Her face creased with lines as she pulled it out, the feather fletching scraping through the hole in her hand. “A soul wound will remind me every day about our debt.”
“Why?” I gaped at the exposed muscle and lack of blood.
“My sister marked you. It’s only fair that you mark me.”
“I didn’t want to mark you!”
Ichi dragged the arrow through the dirt, rubbing off the remains of her hand before giving it back. “Our debt has now been sealed. Let’s continue with your practice.”
“What? No?—”
“I have made much of a scene,” she interrupted, gazing around at the warriors who were staring at us with confusion—but not concern. The only person in the entire arena who witnessed what happened and looked remotely concerned was Oliver. “And I have said all that needs to be said. The debt has been made and sealed. It’s done. Now, ready your bow and keep both eyes open as you aim.”
It took me a second to bring my mouth up off the floor, unlike Ichi, who held out an arrow with her wounded hand, waiting patiently for me.
Maybe Ichi was crazy. Who impaled themselves on an arrow to seal a debt?
I brought up my bow, having no words.
She watched and critiqued every arrow I shot. All her attention was on coaching me, with minimal eye contact. When we changed stations, it continued, only joining in when she needed to instruct or when it was a two-person lesson, like hand-to-hand.
At the end of training, she escorted me and Oliver to the doors leading into the castle.
“Things will be different tomorrow. See you then,” she said cryptically, bowing low before leaving.
Oliver and I walked into the hall, the heavy doors closing behind us.
His eyebrows shot into his bangs. “Fuck-a-duck, what was that today?”
“Penance, I guess,” I replied, rubbing my forehead. “Today wasn’t what I expected.”
Oliver snorted and flung an arm over my shoulder as we walked down the window-lined hall. “Wait, you didn’t expect Ichi to impale herself on your arrow? Really? I expected a five-act drama with a sword to the gut and some rain for atmospheric effect.”
I shoved him away. “I hope training with the general won’t be as… well, whatever that was.”
“Insane, bizarre, psychotic, some twisted twin shit. I’d probably start with those descriptors.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry, I bet we’ll have a splendid time,” he said as we approached our door, the sarcasm thick in his voice.
I groaned and walked into our rooms, then abruptly stopped.
General Ronen and Rune were in our sitting area.
“You really don’t know proper etiquette when it comes to people’s rooms, do you?” I said, noticing two Hell Squadron uniforms lying on the settee.
Oliver perked up. “Is one of those for me?”
I glanced at the general, confused. “But we haven’t earned them.”
“I’m the General of Hell. I get to determine who receives one and who doesn’t. Plus, these will regulate your temperature so you don’t have to worry about the cold, and the material serves as a conduit for power, allowing it to flow freely without the risk of deterioration.”
“You had me at cold,” Oliver declared, striding over to grab his uniform.
I hesitated.
“Do you not want it?” the generalasked.
