Just because I’ve lived most of my life in isolation, doesn’t mean I’m oblivious, and I feel somewhat guilty for intruding. I might have turned around and come back later, except Jett looks up at the sound of the door swinging shut behind me and raises a hand to wave. “Morning!”
I raise a hand and wave back, and now I have no choice but to barge in on their conversation.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, walking down the aisle of stalls toward them.
Jett flashes a wide grin. “You’re not interrupting.”
The girl looks like she disagrees, and her expression is sulky as I approach them. I stop in front of them, and she immediately mutters some excuse and scampers away to continue her sweeping elsewhere.
“Sorry,” I say again. “I really didn’t mean to bother you. It’s not important or anything, I can come back later, or?—”
“It’s fine,” Jett cuts me off with another grin. “So, were you sent to find me? Does Daemon need me back at the house for something?”
“No, nothing like that. I was looking for you, actually.” I clear my throat. “I was hoping you might help me practice with a sword.”
Jett’s eyebrows shoot up. “Me?” he asks, running a hand through his dark hair. “Are you sure? Why?”
I laugh. “Yes, I’m pretty sure. Alix and Odessa are no more talented with a sword than I am, so neither of them is an option. Daemon is far too busy, I’ve never seen Kastian use a sword, and Fox…is also busy.” I finish, slightly awkwardly. I was going to saythat Fox makes me nervous, but that sounds pathetic even in my head.
“So, I’m your last resort?” Jett jokes.
I laugh. “I suppose? You’re also the shortest of the men, which feels like an advantage in this case. I imagine it would be hard to spar with someone twice my size.”
“Oh, so I’m shortandhave nothing better to do? How you flatter me.”
“Notshort,just theshortest,” I clarify. “And it’s not as if I have any right to talk, you’re still a foot taller than me.”
“Yeah, sure.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Why would you need to learn to fight? What changed?”
“Nothing changed,” I answer automatically, then correct myself. “I mean, nothing more than what you already know about. Everything changed when you guys all showed up here. King Thorne is dead. I can leave the estate now if I want to, I don’t have to be in hiding for the rest of my life.”
“True, but you don’t need to know how to fight just to travel.”
“I do if I’m going to travel anywhere interesting.”
Jett gives me an appraising look, then nods slowly. “Alright, you win. I think there’s some practice swords out back that the guards have been using. Come on.”
Jett leads me to a patch of flattened grass behind the stables where the morning sun hasn’t yet burned away the dew. A weathered trunk and a pile of practice equipment are piled against the back of the building. Jett rummages through the trunk, tossing aside leather straps and dented metal pieces before pulling out two short practice swords.
“Try this.” He tosses one of the swords to me and it lands with a thud at my feet. His ever-present grin widens. “Okay, first lesson: if someone throws something at you, try to catch it.”
I huff an amused breath, and bend to pick up the pretend sword. It’s heavier than I expected and the wooden hilt feelsrough against my palm. I struggle to find a comfortable grip while Jett demonstrates a stance, feet planted shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. I wobble, but manage not to truly embarrass myself or fall over.
For the next hour, Jett directs me how to swing the blade, and we go over a few practice stances, as if fighting an invisible opponent.
“I think I get it,” I tell him, swishing my practice sword through the air like the hero of one of my books.
“Yeah, you do now, but you’re not actually fighting anyone,” Jett points out. “Let’s try something else. Hold your sword in front of you to guard your face. I promise to go easy on you.”
My eyes widen. “What are you going to do?”
“Try to hit you, obviously. I’ll go slow.”
Before I’ve even found the words to answer, Jett lunges forward, his wooden blade whistling past my ear as I stumble backward.
“Hey!” I yelp, scrambling to lift my sword. “You just said you’d go slow.”
“This is slow,” he says, driving me backward. “Try to hit me back.”
