After a few more words exchanged, Isobel nodded her thanks, and the five of them bowed again as she led Sean away.
“I could understand that,” he whispered to her.
“It’s Lux. The common language of the realm.”
“How do I know it?”
“Lhynion lived for more than five hundred years. A lot of the things he knew will come very easily to you.”
That settled about as softly as a glass shard in his brain. He was more Lhynion than he was himself. So who was Sean Archer, really?
They passed an archery range, and Sean wondered whether they ever practiced with firearms—a far more useful weapon if they planned to fight among humans. A bow and arrow had nothing on a semiautomatic.
Points for style though.
Past that were rings set several steps into the earth—fighting arenas. Their peripheries were so crowded with onlookers that Sean only caught glimpses of the brawls and knife fights within.
Isobel shook a censorious head at them. “The pixies and their gambling. The winners are worshipped, and those who bet on them can take home hefty coin.”
Despite himself, a grin formed on Sean’s face. He’d need in on that ASAP.
She took in his expression with a disapproving smile. “No. That’s not for you. Not yet.”
“What’s for me, then?”
She pointed ahead, where patches of grass were filled with people in rows, learning the basics of combat.
Beginners.
“Ugh.” Surely he didn’t need to start at the very beginning? Didn’t the punching bag count as training?
With a soft laugh, she answered, “They divide up each race according to our strengths. See the dryads over there?” She pointed at a group of auburn-haired sorts being trained by a handful of pixies. “We’re best at hiding, sneaking, climbing. We charge our Light from communing with nature.”
“You’re a dryad?”
She nodded. “And just there”—she gestured toward a crowd of people whose unifying characteristic was that their edges glinted like gold—“the devas are a little wild, but they draw their Light from mating, so they’re trained in close combat.”
Sean’s brain tripped. Did she saymating? He wasn’t ready to delve into the specifics of sex magic. The harried pixies training the devas kept shouting orders at their charges, only to be half-heartedly obeyed or ignored entirely.
“But you”—Isobel grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward a specific grassy area, empty except for two raven-haired individuals, a man and a woman—“are a pixie, and you will train as the pixies do.”
At his approach, the duet paused to turn his way, and just like everyone else, their eyes widened.
The man recovered first, and he did the wholebow, temple tapthing. The woman followed.
“I’d heard rumors,” he said, “but seeing is another thing entirely. ’Tis an honor. I am Cathaire, Blademaster, hailing from the Selgovae tribe.” His musical accent was thick, but he spoke English well.
“Good to meet you.” Sean extended his hand, but Cathairegrasped his wrist, squeezing as he leaned in and kissed Sean’s temple.
Through the touch, a shock sparked that Cathaire either didn’t feel or ignored.
“Have you brought him here to be trained?” the pixie asked Isobel before Sean could recover.
Did this guy just kiss him?
“Yes.” Bel grinned like she enjoyed his discomfort. “You trained Kywyn, and Kywyn will want you to train his son. I was explaining to Sean how you’re the Blademaster in charge of thelavanié’s pixie Apprentices.”
Cathaire laughed and glanced at the girl behind him. “The only pixielavaniéin existence,” he said before adding, “Aside from your family, of course. They Apprenticed with me as well.”
