“A … parrot?”
“I just said that.”
“What is …” Heat flamed her cheeks. “What is that?”
“It’s a kind of bird.”
“A bird?”
He laughed. “See, you’re doing it again. Yes, a bird. It repeats itself.”
“You …” Her face flushed with embarrassment and she pointed at him. “Turn around. I don’t need you watching me change.”
He was still laughing when he turned, and Biyu had to hold everything within her not to berate him or throw the clothes right at his head. She hadn’t intended to go along with whatever he planned—a spar, was it? But maybe it was a good idea to beat some sense into him. Or just beat him, in general. She was sure he’d go easy on her, and then she’d take that opportunity to smack his pretty face.
She stripped off her outer dress until she was in nothing but her inner clothes. They were pure white and they stuck to her body from the sweat. She hesitated. She didn’t need to take these off, right?
No, that didn’t sound right. She couldn’t be naked while trying to pull these training clothes on; not to mention she had no idea who they belonged to. A man? A woman?
Biyu neatly folded her dress and placed it by her feet while she unfurled the clothes Nikator had handed her. There were two pieces; black linen pants and a long-sleeved blue tunic. Her under robes consisted of a one-piece dress; if she was going to wear these, she would have to strip downcompletely.
“Whose … whose clothes are these?”
“Done?” He glanced over his shoulder at her.
She pressed the tunic over her chest, noting the way his sapphire eyes hungrily drank in her image. She wasn’t showing any skin, but the under-robes were flimsy, thin for breathability in this summer heat, and highly inappropriate to be shown to anybody. And yet he stared, gaze flicking over the curves of her hips. Heat erupted over her flesh, climbing up her chest, neck, cheeks and spreading over her ears.
He finally ripped his attention away, turning back once more. He coughed. “They’re Thera’s, I think, but she hasn’t used them in some time. They might be too long for you, since she’s tall, but they should fit.”
“Ah. Okay. Just … just don’t turn around until I’m ready.” She was already feeling too hot, and she wasn’t sure if that was from the beating sun this time.
Biyu peeled back the last layer of her clothes and stepped into the pants. She hastily tied the drawstrings to keep them in place and then yanked on the tunic. Like Nikator had said, the clothes were too long for her, and she had to fold the sleeves and the hem of the pants to her ankles. With her oversized outfit, coupled with her silk slippers that weren’t suitable for fighting, she was sure she looked ridiculous.
She cleared her throat. “I’m done.”
Nikator turned toward her, appraising her outfit with a lifted brow. “It’ll do.”
“And what exactly are we doing?” She gathered her clothes in her arms and headed over to the bench in the shaded area underneath the protruding stone roof. She dumped them there and dusted her hands; sand was already sticking to her sweat. “Sparring with weapons, or am I going to punch you or something?”
“Already thinking of attacking me?” He chuckled while she glared at him. He headed toward a barrel full of spears with sharpened iron heads, barbed tridents, forked staffs and various other weapons she had no name for. He yanked out a heavy bar mace, turning it in his hand casually as if it didn’t weigh a thing. He held it up. “What do you think of this?”
“There’s no way I can hold that,” she scoffed, coming to stand beside him. She hesitantly took it from him and nearly dropped it on her toes.
He grasped the mid-section of the iron rod and held it before she could do any damage to herself.
Her face grew hotter. “It’s heavy.”
“Hm.” He slid it back in place and pulled out a simple, wooden staff. “What about this?”
“It’s kind of too long, don’t you think?” She took it from him and marveled at its length; it was taller than her. She couldn’t imagine herself expertly wielding it, but she could imagine herself stumbling and impaling herself by accident. She shivered, placing it back where he’d got it from. “How about you let me choose a weapon?”
He stepped away, waving a hand at the weapons bin. “Be my guest.”
Biyu picked at the various weapons. Some pointy, some blunted, and others too cumbersome for someone as unskilled as her—like the three-sectioned staff that folded up and unwound, or the chains with metal spiked balls at the ends of them. She finally settled on a short dagger the length of her two palms stacked atop each other.
She held it up for him. “This one.”
Nikator didn’t look impressed. “You sure? A simple dagger?”
