He sat back, dark eyes glinting. “Do share.”
“In most cases, it’s more beneficial for you to be the one exerting yourself, whether running or fighting. I should keep hidden, attack from stealth.”
His fingers drummed the chair’s arm. He only stared at me.
“Well?” I said.
“I had expected something else.”
He’s disappointed. “And what were you expecting?”
“Some nonsense. ‘I memorize a dozen local plants and throw them at the enemy, hoping one of them causes hives.’”
My lips curved. “Not a terrible idea—the first part, at least.”
He didn’t seem to hear me; his fingers continued drumming. “What you described is overarching.”
So he wasn’t disappointed.
I tapped the book. “You were right. The trials repeat themselves, in different ways. It’s useless to talk about specific settings or enemies.”
His eyes flicked from my hand to my face. “So you listen.”
“Don’t be surprised, Dorian.” I clasped my hands with soft grace and blinked three times. “Tell me a strategy you have in mind, great ser.”
He sat forward. “I have the greater stamina and strength—we should use that. You can walk lighter, and we know from that first morning you’re not half bad at attacking from the shadows.”
He meant the morning I’d tried to kill him when he’d entered my room. My “perfect attack.” He must have noticed my neck become blotchy, because he said, “We’ll practice your subterfuge. You’ll get better at it.”
This was a different Dorian than the one who’d kidnapped me. A different one, even, than the one who’d paced the gardens and crushed that blossom.
I hadn’t met this Dorian. He was intense in a whole new way.
“Maybe next time I’ll pierce your artery,” I said.
A ghost of a smile flickered over his lips. “Then we’ll both know the joy of bleeding out.”
Now that we were at the end of this first week, I had begun to feel time pressing in on me. At any moment the trials could begin, and I’d never even galloped a horse. I had barely achieved thirty-five paces from a target with Haskel, and what Dorian was now describing might never come to pass if the spiritstag decided the trials should begin tonight.
“I’ll take the lead at night,” Dorian said. “I have the better vision. That means I make the calls, and you follow them.”
That was a good strategy, even if the idea of obeying him rankled. “And during the day?”
“It depends on the circumstance. My vision and hearing are better than yours even in daylight, so if it’s a matter of those two senses, I should make the calls.”
He was right. I nodded.
“You still need to learn defense against magic,” Dorian said. “Tomorrow I’ll find you a trainer to begin?—”
He paused. His eyes widened, that circle of carmine at his irises’ center becoming clearer, and he gazed beyond me.
I finally said, “Dorian?”
His head turned; he seemed to be listening to something. Butthere was nothing except the ticking of the clock on his desk. He stayed like that for seconds.
“Dorian.”
He turned back and his lips parted. I sucked in air; the expression on his face was a mix of horror and sorrow.
