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Rowan didn’t allow it. He glanced at Jonas, who observed from the sidelines with a score of other men and women. Rowan pushed the attack.
Their swords came together in a sweet ring, sending more sparks flying in the early morning air. The clash of metal and the sharp hiss of blades filled the yard as they cut through the mist. Steel met steel with a sweet, harmonious ring that echoed through the training grounds. Each movement was a dance of precision and power as they exchanged uppercuts, slashes, and parries in a breathtaking display of skill.
Edrick swung his sword hard and fast. Rowan easily swept under the blade, then sent his sword flying up to meet the metal. They held their swords together like that, their faces half a foot apart, teeth gritted, Edrick’s eyes flashing with something dangerous.
That took Rowan by surprise. His injured forearm began to ache. The pain blazed through him. Hiding his agony, he stepped back and lowered his sword.
“Jonas, do you see?—”
Edrick lunged forward and swung his sword at Rowan’s midsection, nearly missing his gut by an inch. Rowan was only in boiled leather; that would have spilled his guts if not for his quick reflex.
Rowan threw his sword to the dirt, advanced in three swift strides, and backhanded Edrick across the face.
Hard.
The force of the blow sent his captain to the earth, where he spat blood and a broken tooth. Smoke burst forward, his spine curved, a long, rolling growl filling the yard. His jaws were inches from Edrick, drool spewing from his bared, razor-like teeth.
Rowan clenched his fists. Breathing hard, he fetched his longsword from the ground and strode back to the castle with Smoke at his side.
All along, Blanchette watched from her window.
* * *
Nighttime cloaked the castle and filled the world with a moonless sky.
Rowan entered the stable. It was divided into neat rows of wooden stalls, each large enough to hold two horses. Wooden bars separated the stalls, and their occupants stood quietly within them, their eyes reflecting the torch’s soft, wavering light.
The aromas of fresh hay and straw dominated the air. The unmistakable musk of the horses also held—a blend of sweat and leather that reminded Rowan of home.
The destriers were fierce beasts, bred for battle and loved for their strength and courage. But they were also wild and unpredictable, so taming them was no easy task.
And Rowan had always enjoyed a challenge.
He nodded a curt greeting to the horse tamer, Harwin. The man looked a bit like a horse, with a long face, shifting, black eyes, and teeth too large for his mouth. His clothes were dirty and full of holes, yet he held himself with a king’s dignity.
Rowan approached one of the horses—an auburn beauty with a slender head. The horse snorted and stomped her white feet, wary of the stranger. Dust rose into Harwin’s face. He coughed madly, a look of defiance on his weathered features, and fanned away the debris.
“That’s a hard nut to break,” Harwin said to Rowan. “I’d be careful if I were you, sir. She’s a mean bastard.”
Rowan nodded. “Fortunately, I know a thing or two about mean bastards.” Slowly, he reached for the horse’s muzzle, brought her face close, and murmured. He felt the horse respond to his touch, and she stopped stomping her hooves a moment later. Rowan eyed Harwin and tried not to smile. It made an appearance anyway, and Harwin frowned and spat into the hay.
“You were saying?”
The horse tamer muttered under his breath and shook his head. Then he exited the stable without another glance.
Rowan exhaled a long sigh, then turned his attention back to the horse.
“What’s your name, beauty?” he asked, stroking the horse’s muzzle with long, soothing caresses. A white blaze flamed between her brown eyes, contrasting against the darkness of her hair. “How about Shadow? That’s as good a name as any?” The horse tossed her muzzle and gave Rowan a gentle nip.
Rowan chuckled to himself. Shadow’s ears turned toward the sound, and she responded with an amicable knicker. Then Rowan fetched a cube of sugar from inside his cloak and fed the treat to her.
Rowan had come here to distract himself, but he kept seeing Edrick’s angry gaze in his mind. The way his friend’s sword had swiped at his midsection. How he’d slammed the back of his hand against Edrick’s face and sent him flying to the ground.
What’s happening?
I need out. I need to feel the wind on my face and Norland’s sun on my back.
Rowan was riding down the coast on Shadow’s back hours later. The castle towered behind him, the wind swept through his hair like fingers, and his blood came to life as he found a sliver of peace.
