Page 168 of Forcing Fate

His gaze might have been alight with joy, but his tone carried an order. If I didn’t fight him with everything I had, he would humiliate me. Though part of me acknowledged that would happen, regardless. I looked down at the shortsword. It had a standard edge, blunt, but enough to draw blood.

I glanced at his blades and had to swallow past the lump in my throat. They were no mere practice swords. They were wicked sharp. One wrong move and he’d filet me like a fish.

Deep down, I knew Rafe would never hurt me, but I couldn’t help fearing that steel.

“Now, Vy.”

I brought my sword and shield into position and frowned. I was doomed.

“Don’t look me in the eye. You’ll pay for that.”

I dropped my gaze to his thick neck and attacked. It was feeble, but with only a year and a half of training, it was the best I could do.

Blocking a blow, I stumbled, yelping against the force of it. I peeked around my shield to glance up at him, and he smacked the flat side of his sword against my ribs.

“Don’t look me in the eye!” he snarled.

I whined from the sharp ache.

So that’s how I would pay for it.

Within a few moments, and two smacks of his blade to my ribs, he backed off and lowered his swords.

“Enough,” he groaned. He didn’t bother to hide his disappointment.

“Two blades, Rafe,” Jam called. “Let her use her speed.”

“I’m not that fast.” I quipped.

It was true. I hadn’t mastered the art of parrying, and was much better at blocking with a shield.

“Go,” Rafe ordered, jerking his head to the stack of weapons.

I held in my groan and dropped the shield against the wall, then picked up the second shortsword. Dread filled me as I returned to Rafe.

“Look at me like that, and you’ll regret it,” he said, glaring.

I wiped the frown off my face and pasted a toothy smile in its place.

Jamlin burst out laughing and I charged Rafe. Within seconds, he tore a sword out of my hand and had his hilt pressed against my throat. Pushing me away, he cursed.

“I didn’t think she was this bad,” Blain mused.

I ground my teeth together and kept my gaze on Rafe.

“Staff,” he barked.

“You’ll just cut it–”

“Staff! Now.”

He was irritated.

His eye flashed in anger, and I wondered if he was angry at me or himself. He knew I failed at training. Perhaps I was worse than he anticipated. Or was he angry at himself because he took on a soldier who was terrible at fighting, with only six months before we went to the front lines?

I growled and stalked back to the wall, resisting the urge to throw the shortswords on the ground like a child, and picked up the staff. I had never used one. It was large and unwieldy, towering above me nearly two paces. It was light, but sturdy.

I eyed Rafe’s swords. Not as strong as those, though.

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