Page 91 of The Edge of Darkness

“Good.” I turned around to face everyone else on the platform. “She has no idea about this, by the way.” With that, I began walking back to the others.

“Fucking hell,” Roirdan muttered under his breath, falling into step behind me. “If this ends up being a shit show, it’s entirely your fault.”

“Fair.”

The edge of Aremis’s mouth lifted as he watched Roirdan and I return. He knew our dynamic—how we liked to give each other a hard time. And he appeared particularly intrigued to witness whatever I had planned for the commander. Silas, however, didn’t know how to react. His agitated wings were an obvious tell.

“Silas, you remember Roirdan,” I said.

The two nodded at each other.

“Nivelle . . .”

The witch stood two steps further away from everyone else, eyes narrowed to slits.

Oh, this was going to be good.

“We’re here for a couple of reasons. First, I need to practice porting with someone else. I’ve only ever ported by myself, but it’s imperative that I learn how to transport someone with me. And second”—I turned to Nivelle—“you need some basic training when it comes to wielding weapons. Everyone here needs to be able to protect themselves, if, for some reason, all magic and power fails.”

“Why would all magic and power fail?” she asked.

“The fae have ways that can render everything useless.”

“Witches aren’t affected by such things.” She lifted her chin, aiming the words right at Roirdan.

“Regardless, it will give us all some peace of mind,” Aremis said gently.

Silas watched his sister, silently imploring her to agree.

She worked her jaw for a moment. “Fine. But I think I’ll take to the smaller blades better than a sword.”

“You’ll learn both,” Roirdan said, taking a step further into the semi-circle we’d all formed.

“Roir, start with the daggers,” I said, flashing him a stern smile. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t object. “Silas, you get to work with me.”

The Dionach’s green eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

Roirdan jerked his head toward the opposite side of the platform, where his bag of weapons was perched on a nearby tree stump. Nivelle stalked after him, already sour with irritation.

Aremis leaned in to me and murmured, “You sure you know what you’re doing with that?”

I glanced over my shoulder at the commander and the witch. “Nope.”

An hour later, Aremis had walked me through how to port someone alongside myself, and I had successfully transported Silas back and forth across the pavilion. Each time we manifested on the other side, where Roirdan and Nivelle were training, I caught snippets of their arguments.

“Your hand doesn’t go there,” he said.

“My hand goes wherever I want it to go,” she spat back.

“Try harder,” he gritted.

“Teach better!” she snapped.

A handful of profanities were thrown to the wind on Roirdan’s part, and Nivelle seethed at each of his reprimands, her facial markings igniting blue whenever he came near to correct her.

They were a mess.

Silas gripped my arm again, chuckling under his breath as Roirdan shot us a very irritated side-eye. “This is the most I’ve ever heard Nivelle speak,” he said, looking at his wardeness as she flung another blade at a tree. The flat edge of the weapon slapped the bark with a thunk and clattered to the ground.