But the trace of odd vulnerability left his face quickly as it had come. She cleared her throat, fidgeting.
“Are you going to train me?”
A soft snort escaped him. “Hm. Rather mouthy, aren’t you?”
She looked away. “I apologize.”
Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he took a step closer. “I didn’t ask for an apology, nor do I want one. You’re going to have to cut the groveling act. It won’t serve you here.”
She clenched her jaw, her brow creasing as she looked at him. Her demeanor was no act; rather, it was an attitude that had been hammered into her for years. This ‘swordmaster’ likely couldn’t even imagine what her life had been like, the hardship she had faced.
“You’re angry at me now.”
She blinked. “No.”
“And a bad liar too.”
Before thinking, she shot back, “I am an excellent liar.”
Fear flooded her as soon as she spoke the words aloud. What if he reported her? Could he take it as some act of rebellion? One word, and the commander would surely kill her.
But Vane merely shook his head, the corner of his lips twitching, as if he found her funny. He walked away, his back to her as he picked up a sword, slim and lightweight—or at least it appeared that way, because when he handed it to her and said, “Let’s see if you have any balance,” her arm bowed from the weight.
“It’s heavy,” she said quietly. “It didn’t look like it would be.”
“Mm. It’s made of a special kind of steel.”
She chewed on her lip, examining the blade. “But wouldn’t it be more beneficial for the blade to be lightweight and easily handled? What’s the purpose of it being heavy like this?”
Vane paused before replying, and she looked back up at him. Gods, he was so much taller than her. Granted, she was short, even for a woman, but she could hardly meet his eyes without craning her neck back.
“You’re curious. Why?”
She bit back an apology, as he’d requested she do, and instead admitted, “I used to watch the princess train with her master. I was never given the opportunity to learn, of course, but it interests me.”
“What does?”
She felt foolish as she replied, “The dance.”
His expression grew sharp. “Your princess learned swordplay in a child’s pen, soft and safe, without consequence if she faltered or failed. You do not have such luxury. We need to teach you to defend yourself quickly, which will allow little room for finesse or fear—especially fear. You need to get used to the idea of taking a life. Your dragon won’t always be the one to do so for you.”
Soren felt her face drain of color. She knew this, had since Thessa chose her yesterday. But the reality, thrown carelessly in her face, was harsher than she bargained for. He was not wrong in thinking it would be difficult for her, but he was wrong to assume she had never taken a life before.
In fact, she had taken five.
“You must not speak of this, Soren. Ever.”
But Vane must have somehow seen it on her face, already unnervingly good at reading her when most could not, because his brow creased, and he said in a low voice, “You are not unfamiliar with death, are you?”
She cleared her throat softly. “I have seen it before. Most Misean slaves have.”
“That’s not what I?—”
“Is all this talking helping me learn to kill?”
Vane went still before he leaned in so close, they nearly shared breath. A tremble rushed down her spine at the look in his eyes.
“You’re going to need to learn when to use that mouth of yours. Talking back to me will only get you this.”
