“Give me a sword.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“We haven’t trained in ages,” she said. “And I need to learn to fight.”
Drawing my dagger, I cut my palm, letting blood trickle down my hand. From it, I shaped two blades—a longsword and a thin side sword for Aethra. Spinning her blade, I offered her the hilt.
Aethra grabbed the blade and lunged..
Taken off guard, I barely managed to block her assault. My arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Our blades scraped offeach other, and she stepped back.
“I thought I was teaching you to defend,” I said.
She wiped her mouth. “You said the loser gives away a secret. I can’t learn anything about you if I only defend.”
Chuckling, I raised my blade. “Parry me, and I’ll consider it a win.”
Aethra’s brow knit in concentration, and her eyes widened. She was taking this very seriously. A smile crept across my face.
When I first saw Aethra, I thought she was beautiful. It shouldn’t have mattered. I was not a lover-boy like Percy; looks alone did not impress me.
But when she’d limped back from an encounter with Phaedrus, wounded and bloody, demanding we let her come with us to rescue Percy . . .
I knew I’d need to stay away from her.
My mother’s death had ripped my heart out. Cassandra had repaired me, knitting my wounds back together. With her loss, the last shreds of my soul had been torn apart for good.
To lose Aethra now would destroy what little remained.
Why couldn’t I stay away?
Lunging, I aggressively swiped at her, consumed by a sudden wave of anger—not directed at her, but at myself. She managed to block each strike, but lost ground every time our blades met.
Aethra’s back slammed into the wall. She tried to parry and push me off, but my blade swept past hers and pressed against her neck.
Sighing, she glanced down at death and met my eyes. “Let’s go again.”
Returning to the other side of the field, my eyes wandered to the sunset reflected in the channels. Even at night, I’d forgotten how hot my home was. Shrugging off my coat, I tossed it onto a rock and lifted my sword.
Aethra snorted. “Did you enjoy running around Naunet topless?”
“It’s hot,” I protested. “Besides, I thought you could use a morale boost.”
Scoffing, she balled her free hand into a fist. “Morale boost? You flatter yourself, Weasel.”
“Did I imagine the dreamy look in your eyes when you stared—rather openly—at my naked body in the baths? "
“Hm.” She spun her blade. “I guess you look good for an old man.”
“Old?” My head snapped back. “I’ll have you know I’m theyoungestof the gods.”
“Still old,” she said, raising her blade.
Spinning my sword, I threw myself at her again and again, jabbing at weaknesses others would try to take advantage of, forcing her to defend from every angle. Each time, our bout would end with my blade pressed to a weak spot, where it would puncture armor and find a vital.
She never wavered. Though I could see sweat beading on her brow and exhaustion slowing her movements, she would always tell me to go again.
I had a feeling I knew where this was coming from. Aethra had gotten it in her head that insurgencies rose for a reason—and perhaps she could help.
