my fault. She’s gone because of me.”
“By all the winds that blow, is that what’s been eating at you?” Sulat charged again, slamming his shoulder into Tariq’s stomach and driving him off his feet.
To counter, Tariq flared his wings for balance and crashed both hands down on Sulat’s back, hitting him in the vulnerable spot on his back. The blow sent a white spike of pain down his spine, immobilizing him long enough for Tariq to put some distance between them.
“I knew there were storms in the forecast. We shouldn’t have gone flying.”
