“We need to talk,” a harsh voice says.
I look up at my husband, at the eyes that bear no patience nor understanding.
He turns those eyes toward Neris, but she holds his gaze. “Run along now, orphan,” he sneers.
Her fists clench as she takes a step toward him. My heart leaps. “Neris.” Her name rushes past my lips, helplessly beseeching. “Please.”
She glowers at Gruffud and takes a step back, then another. Briefly, her gaze flicks to my face, something unreadable in her eyes, before she storms away from me. I want so much to walk away from Gruffud as well, to chase after Neris, but I face him. “That was unkind and uncalled for.”
“She needs to be put in her place. Just asyouneed to be put in your place,wife.”
I clench my teeth and inhale, my dress tightening with the motion. But as my lip parts, his head edges closer to mine.
“She may be your friend, but she’s lowborn. Furthermore, you are a married woman now, tied tomyfamily. Get your fucking act together and stop acting like a homesick child. Iexpect you to be standing by my side, not cavorting with the help.”
“She’s not?—”
My words are cut off as his hand encircles the spot just above my elbow. He squeezes, and the bracelets on my wrist rattle, as if the metal is eager to cleave his hand from me. I exhale slowly and hope with all my might that he didn’t notice.
“If you continue to disrespect me …” He lets the threat hang in the air as he starts to move toward the dining room again. He moves too quickly, his grip unrelenting, so I have no option but to keep up with his rapid pace.
In the dining room, the servants have set out fruit tartlets and a piece of chocolate in front of each place. I would eat a solid three meals of dessert throughout the day if I had the chance, but my appetite has completely fled. Gruffud releases my arm and pulls out a chair for me, pushing it in once I’m seated.
Everyone digs into the tartlet, but across the table from me, Neris’s eyes are on me. Her hands are clasped on the table behind her plate.
There is no anger or even disappointment to be found on her face.
But there’s pity.
Chapter 10
It’s beenone month since our arrival at the Verge. My days are filled with training, meetings, and occasional work with herbs at the apothecary, while my nights are dedicated to family time with Tiernan, Chiyo, Taig, and sometimes with Alys’s family when they invite us over for supper.
Today, before my eyes is a flurry of fists and flying feet. A crowd is gathered around the massive grey mat in the Skirmish Den where the Verge Defenders train. Innumerable weapons line one of the exposed brick walls, several mats are proportionately spread out through the space, and magelights shine down from the metal beams across the high ceiling. The stench of sweat and the increasing balminess within the Skirmish Den would be unbearable if not for the most extravagant display of athleticism I’ve ever seen.
Chiyo and Isobel are locked in a fighting match of spectacular magnitude—backflips, twirls, and magical fanfare grace the mat, completely unnecessary, but so captivating. The pair is a beautiful, lethal force to be reckoned with. At twenty, Isobel is a year younger than Chiyo with a personality as bright as her fiery hair.
Across the mat from us, Isobel’s older sibling, Sloan, watches with steady blue-grey eyes. Despite the ten years between them, the siblings could be twins. Sloan seems unperturbed, clearly not worried about their sister’s match against Chiyo.
While Isobel possesses impressive Wielding abilities, Chiyo matches those skills with her diverse weaponry expertise. At last, Chiyo manages to pin Isobel to the mat, and onlookers applaud.
That is until Ava steps onto the mat, jaw fixed, braids swinging, lean shoulders thrown back. She draws her sword from her belt and points it toward the winner—a clear challenge.
Terrifying.
Chiyo’s face drains of color, but she nods and steps forward while Isobel rushes off to stand beside her sibling. Sloan rests an arm on Isobel’s shoulder—their sleeve is rolled back, revealing a stump that stops just below the elbow. If anyone dared to undervalue Sloan for their limb difference, they’d be making a fatal mistake; Sloan is deadlywithouta weapon and terrifying with a sword, even single-handed. Just yesterday, they faced Tiernan, and though Tiernan won, Sloan gave him a heart-pounding challenge.
On the mat, Avaand Chiyo circle each other like rival predators. Ava holds her long sword at the ready, and suddenly a presence appears beside me. I nearly leap out of my skin until I’m met with obsidian eyes and a small smirk that warms me even more than this stuffy building does.
“Just in time,” I say to Tiernan, nodding toward the mat.
Chiyo has a dagger in each hand now, flipping one, then the other as her angular gaze locks with Ava’s. They rush at each other with such swiftness, blade for blade, dodge for dodge. I gasp when Chiyo leaps back as Ava’s sword slices across her upper arm, cutting through her sleeve. Chiyo’s grip loosens on one dagger—it drops, but a breath later, Chiyo flings the otherdagger at Ava. It whizzes past Ava’s head, uncomfortably close, and the Warden flinches. Her hand flies to the tip of her ear, her fingers coming away red as she bares her teeth at Chiyo.
Another weapon is in Chiyo’s hand—a shuriken—but this time, Ava’s too quick. She darts to the side and drops down to the mat, forward-rolling toward Chiyo. One of her long legs swings out in a wide arc, effectively sweeping Chiyo’s feet out from under her. Chiyo’s back hits the padding with a slight bounce, and Ava leaves no room for recovery. She immediately straddles Chiyo, hips pinning her to the mat. Her sword lies discarded behind her, but a large parrying knife is now pressed to Chiyo’s throat, her free hand braced on one side of Chiyo’s body.
My heart lurches almost painfully—IknowAva won’t kill her, but … Alright, I’m not all that certain.
The fight evaporates from Chiyo’s body as her gaze latches on to Ava’s. Everything seems to slow to a standstill, the pair of them unmoving, tension growing and stretching between them like a living entity. A flush creeps into Chiyo’s cheeks until, at last, her eyes flick away from Ava’s. Looking equally flustered, Ava scrambles off her as though burned. She tucks her dagger somewhere inside her leather vest and holds her hand out to Chiyo. Stubborn as a Kilkenny, Chiyo rolls away, getting up on her own.
