“My father tried teaching me some of this.” She threw a jab at the air with a poor form, bringing me back to the present. “When I was younger. Before he...”
She trailed off. The sentence dissolved into the space between us, and her jaw tightened.
“Before he left?” I kept my voice neutral.
“Abandoned is more accurate.” She threw another jab. Better. “He was around until I was six. Taught me basic stuff. How to hold a stance, how to read an opponent.” Her mouth twisted. “Then he vanished and I forgot most of it.”
It was a new detail of her life that I was glad to know. I could listen to her stories the whole day.
But we have other things on our plate right now.
“Your stance is good,” I said. “Instinct is still there. We just need to sharpen it.”
I crossed to the storage bench at the edge of the clearing, stocked with training equipment and a few weapons I’d brought from Veyndral. I unlatched the lid and laid three options on the bench.
“Pick one.”
Mira came up beside me and studied them. A short staff, a set of weighted training batons and a dagger. Veyndral-forged, the blade no longer than her forearm, balanced for a smaller hand.
Her fingers bypassed the staff and the batons without hesitation and closed around the dagger’s handle.
“This one. I like this.”
I nodded and stepped behind her. “Grip is wrong.”
I wrapped my hand around hers on the handle. Her back pressed against my chest. I adjusted her fingers, repositioning each one along the grip. “Thumb here. Index finger anchors. The blade is an extension of your forearm, not your fist.”
She shifted the grip. My hand stayed over hers, guiding the angle. I could feel her pulse through her wrist, hammering faster than it had any right to.
“Slash across, never stab down. Stabbing gets the blade stuck.” I guided her arm through the motion, our arms moving together. “Horizontal. Controlled. Aim for the soft tissue. Throat, inner thigh, inside of the arm.”
“Throat seems aggressive for a first lesson.”
“If someone has you cornered, you don’t go for polite.” I adjusted her grip, tilting the blade angle. “But if you ever have to stab, twist on the way out. A clean wound closes. A twisted one doesn’t. Don’t stab without twisting unless you want your enemy to live.”
She glanced back at me over her shoulder. “What if I stab you?”
“You won’t.”
“Hypothetically.”
“Hypothetically, I’d be very disappointed in your listening skills, because I just told you to slash, not stab.”
A grin tugged at her mouth. “And if I didn’t twist?”
“Then I’d know you wanted me alive.” I held her gaze over her shoulder.
“Got it.” She turned back to the target, set her stance, and slashed. The form was clumsy but the intent was clean. “I’ll remember that.”
I released her hand and stepped to face her. “Good. Now try it on me. On my throat.”
“Well, aren’t you kinky?” She teased with a smile.
My eyes flashed gold and I matched her tone. “You have no idea.”
The blush hit her so fast it reached her ears. Her eyes narrowed, shaking her head to focus. I smirk at her reaction.
Then Mira slashed. Too wide, I caught her wrist and redirected the blade away from my chest.
