Shaelith swept Darian’s legs out from under him with a move so smooth it looked choreographed. He hit the ground hard, dirt exploding around him as he ate a mouthful of training yard. “Romance can have corpsesandfeelings. It’s called efficiency.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of me, savage and bright.
“Mystery has suspense,” I countered, blocking another of Fenric’s increasingly desperate attacks. “You don’t know who did it until the end.”
“Unless you’re paying attention,” Shaelith said, driving Darian back down as he tried to rise. Her boot found his chest, pinning him to the dirt with casual brutality. “Then it’s usually the butler.”
Darian groaned from his position on the ground. “This is humiliating.”
“This iseducational,” Shaelith corrected.
Fenric tried again, a complex combination that would’ve been impressive if I hadn’t been able to read it three moves ahead. I deflected, parried, and sent his blade spinning from his grip with a twist of my wrist. It clattered across the earth.
“You have to be cheating,” Fenric panted, holding up his hands in surrender. “There’s no way?—”
I swept his legs.
He went down hard, back hitting the dirt with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. I was on him before he could recover, knees pinning his arms, my weight settling across his chest like I had all the time in the world.
“No way what?” I asked pleasantly, looking down at him.
His steel-blue eyes went wide, a flush creeping up his neck. “I—that’s not?—”
“That’s not what?” I tilted my head, genuinely curious. “That’s not possible for two women to be better fighters than you?”
“You’re working together somehow,” Fenric managed, very carefully not moving beneath me. Smart. “Some kind of?—”
“Strategy?” Shaelith finally released Darian from the dirt. “Planning? Basic fucking competence?”
“Oh, this is perfect.” Linc grinned from his perch. “Don’t move, I need to remember this.”
“Fuck off,” Fenric muttered, his face now completely red.
“Everyone has preferences,” Lira interjected smoothly, clearly enjoying this far too much. “I prefer historical accounts myself. Real battles. Real strategies. Real consequences.”
“See, that makes sense for you,” I said, still perched on Fenric’s chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re practical.”
“And romance isn’t practical?” Brynelle challenged.
“Romance ischaos,” I countered. “It’s feelings without logic. Decisions made with your heart instead of your head.”
Shaelith’s grin turned absolutely feral. “So is stabbing someone, but you seem to enjoy that well enough.”
Fair point.
“They’re definitely using some kind of telepathy,” Darian muttered, brushing dirt from his training leathers. “There’s no other explanation.”
“The explanation,” I said slowly, like I was talking to a particularly dim child, “is that we’rebetter than you.”
Beneath me, Fenric made a strangled sound. “Can you—would you?—”
“What? Get off?” I raised an eyebrow. “But we’re having such a nice conversation.”
“So about those mystery novels,” Lira said, grinning wickedly. “Any recommendations?”
“The Serpent’s Coil,” I said immediately, making no move to release my captive. “Multiple murders, unreliable narrator, and a twist that made me throw the book across the room.”
“In a good way?”
