Chapter Eleven

Wyn

I wince when the flat of the wooden practice blade strikes me across the cheek. There's a momentary flash of pain and then I hear the loud pop of wood meeting skin. Deyro laughs and bounces backward on the balls of his feet, shaking his head.

“You okay this morning?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say.

We're in the training house sparring – probably not the very best idea after just a couple of hours sleep and my head still filled with images of Kaitlyn. I hadn't gone into that bar last night expecting to talk to her. After drawing upon my magic to find her, I'd tailed her for a few days, always keeping a distance, always keeping out of sight – just watching her.

But something compelled me to go and talk to her last night. And it wasn't that energy that surrounds her. It was something about her. After shadowing her for a while, I felt drawn to her smile. Her laugh. The way she twirls her hair around her fingers when she's thinking.

There are a million different things I can list that drew me to her. And I guess last night, I just felt like I needed to sit with her. Talk to her. For reasons I still can't understand or explain, I felt like I needed to be in her presence. It was stupid and I'm sure that Quint is going to have my ass for it. But I couldn't help myself. I just had to talk to her.

“Swords up,” Zarik commands from his spot at the side of the sparring mat.

The others who are training in the house this morning stopped what they were doing to watch us. Deyro and I were widely acknowledged as the two best swordsmen in territory and they seemed to enjoy watching us. I'd even seen some of them betting on us – most of them against me, probably. My sparring record against Deyro isn't the best.

I raise my sword, but I'm just not feeling it this morning. I'm slow, sluggish, and entirely distracted. This isn't the best time for me to be sparring with somebody as skilled as Deyro. But, Zarik – acting in place of Quint who'd yet to return from Chondelai – had commanded that we do so.

Though, to be fair, it's probably something Quint himself would have done. He liked us to keep sharp as well as provide instruction and demonstrations for the others. Especially, the fighters from the Children of the Dawn. Quint wants them every bit as formidable as we are with a blade in our hand.

I sigh. Just one more of the hoops I have to jump through.

“You ready?” Deyro asks. “Or do you need a break? Maybe some orange slices and a juice box?”

“Shut up,” I say.

“Or, I know,” Deyro says. “How about I fight you with just one hand? I'll even let you pick which one.”

There's some chuckling among the humans – and even from Zarik and the other Rangers – which only ignites the fires of irritation within me. But then, maybe that was his purpose in ridiculing me – to get me riled up and get my head back into the game.

I can't let myself be so distracted and out of focus. I can't let him show me up in front of everybody. And I won't be laughed at. I close my eyes and take a long, deep breath, summoning the energy within me. I let the calming magic wash through my body, clear my mind. And when I feel more settled, I release the magic and open my eyes again.

“Ready?” I ask.

“I've been ready,” he replies.

I launch myself forward, my blade spinning and whirling. Deyro smiles and counterattacks, his blade meeting my every thrust, every jab, deftly turning them aside. Knocking my blade to the right, Deyro lashes out with his foot, aiming to catch me in the stomach. But I'm ready for it. I spin to the side, grabbing his foot, and give it a vicious yank.

The sudden shift in momentum and balance takes Deyro off his other foot and he ends up flat on his back, staring up at me. He rolls to the side quickly, just as I thrust the point of my blade. It hits the mat and I'm temporarily exposed. As Deyro brings his own blade down – which would have caught me flush across the back – I twist my body, bringing my own blade up in defense.

Our swords collide and I strike out with my foot, aiming for his knee. Deyro dances back out of range, which is fine. It was a distraction meant to buy me a little time to gather myself again. He comes roaring back in, his blade whirling, a smirk on his face, as if he thinks he's about to deal me the killing blow.

But I'm ready and waiting for him. As Deyro closes in, I launch myself upward, somersaulting over his head. Landing lightly on my feet behind him, I bring my sword up, placing the flat of it against his neck. Deyro nods and laughs as he turns around, letting his sword fall to the mat.

The match is over. Though we're evenly matched for the most part, this is the first time I can say that I've convincingly claimed victory over him.

The crowd gathered around the mat erupts in applause and cheers. Even Zarik gives me a nod. Deyro steps forward and pulls me into a tight embrace, giving me a few hard slaps on the back.

“About time, kid,” he says. “I knew you had it in you.”

“Kid?” I say as he steps back. “You do realize you're only like fifty years older than I am, right?”

He shrugs. “It's still older,” he says. “So, respect your elders.”

“Yeah, right,” I reply. “Respect is earned. And all you earned just now is the right to be my bitch for a while.”

Deyro laughs. “And, he's back,” he says. “There's that arrogant little asshole we all want to kick the crap out of. I was wondering where you'd gotten off to.”

The gong at the front of the training house echoes loudly and everybody falls silent as we turn. Quint is standing on the raised platform staring back at us. He looks a bit haggard and harried – and in no mood for jokes.

“Senior Rangers and Scouts,” he says. “Ready room. Now. Wyn, you come too.”

I look at Deyro and he shrugs. “Not sure what's going on,” he says. “But judging by the look on his face, it's not good.”