Page 12 of Tides of Shadows

Not here. Not now.

Chapter

5

The next morning, I decided I needed some good old training. In Thalrock, I had been raised alongside my elder brother and his squires. There were few women my age at our castle. Besides, on the islands, women had always been strong and independent. When men sailed the seas for months, duties fell to wives, sisters, and daughters. In my house, there were no exceptions. My father, though stern, always said it mattered not whether one was born a girl or boy, the waters and storms asked no questions of sex.

Years of practice, swimming, and sailing had left my body lean and strong. I lacked womanly curves, my breasts were small and waist barely defined, I had a muscular back and shoulders. The most feminine features were my long legs. Some said I looked more like a boy than a lady. It didn’t bother me. I preferred a body that hasn’t failed me when I needed it, a body that would protect me when in trouble.

But also, I had a very short temper and was prone to outbursts of anger. To survive in this viper’s nest, I had to find some outlet for my emotions. It’s better to vent on the training mat than to explode with uncontrolled rage. Though, I would gladly have delivered a few well-aimed kicks to Velena’s face, if granted the opportunity.

Putting dreams aside, I arranged a spar with Kael and Brenn. I would not train in the palace yard. Too many eyes, too many whispers. I needed no audience, I needed combat.

I chose a training room in the palace’s side wing. I dressed in close-fitting, light raiment that gave no hindrance. The shirt clung to me and marked my shape. Soft leather trousers permitted swift dodges, and I bound my hair in a tight braid to keep it from my face.

Kael already waited, leaning against the wall, toying with a wooden sword. Brenn stretched his arms, casting me brief, amused glances.

“Enough idling, gentlemen. Time to move,” I said, raising the wooden blades.

Kael and Brenn exchanged looks, as if certain they would soon thrash me and make me regret my words.

We began the spar. Short, swift strikes, almost a dance, agility mattered more than strength. On the islands, one fought with dual blades. Movements were precise, controlled, never wild. An enemy aboard a ship might stand at your side, so lightning reflex and accuracy ruled.

Kael and Brenn attacked in turns, one always watching and commenting.

“Do not wriggle like a piglet. Attack!” Kael shouted with a broad grin as Brenn pinned me to the wall with a flurry of quick blows.

I rolled my eyes. When alone with them, there were no titles, no “Lady Veymaris.” I treated them as family. And they knew well how to drive me to fury.

“One more word and you will regret it,” I spat, launching a series of counters.

Kael, however, would not cease.

“Can piglets talk?”

Without thought, I seized one sword and hurled it his way. Kael, as if anticipating, executed a lazy dodge and chuckled loudly, as though he had won a battle.

“Fine throw, Nerissa. But now you lack a second sword.”

“Well now. The little mermaid can fight too. Perhaps I shouldn’t have rescued you in the tavern after all?”

I froze for a moment. The voice was calm, low, yet it vibrated in the air like a plucked string. I turned and saw him.

Dricus Cineris stood in the doorway, lounging casually against the frame as if he owned the place. Arms folded across his chest, a shadow of a smile played at his mouth. Green eyes tracked my every move with unsettling focus, as if gauging my worth.

“Fine fighting,” he said at last, pushing off the wall. “But too rhythmic. Too predictable.” He tilted his head like a predator eyeing prey. “May I join? I will replace one of your boys.”

Kael and Brenn shared glances. They disliked being called “boys.” It showed in their faces. But I… I felt my heart beat faster.

“Be my guest,” I replied curtly, raising the blades.

At first, we fought calmly. We circled, measuring with eyes and testing each other. I felt in control. My strikes were quick and precise, my movements fluid, as ever. Yet something in how he evaded and parried my attacks stirred unease. He held back. He conserved strength. I didn’t like that.

Only after a while did he reveal true skill. The pace quickened, his blows grew stronger, harder to block, and I began lagging in response. I managed an ambush with the blades, diverting his attention, spinning half-turn, and kicking his knee with full force. A trick Alaric had taught me when we were younger. Dricus grimaced in pain. I smiled. But his expression told me the play had ended. Again and again he smashed me and finally knocked the swords from my grip until they clattered far across the floor, leaving me defenseless and breathless before him.

“You fight very well. For a woman,” he said calmly, irony undisguised yet laced with genuine respect. “Long reach, flexible. But you grow predictable. You always spar with the same people. You know their patterns by heart. In war…” His voice dimmed, grew grave. “In war, there is no rhythm. No familiar strikes. Only death. Filthy and cruel.”

I watched him closely. I knew he was no mere lordling playacting warrior in the castle halls.