GOSSIP
The feeling of life constantly beating the shit out of me makes me want to soak in a hot bath, but I stand in the throne room, pondering the direction of my life. Then realization slams into me. Julius walked out before Odessa. He’s probably already down at the training ground. Which means I’m late. I sprint to my room to change out of my skirt and into my training pants, barely pausing a moment to throw my hair up before I race out of the Great Hall, across the terrace, and down to the training ground. I find Julius leaning against the archway, arms crossed.Shit.
“Well, well, late on our second day already?” His words are laced with venom.
“I apologize. It won’t happen again.” I try my best to keep my voice as steady as possible, but being down herealonewith him is already making me queasy.
Julius pushes off the archway and takes a step onto the training grounds. “Let’s see how knowledgeable you are with weapons today. I’m still trying to get a baseline for your skill level.”
“Well, I can save you some time there. I’ve never usedanything but a child’s sword and bow,” I say, hoping my honesty will win me some points with him. But I should’ve known better.
A cruel smile is his only response. We walk across the training ground and into the long timber building. The sloping roof nearly touches the ground on either side, and strange carvings line the door frame. My swallow is audible, fear pulsing in my veins as we cross the threshold; no one would be able to hear me from inside the building.
Hanging on the wall beside us are rows of shields, some plain metal, others intricately detailed. The rest of the walls are lined with rows upon rows of weapons: swords, axes, pikes, bows, maces, and clubs. A long, narrow table running the length of the room is covered in piles of armor, gloves, sparring pads, and silver helmets. Alone in this building full of weapons is not a place I feel comfortable being with him. He rips a sword and shield off the wall before thrusting them at me. “Hold these.”
The metal of the sword gleams in the light. Its blade is sharp, but the hilt is cracked wood, worn and abused, and held together with leather wrappings. The shield is smaller than the others and crudely made. The metal is scarred with several large dents, but it’s sturdy enough to do the trick and light enough not to weigh me down. Julius grabs himself a beautiful sword, the hilt glinting with a ruby the size of a chicken egg, and the shield he grabs is painted with a golden serpent in a striking position. A bit ostentatious for a weapons lesson, but whatever.
He marches out the door, and I have to raise my knee quickly to keep it from slamming shut in my face before following behind him.
Gods, he’s insufferable.
He leaves me in the sun on the east side of the grounds with a gruff, “Stay here.”
Julius marches to the tree with Odin’s ax buried in it. For asecond, I think he’s going to try to pull it from the tree, but he merely slaps the hilt again before stalking back towards me.
“This is how you hold a sword.” He shows me his grip for a split second before expertly spinning the hilt over the top of his hand and back into his palm. “And this is how you hold a shield,” he adds.
His voice is soaked in sarcasm while he hoists his shield up and down.
I reposition my sword in my hand, spinning it smoothly like he did without dropping it. His surprise mirrors my own and strokes my ego, giving me the confidence to hoist my shield up and down sarcastically. “Got it.”
Years of my father’s instructions flood my mind, and I pick through the memories, looking for the instructions on fighting a much larger opponent.
Julius’ face grows eerily calm as he mutters quietly, “Now block.”
He swings his sword abruptly down at me.
My panic is fleeting as self-preservation and muscle memory take over, and I surge my shield arm into position just before his sword can cleave through my skull.
The reverberation of his sword against my shield rattles my whole body. My teeth clack together loudly.
Son of a bitch.
I barely have time to adjust, my arms vibrating still as he swings his shield at my exposed chest. Twirling away at the last possible second, he misses my chest with his shield, but his booted foot lands squarely between my shoulder blades and has me flying face-first to the ground.
The impact knocks the wind out of my lungs, and I lie there gasping for air.
The pain sears down my spine, and I briefly wonder if you can break your wings before they even grow.
Julius squats in front of me, the pain and lack of air keeping me sprawled on the ground.
“I see why your parents didn’t raise you here. You’re too weak.” He steps over me and kicks my sword out of my hand. “Get up,” he barks.
Get up, get up.My mind screams at me, but my body doesn’t want to listen.
Slowly, I manage to pull myself up to find him sneering at me. When I reach for the sword, he kicks it farther away and swings at me again.
I thrust my shield into place to block his blow.
