‘Iversen.’ His fingers on her wrist jolted her back to him. He looked uncomfortable now, his voice taking on an edge of concern. ‘Your eyes are turning blue.’
She blinked back her tears. ‘Sorry.’
‘I won’t let anything happen to you on the battlefield,’ he repeated. ‘And don’t forget, you are Tor’s sister. You’ve been training your entire life.’ At her quizzical look, he added,‘Youcanfight, can’t you? You have been trained?’
‘Uh.’ She stalled, wondering how best to proceed with this next unsettling truth.
His eyes darkened. ‘Iversen. Don’t lie to your king.’
She blew out a breath. ‘I’m afraid things in that department are a little … dire.’
‘What do you mean?’ he said, aghast. ‘You own a sword, don’t you?’
She shook her head. ‘Honestly, I don’t even know how to hold a sword properly. I never really had a taste for it.’ She rolled her hand. ‘Fighting and bloodshed … and all that stuff.’
His jaw slackened. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘I’m as serious as Borvil’s bad breath,’ she said, solemnly.
He bit off a curse, dragging his hands along his face. ‘We’re going to have to change that,’ he muttered, more to himself than to her. ‘Fast.’
CHAPTER 27
Alarik
Alarik stood by the frozen lake on the front lawn, listening to the frantic footsteps of his wrangler. ‘I got your message!’ she called out, as she approached. ‘What’s the emergency?’
He turned to greet her, raising both of the swords in his hands. ‘It’s time for your training session.’
She skidded to a stop, nearly tripping over her own feet. ‘What?’
Alarik frowned. ‘We’ll start with your balance.’
The wrangler raked her copper-streaked hair back from her face. It fell in loose tendrils down her back today, free of the usual tight braid that kept it out of her eyes. His message must have reached her while she still getting dressed for the day. It was obscenely early after all, but Alarik had risen before the sun, finding himself unable to sleep. And once awake, his mind became full of thoughts of her. And more pressingly, the bleak admission she had made to him yesterday morning in the arena. That she did not in fact own a sword. Or indeed know how to hold one.
Unimaginable.
‘What?’ she said again. ‘Now?’
‘When else but now?’ said Alarik, evenly. ‘You’d hardly prefer your instruction in the middle of battle?’
She gaped at him. ‘Andyou’remy tutor?’
He flashed his teeth. ‘Lucky you.’ He hadn’t even considered assigning one of his soldiers to the task. It was far too important. She washiswrangler. His responsibility. Her safety was as paramount as his own. He would trust no one else with it.
He tossed her the smaller of the two swords, making sure it landed a safe distance from where she stood. ‘We should get started. Time is very much of the essence.’
According to Elias’s network of spies, Regna and her army were already on the march. Soon, they would reach the Blackspires in the north, and war would be upon them. Anxiety churned in his stomach at the ever salient reminder. He became impatient, pointing towards where her sword had landed.
It was a sleek, slimmer blade than his own, forged from lightweight steel, and with a leather-wrapped hilt for ease of training. Years ago, Alarik had gifted it to Ansel for his sixteenth birthday, hoping it would inspire him to spar. But Ansel had shown little interest in the blade. He was, after all, another pure heart who spurned the idea of battle in favour of peace. Shortly after, he had ceded it to Anika who deemed the sword too flimsy for her tastes and stowed it away in favour of her throwing axes.
It seemed a good fit for his wrangler.
‘Come on, Iversen. Where’s that fighting spirit of yours?’
‘Hang on,’ she huffed, hastily tying up her hair. Alarik watched in rapt interest as she twisted it into an elaborate knot, tucking the stray hairs back from her face until he could see the storm of worry in her eyes.
‘It’s all right,’ he said,feeling an uncharacteristic need to soothe her. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
