“Do you not want to always take during a fight? If you give ground, you will fall.”
Castien shook his head. “There is no opponent that you will best so thoroughly that they never get the upper hand. If it were to happen, then such an act was not a true battle in the first place.”
“I don’t understand, though I suppose I have not been given the opportunity, as I have never come close to winning.” She sounded dejected and looked it, too.
He’d seen her give her all today. It was why Castien had waited on her. He was jealous of Kierana and Cyprus having her to themselves all of class.
“You have to learn when to give ground and when to stand strong. Here, we will practice. Do not worry about using your sword. Focus on your footwork.” He gestured to his feet. “When I step forward, you step back. As in the ballroom.”
She nodded. Castien noted the tired expression she wore. They would not be out here long. He couldn’t be so selfish for her time that she ended up Tidesick.
Castien stepped forward, and Wren moved back. He circled to her left, but she did not move.
“Turn with me,” he gently directed her.
She did as he said, then stepped back again when he advanced. They moved in circles about the field for a short time until he felt she had become proficient at predicting his next movement.
“Now, hold your sword up in the proper stance as we move. When I advance, step back and push your sword against mine if it comes toward you.”
Wren nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. The wind lifted the hairs around her face. She had worn it up today, but Castien found it no less distracting. He was helpless. Every thought led to her. He’d given up on fighting against the current.
They began to dance again, this time adding the clang of swords to the silent song. Wren parried well for her lack of experience, though Castien was sure to keep his hits soft.
“Now, I want you to try attacking first for a change,” Castien said after a few more turns.
Wren’s breathing was haggard, but still she assented. She lifted her sword and pounced forward. Their blades knockedtogether. Castien pushed her back and advanced next. She took several steps back, blocking each of his blows. He kept his movements slow. In reality, he would have disarmed her in seconds.
“You cannot stay on the defense,” Castien said as she continued to back away from him. “You must attempt to gain ground when you see the opportunity. There is a give and take, but you are only giving.”
A flicker of something dark stole over Wren’s features, but it was gone as soon as he had noticed it.
“Meet my blow and push back,” he instructed.
On the next hit, she stepped to him instead of away. He met her gaze through the cross of their swords. Her eyes were a torrential downpour. A breathtaking amalgamation of shadowy darkness and ethereal blue. In them, he saw the fighter she thought she could not be. The one she had buried beneath fear and uncertainty and grief. A marrow-deep longing struck him. He wished to draw out her strength so she could witness it for herself. To grasp her hand and pull her out of the darkness she was enveloped in. But how could he? He was only a man, as dark and tainted as any. Unworthy of such a noble task.
We can walk along the beach together, if you like.
Wren’s words returned to him as she attempted to push back.Together. Perhaps, though he felt trapped by the confines of his destiny, he could still help her. If only by sharing in her pain and joy. It was not as much as he’d like to do, but if it was all that their circumstances allowed, he would grab each morsel of her with eager hands.
“I am not strong enough,” Wren gritted out before stumbling back.
She turned away and threw her sword to the ground before tangling her hands in her pinned hair.
“This is pointless. I-I was not made for this.” Wren’s voice shook, her back still turned to Castien. “You say I can decide who to be, but I don’t know that I believe you. What if I do not possess the strength for who I wish to become?”
Her shoulders hunched forward. She dropped her hands. Castien stood feeling more helpless than he ever had. There was nothing he could do to physically comfort her, given her aversion to touch. And every word that came to his lips would give away his knowledge of her journal. He wracked his brain for a suitable solution.
“Each time I get my head above water, another wave crests. I do not know how I will survive the semester.” Wren’s voice was thick with unshed tears.
Castien was caught off guard by the display. Such confessions were usually folded between pages of parchment and sealed with wax.
“You have not been here long,” Castien said gently. “I know what your bargain requires of you is great, but there is time yet for you to fulfill it.”
Wren shook her head in protest.
Castien continued, “You are stronger than you think, Wren. Perhaps not in the way you wish, but even that can come with practice. You have come far in a short period of time. In this session alone, you made improvements. My father put a wooden sword in my hand when I was but three years of age. You cannot expect to rise to my expertise after a handful of lessons.”
Wren turned around. Her eyes sparkled with tears. They reminded Castien of the way the Tides shimmered beneath the midday sun. She pressed her fingertips to her lips as her face twisted in anguish.
