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“Wanting a go, little human?” Ken asks, eyeing me.
“Absolutely.” I stand extra straight, trying to maximize my own height, as if I can somehow convince these warriors I’m one of them.
Even if the fae are using me for their own training, a pawn in their game of fears, I don’t care. I’ll benefit from whatever they have to show me. It can’t break me; it can only make me stronger.
“Can you teach me to do that?” I ask, gesturing toward her blade.
Viv tilts her head to the side. Her pale bangs stick to her forehead. “Sword fight?”
“Yes. I’m a quick learner.”
She laughs again and it’s a throaty, enveloping sound. I like the energy she exudes. She reminds me so much of Kenisius, and I wonder if it’s a shifter thing.
“Really though, can you teach me?” I ask again, trying not to sound desperate.
“Have you ever used a sword before?”
“No.”
“Held one?”
I shake my head.
“Are you familiar with hand-to-hand combat at least?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?” She quirks a brow at me, smacking her lips with a contemplative pop while Ken looks on with his typical amused expression.
“I can do it,” I surmise.
“Only one way to find out,” Viv snags the handle of her sword and tosses it into the grass at my feet. She reaches out toward Ken, wiggling her fingers until he hands over his own weapon.
My heart pounds with excitement. I didn’t think they’d really let me join in. For once, I feel included rather than excluded. Ken and Viv are not denying me because I’m marked, a Tradeling—the Lord’s property.
Or because I’m a woman.
An ember of freedom burns through my veins, and I ache to stoke it. For the first time since losing Char, I’m filled with hope. A new kind. One that foreshadows a new future—one where I am able to defend myself and fight for my freedom.
I lift the sword from the ground, surprised at how heavy the thing is. Even with two hands, it’s a workout to simply lift it. My face crumples as I realize this is not going to be as easy as Rainer and Viv made it look.
Ken claps his hands together, hooting his encouragement from near the rose bushes behind me.
Before I can prepare myself, Viv takes a slash at me and whacks the sword out of my hands.
I recoil, stunned at her speed and precision. My arms vibrate from the impact, my palms burn.
I pick the sword back up, and once again, Viv’s blade slams into my own, knocking it from my grip.
A grunt of pain and annoyance leaves me. Every time I pick up the sword, she repeats the action.
Again and again and again.
Until finally, I’m so exhausted and frustrated, I leave the sword on the ground.
My arms shake with the exertion, nothing more than limp noodles at my sides. My palms and underarms are doused in sweat, fingers blistered, and the blood pounds in my head.
I want to scream, ask if this is some sort of joke. Ask if I’m a laughing matter for the fae’s entertainment. But when I meet Viv’s warm brown eyes, my anger quickly dissipates. She looks so kind, so patient, that I can’t be angry at her for disarming me so quickly.
