“I was simply looking to spar,” Varyth continued, his gaze never leaving my face. “But if everyone is...busy.”
“No.” Fenric said too quickly, too eagerly, already trying to sit up. “I’ll spar with you. Definitely. I need a break from these violent females before they actually kill me.”
I shifted my weight, letting him up. “Aw, is the big strong warrior afraid of getting his ass handed to him by a woman half his size?”
“Yes,” Fenric said immediately, climbing to his feet and brushing dirt from his training leathers. “Absolutely terrified. You’re both menaces to society.”
Shaelith’s laugh was pure wickedness from across the yard. “Smart man.”
Fenric and Varyth moved to the centre of the training yard, and I found myself drifting toward where Darian now sat with Eilrys tucked in his lap, Linc was settled on the weapons rack, and Brynelle was sprawled comfortably on the ground. The moment I was close enough, Darian’s eyes slid to mine, russet brown gone absolutely alight with amusement.
Heknewsomething.
“What?” I asked, dropping down beside him.
“Nothing.” His grin was one that could start wars. “Absolutely nothing. Just... enjoying the show.”
Shaelith abandoned her spot across the yard, crossing to where we sat with that predatory grace she wore like a secondskin. Without a word, she settled between Brynelle’s legs, leaning back until her wife’s chin found her shoulder with a casual intimacy that sent a pang through my chest.
“This should be good,” Shaelith murmured, eyes gleaming with something that looked suspiciously like bloodlust.
I glanced at her, then at the others. Linc’s grin spread wider by the second. Eilrys twisted in Darian’s lap, both of them watching the centre of the yard with rapt attention.
“What am I missing?” I asked.
Lira sniggered. “Oh, nothing. Just... watch.”
Varyth and Fenric were squaring off. They moved through the opening forms, the ritual dance of sizing each other up, testing reach and speed and intention. Standard. Professional.
Then Varyth struck.
The first blow came so fast I almost missed it. A vicious strike aimed at Fenric’s ribs that would have cracked bone if it had landed. Fenric barely got his blade up in time, the impact sending him staggering back three steps.
“Fuck,” Fenric breathed.
Varyth didn’t wait. Didn’t even give him a heartbeat to recover. He pressed forward with a combination that was pure brutality, each strike flowing into the next. No wasted movement. No mercy. Just pure, focused violence dressed up in flawless technique.
His face was perfectly blank. Which somehow made it worse.
“Is he—” I started.
“Oh, he’s pissed,” Linc said, still grinning like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week. “Absolutely furious.”
Varyth drove Fenric back another five steps, his blade carving through the air with enough force to make the steelsing. A blow aimed at Fenric’s throat—pulled at the last second to slam against his shoulder instead. Another to his ribs. Anotherthat would have taken his knee out if Fenric hadn’t twisted away fast enough.
“Aboutwhat?” I demanded. “Did something happen?”
When I looked around, every single one of them was staring at me. Darian’s smirk had gone absolutely feral. Brynelle was biting her lip so hard I was worried she’d draw blood. Even Shaelith looked amused, which was concerning given that Shaelith’s version of entertainment usually included someone losing a limb or their dignity or both.
“What?” I snapped.
No one answered me.
In the yard, Varyth landed a blow to Fenric’s shoulder that sent him spinning. Fenric scrambled to recover, bringing his blade up just in time to catch the next strike. The impact jarred through both of them, steel shrieking in protest.
“Stars above,” Fenric panted, sweat dripping down his temples. “What thefuckdid I do to you?”
Varyth’s grip on his sword tightened. That was the only answer he gave.
