Kael let out a curse through a grunt when I slammed his back to the grass, breaths heavy, blade at his throat. Teeth bared, he tried to break free, but the shield strapped to my arm kept him locked in defeat.
I grinned, sweat and dirt spilling into my eyes.
Another curse and Kael let his arms fall to the side in surrender. “Gods, I concede.”
One palm clasped with his, and I tugged him to his feet. We’d long since stripped off our tunics. Smudges of dirt and streaks from the green grass painted our skin across shoulders, spines, and chests.
A small half circle had formed to watch. More than one hand clapped a few florin coins into palms. Seemed some guards had placed bets against me. Fools.
Buckets of water for drinking or washing were dotted across the fields. I splashed my face once, then tilted water into my mouth, soothing the burn in my throat. Kael slumped back on the grass, catching his breath.
“Have you been rank melded, Lord Ashwood? Is that why you’re so damn impossible to defeat?”
I stiffened for a breath, then shook my head.
Kael lifted his brows. “Truly? Not even as the Sentry? I spoke to some of the men in my unit last night about it. Those who Lyra advanced, they say, will be brutes with the blade.”
If they were bonded to a cruel soul, soon they would not know how to leave the brute on the field.
“I know rank melding is not required,” Kael went on, “but what are your thoughts on it?”
What were my thoughts on the practice of melding dead Stav bone to living Stav? Despicable.
I took another drink, then waved one hand in reply.Merit of a warrior ought to be earned through skill.
Kael considered it for a moment. “But if it gives a Stav an advantage over an enemy in battle, is it not worth it?”
Darkwin was a good man, but naïve. He would see the strength and ferocity of the Berserkir Stav, not the downfall. It was a form of glory in Stonegate, but like so many others, he’d never see—or choose not to see—the lust for destruction and battle that followed if a cruel bone was chosen.
It was the risk of soul bones. If the fallen was horrid in life, they poisoned the bonded soon enough.
Find those answers on your own, Darkwin. I rammed the point of the practice sword into the grass and continued.Don’t take from the opinions of others. It is your life, not theirs.
Kael studied a few pairings as they sparred across the field. “Captain Baldur insists more ravagers have been moving closer to Stonegate with the upcoming arrival of Princess Yrsa. Sometimes I think it might be nice to have more than a wooden shield to protect against their blades.”
I faced him.Ravagers are not warriors. If they overpower you, perhaps you are not a good Stav.
With an unfamiliar grin, I slashed at him with my sword.
Kael rolled out of range. “Bastard.”
He hurried to his feet, clashing his own blade against mine. Where he jabbed, I parried. When I aimed at his spine, he blocked, kicking at my legs. My muscles throbbed with the frenzy of a fight, my chest ached with each breath, but if I could belt a laugh the way Darkwin did, I likely would.
Somehow we’d managed to lose our blades, and there was no skill in our steps, simply sheer desire to best the other. With a shout, Kael rammed his shoulder into my side, encircling my waist in his arms and dragging us to the ground.
My elbow caught his lip, his knee my ribs.
We both rolled onto our backs, faces to the sun. Gasps followed,a few breathless chuckles. I could not recall the last time I’d fought for the sheer enjoyment of it.
“Ly,” Kael shouted through a ragged pant. “I defeated the Sentry.”
I snapped up. Lyra stood on the edge of the sparring field, alone. The gown she’d chosen was red as blood, and drew out the dark shade of her eyes and pink of her lips.
Gods, what was the matter with me? Her lips?
I spat my frustration and shoved Kael back to the ground when he tried to stand.
Where you belong, I gestured quickly.
