When I felt I couldn’t delay any longer, Nikella joined me by the fence.
She tapped me on the shoulder with a wooden practice sword, a second one gripped at her side. She also had her staff tucked under her arm as if she couldn’t bear to part with it, even in the serene Yargoth meadow.
“Time to practice.”
I frowned. “Now? It’s almost dark, and I haven’t eaten all day.” And my whole body ached from riding Ozlow.
“Doesn’t matter,” Nikella said, her eyes gleaming in the sunset. She tossed the sword, and I instinctively caught it. “Your enemy will not wait for daylight or a full stomach. They will want to attack you when you’re at your weakest.”
I swung the wooden sword in a few test arcs. It was heavier than the sunstone sword, but so was the steel one at my hip. My movements tugged on the tight scab across my shoulders. I prayed it wouldn’t start bleeding again.
“We aren’t going to war just yet,” I reminded her.
Nikella strode a few feet away, her boots leaving faint prints in the dusting of snow. “When we go to Calimber, we’ll likely run into the Rellmiran border patrols that stand between us and the mine. They will not hesitate to attack a group of armed Dags.”
I pulled up short. I hadn’t thought of border patrols. Rellmirans. Fighting and killing Shadow-Wolves didn’t prick at my conscience because they were murderous mercenaries. But Rellmiran soldiers? They were usually young men enlisted from farms in Pravara, ranches in Winspere, and the streets of Aquinon.
My empty stomach rolled when I remembered Shayn and the other guards Father had banished on my account. Gods, that seemed like a lifetime ago, but they might still patrol Rellmira’s borders. Which borders, I didn’t know.
“I don’t want to kill Rellmirans,” I said stiffly.
Nikella gently laid her staff aside, then twirled her practice sword in graceful circles. “You can try not to. But you will have to fight if you want to defend yourself and others.”
That was my goal. But I’d been picturing a fight between me and Renwell, not me and dozens of my people.
“I don’t want to be like him,” I whispered. “Killing anyone who gets in my way.”
I didn’t have to say his name. Understanding flickered in Nikella’s eyes.
“Who we are is a choice,” she said. “Renwell chose to be who he is. I chose to be the opposite of who my family wanted me to be. You can do the same. You already have.”
She stepped closer to me and tapped two fingers on my chest. “Remember, what grows from your heart”—she tapped my forehead—“feeds your mind and strengthens your hand.” She gripped my sword hand and angled my sword up.
I nodded, silently repeating the words and storing them away. “Did the Teachers at the Temple tell you that?”
A rare smile flashed under Nikella’s hood as she backed away. “No. A gladiator from Keldiket did.”
My eyebrows shot up, and I opened my mouth to ask the dozen questions that flooded it.
But Nikella barked, “Attack!”
I obeyed, lunging forward and clumsily swinging my sword. Nikella twisted out of the way.
“Again,” she commanded. “Until you strike me.”
Gritting my teeth and trying to ignore my stiff muscles, I tried again and again. Sweat trickled down my hairline and stuck my skin to my clothes.
But Nikella was faster than the Wolves. As fast as her brother.
She blocked my strikes a few times, but didn’t taunt me. Didn’t use her strength against me.
Our boots kicked up a bald spot in the snowy meadow at the edge of the woods. The silver and indigo of the night played tricks with my eyes. But Nikella always seemed to sense my next move, anyway.
“Enough,” she said.
I immediately bent double, trying to catch my breath.
“You’re fast and agile,” she continued over my panting. “Your footwork is decent, and I know from watching you throw knives that you have a good eye and quick fingers.”
