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‘Unless you’re too fussy for the real work, of course,’ Tared said dryly, the sting obviously intended to get me moving. I blinked at him, and then at Creon, who hadn't shifted a wing as he followed the discussion with lazy, half-lidded eyes.
Choosing to accept the invitation meant going along with Tared’s obvious scheming to separate us. But then again …
Aim for his left knee, Creon signed as if he’d read my mind.Bit of a weak spot.
‘I saw that,’ Tared said, his voice cool.
Just helping with the training. Creon’s smile carried more sting than I’d expected for this minor jab, and Tared’s lips tightened. Not exactly a good start. But damn it, I’d never even held a real sword in my hands, and at least it seemed Creon wouldn’t be terribly aggrieved if I went along with this madness.
I jumped up from the porch and hurried over to Beyla, who handed me Sunray with a quick nod. The sword was lighter than I’d expected – lighter than most of the training sticks I’d used – and glistened menacingly in the sunlight when I lifted it to study the blade. The edge was razor-sharp. It wouldn’t take great force to break through skin with a weapon like this; hell, I might accidentally cut through muscle and bone if I wasn’t careful.
‘Well,’ Edored grumbled as I made my way to the little training field. He still sounded mortally offended. ‘Enough training for me. I’m going to find a brook and take a bath, if you sword-stealers don’t mind.’
‘I think we’ll cope,’ Tared said solemnly.
Edored huffed, clutching his sword as he stalked off.
I glanced at the weapon in my own hand, a weapon that must once have belonged to another alf just as passionately protective of it, and muttered, ‘I’m not being terribly disrespectful by using it, am I?’
Tared sighed. ‘No.’
I looked up. His smile had paled, but there was no apprehension in his grey eyes, and he did not evade my gaze like he usually did when the fate of his family came up in conversation. Was that a good sign? I decided to risk it – better to bring it up now than to find out afterwards I’d made a misstep.
‘Even though …’ I swallowed. ‘It’s your brother’s sword, isn’t it?’
‘Ah.’ He sighed again. ‘Lyn told you?’
I nodded, feeling small.
‘It was Bered’s, yes.’ His voice only tightened a fraction at the past tense. ‘But it’s a damn good sword, and he would have hated for it to rot away unused. I don’t mind others using it as long as it stays in the hands of family.’
Family.
My stomach knotted unexpectedly at the sound of that word. Somehow it landed not like a reassurance, but like a warning – like a reminder of how much I might lose.
A frightened little shadow.
‘So,’ Tared said, his voice reaching me from miles away as my thoughts turned themselves inside out without warning. ‘Tilt your hand up a little when you hold it like that – you’re overextending your wrist. Yes, excellent. Take position for a downward swing – watch that wrist, please.’
I followed his clues instinctively, months and months of training overriding the irrational itch of nervousness – of something I was missing, some thought chafing against my conscious mind but remaining just out of reach. What was I thinking – what had Creon said last night?As soon as you start liking people …
Family, indeed – and what was family but people who left when you displeased them?
My borrowed sword swept down with a satisfyingwhoosh, splitting the air as I spun around. It felt good, the steel in my hands. Better to focus on cold wrath and lethal weapons than on whatever that thought evoked in me, the memory of Cathra, of the parents who’d washed their hands of me as soon as a pretty fae prince gave them the flimsiest excuse to never look me in the eyes again.
‘Not bad,’ Tared was saying, and I barely heard him. ‘Try that again, with a little less force. You need to stay in control of your blade.’
Control. I took another swing at some invisible target, more restrained now, my motions strangely detached from my spinning mind. I wasn’t staying in control, was I? I was allowing everyone but myself to determine what sacrifices I’d make, running after my fears rather than reining them in …
Figure out what your options are.
Had I ever truly done that?
I swung my blade with unsettling precision again and again, the physical effort sharpening the turns of my thoughts. Truth or victory, I’d told myself all this time, two sharply defined possibilities with not a shred of grey in between –
But if I stopped blindly following the whispers of my fears for a moment, I had to admit not all honesty would lose me the war.
I’d still have to be careful, of course. I shouldn’t tell Edored, who would immediately run to his friends to blather about my love life. But Tared wouldn’t. Agenor wouldn’t. Beyla and Ylfreda and Hallthor wouldn’t. Most of the household was sensible enough to know a secret when they saw it, and yet …
