I don’t think she’ll answer. She seems inclined to give me as little information as possible. But Lyra takes another sip of water before she responds without looking my way. “They heal the wounds. But the body doesn’t forget.”
“Are you in pain now?” I focus my full attention on her, turning from the training.
A small smile touches her lips, a twisted sort of amusement. “Exercise helps.”
I… don’t like that. My jaw tightens. “Some of the younger ones have never seen a Lightbringer fight. Would you be willing to offer them a demonstration?”
Her eyes slide to me. “So youdohave manners in there somewhere.”
“Don’t test me.” I open my palm to pull back the shadow keeping her in place, and she watches my erevas retreat with her lips pressed together. If I had to guess, I’d call it envy, and more unwelcome sympathy strikes. “And toss that damn knife away.”
Her hand slips to her lower back. She tugs it free from the waistband of her trousers, making a show of holding it between two frost-darkened fingers before dropping it. “I had no plans of attacking you, unless you attacked first.”
“Good to know you have some sense of self-preservation, since the Binding would strike before you could.” Suddenly, I have a greater understanding of Eres’s motivations in offering it. I nod to the ring of dirt we use to train. “After you.”
When we walk into the middle, silence spreads across the pockets of small groups. Swords drop, faces turning to us. Eldritch claps his hands together. “Good. They’re due a break, so they can watch. Together?”
The thought of her sparring with someone else makes my gut twist, so I nod. He tosses me two swords, and I hand one to Lyra as she grimaces, testing her grip and rotating her wrist. “Wood? Really?”
“What do you usually fight with?”
She holds up her bandaged palms in silent answer. “We don’t use practice weapons. I have a preference for daggers.”
A murmur runs through the soldiers. They take up positions against the wall, some dropping to sit and massage out whatever aches they’ve gathered so far, others leaning forward and bracing their backs against the wood as waterskins are passed down the shoddy line. But all of them are paying attention.
Eldritch hands her two slim wooden daggers from the weapons table instead, each the length of her forearm, and Lyramurmurs her thanks before looking at me. Her posture shifts as she rolls her shoulders.
I wait for her nod. “Ready when you are, wielder.”
“Tell me if you need to stop.”
“You’ll know when I need to stop.”
Eldritch is talking behind me. “Focus on her feet. Lightbringers receive the same basic training. They have tells.”
Her gaze flicks to him, and I move.
Lunging forward, I attempt to take advantage of her distraction and tap her guard lightly, barely touching it. Her arm raises, deflecting the blow without giving ground. Without even looking at me. “How very obvious of you.”
Falling back, I study her stance. Her center of gravity sits lower than expected, feet angled slightly.
I strike properly the second time, keeping my eyes low, and my blade slides past her shoulder as she shifts, dropping it just in time in a sudden, unexpected flow of movement. My overreach costs me. Her daggers come up, one slicing against my ribs and the other brushing my neck. If they were real, I’d be dead.
More murmurs, and she gestures. “You do them no favors by humoring me.”
She’s right, and it annoys me beyond words. My teeth grit. “Fine.”
I try a horizontal cut. Lyra’s parry is sharper now, as if she’s settling into a familiar routine. Her feet shift in a pattern that creates a triangle in the churned mud, using the ground to maintain her balance.
My brows knot. If she plans in staying in one place—
Her daggers swipe for my chest as she throws herself forward. I catch a flash of a grimace, as if she’s overextended herself, but it’s gone when she turns to face me once more, the two of us switching places.
Eres is going to kill me.
Our next exchanges are faster, harsher. My blade meets her daggers again and again, Lyra adapting to every shift. She moves like a dancer, circling and forcing me to sink deeper into the mud. My next strike throws her off-balance, and I grin, pulling the sword back. “Are we keeping count?”
Her next lunge is a little more savage, lower as she aims for my abdomen. Twisting, I shove her away with my shoulder. Harder than I meant to, and my pulse jumps as she stumbles back.
