He was going to regret this, hitting a woman unprovoked made him viscerally ill, but she asked for this—asked for him to show her how to fight, and if she wanted to learn that way, it would be either him or some larger, less empathetic soldier to teach her.
“Fine,” he groaned.
“Fine, what?” Dafne asked, her eyes lighting just slightly, her shoulders relaxing.
“If you do not want to learn the right way then you need to show me what youdoknow.” Dimitris took up a defensive stance, raising both hands in front of his hands. He hadn’t bothered to wrap them, not thinking he would actually be sparring with the woman. Hopefully, no blow he gave should cause enough damage that he would regret it.
Dafne raised both her arms in turn, although unlike Dimitris, she did not broaden nor stagger her stance for balance. Instead she lunged at him in a brash manner, albeit with speed Dimitris did not expect from the woman. Her fist extended toward his face, thumb tucked inside the rest of her clenched fingers. With little effort, Dimitris tilted his body so her arm went soaring past.
“Mistake number one—do not throw a punch when your body is faced perpendicular to your opponent. Move your right foot backward, stay pliant through your legs,” he said, returning to his initial stance.
Dafne let out a grunt, but did as he said. Her eyes glittered with determination as she flung her arm back once more.
“Mistake number two—do not lock your thumb under your other fingers. You’ll end up with a broken bone that way. See how mine hooks around the middle part of my fingers? That helps to stabilize your punch.”
Sneering, Dafne did as she was told. At least this time around she was listening to him. She settled once more into her stance with a slight bounce, mimicking Dimitris. Again, she aimed her blows too soon, this time going for his stomach. Dimitris had plenty of time to step to the side and Dafne went tumbling forward, falling to the ground.
He extended his hand, pulling Dafne up from where she knelt. “Mistake number three—you put too much power into your front leg. You want your power to come from the back leg in your stance. You have good natural balance, don’t throw it off.”
This time Dafne did not lunge, instead she followed his footwork, stepping into the space Dimitris gave her to move, to learn how he flowed as an opponent. But after a few moments, another soldier took their own opponent to the ground with a bang and Dafne’s attention flipped to them. Dimitris hated himself for what he did next—but this was a lesson any fighter would have to learn. He drew back his fist, and landed it straight across her jaw—not hard enough to break it or bruise his knuckles, but enough that crimson trickled from Dafne’s bottom lip.
“Mistake number four—never underestimate your opponent. If I was any other man or woman in this gymnasium you would have been knocked unconscious already to teach you the same lesson I just did. Just because we are training, does not mean you can be distracted by your surroundings.”
That red in her eyes flared with something that made Dimitris proud.
“You’re angry; use that anger. But don’t let it explode with your movements—that causes you to falter, to misstep. Let it boil in your blood, let it act as fuel, powering each movement with a precise and fluid punch. I know it sounds insane, but let the anger calm you, give you direction.” Dimitris circled Dafne as she bent over, wiping the blood from her split lip with her forearm.
“What in the gods’ names do you think you are doing, Dimitris?” a shrill voice yelled from the entrance to the gymnasium. Thalia hurried over, leaving a sea of onlookers in her wake.
Her arms wrapped around Dafne, lifting her up by her arms. Thalia muttered something to her sister too soft for even Dimitris to hear. Grabbing a torn piece of cloth from her pocket, Thalia gave it to Dafne who promptly held it firm to the wound on her mouth.
“She wanted to train, so I am training her.” Dimitris moved to the side of the mat where he picked up a towel to wipe away his sweat.
“That wasn’t the deal. You were supposed to teach her shadowing, not punch her across the face! After all she has been through, you thought that was the best course of action?” Thalia’s posture stiffened and yet her chest heaved with every slow breath. Dimitris wasn’t sure what was worse, the vitriol in her tone or the fact thatit made him want to take her to the mat right this moment—and not to spar.
“My apologies,gatáki. I thought you said youdidwant me to hit her.” Dafne chuckled under her breath and Dimitris winked at Thalia who would have all but tackled him if Dafne hadn’t held her back. At least one of the sisters had a sense of humor.
“Leave us, Dafne,” Thalia said through clenched teeth.
“But I was actually getting somewhere, Thalia. I’m the one who wanted to—” Dafne tried to push back, but to no avail.
“I said leave us,” she snarled, pointing at the door. Dimitris had never seen Thalia this tense.
Gathering her things and beckoning to herpsychíwho had been watching from a corner of the room, Dafne headed toward the doors leading back to the barracks.
“I expect to see you back here every morning, Dafne,” Dimitris called after her. “You are not weak. Do not prove the men who think you are right.”
Dafne paused, turning her head over her shoulder. A faint smile twitched up on her lips. “I never do, wolf.”
Thalia’s glare could level armies. Though, so could the line of daggers that were neatly arranged in a baldric across her chest, looping down to where it attached to leather fighting pants. She looked like she was out for blood and, not surprisingly, it was Dimitris’s. Her moon-white hair cascaded down her back in waves, untamed and maddening. Chest heaving in ragged breaths, she unfastened the baldric, setting it down beside the mat, but never removing her eyes from Dimitris.
“What are you doing?” Dimitris asked, careful to no longer make a joke for fear the seer might lunge at him and claw his eyes out.
Thalia cracked her neck to each side, taking a moment to stretch her arms out before her lip twisted into a snarl. For a moment her eyes glazed over and her hands trembled, but just as quickly that death glare returned.
“I challenge you.” Her voice was as crystal as the seas that danced around Nexos, as damning as thedaimonsthey defeated in Tartaros. She pulled a strip of leather from her pocket and looped her hair up, fastening the rolling waves off her face.
“I am not sure you want to do that,gatáki.” Dimitris’s voice trembled slightly. Not because he was afraid of fighting her—gods, he would love to see what this woman could do, to have her so close to him that her scent was the only air he breathed—but because every few moments she seemed to flinch, to brush off something that was not there in the room with him.
