Page 60 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

I suppress a shiver at his words of warning. They scare me…but at the same time, it feels good to hear them. Ruskin telling me I matter hits me right where I’m vulnerable. It echoes another time when we stood alone in a forest and he told me I was important.

He’d saved my life then—has done many times since. As wary as I am of how he makes me feel, I don’t want to let him down by playing fast and loose with my safety now, or his court’s, for that matter.

“Okay. Instinct. Got it.” I raise my sword, taking the initial stance Halima showed me.

“Good,” Ruskin says, then rushes at me.

I hurry to still my inner pool and take command of my magic, ordering it to bring my sword up to block Ruskin’s. It manages to take most of the force of his blow, which is so strong it might have dislocated my arm if I’d tried to take the brunt of it. As it is, the impact rattles painfully through my bones.

“This is going easy?” I gasp.

“It is if you still have breath to chat,” Ruskin says, spinning round and bringing his sword towards me again. Halima showed me this move, and I’m prepared to meet the angle. Another potentially bone-shattering blow, but I block it, allowing myself a triumphant smile. Then something wraps tight around my ankle and yanks me off my feet.

I hit the ground, my sword falling from my hand and sliding across the grass. I look down to see a vine releasing itself from where it had grabbed me and slithering away.

“What the hell?”

“I did say we were going to use magic in this session,” Ruskin reminds me, looking smug.

“Yes, but I didn’t think—” I pause to take his hand so he can lift me to my feet, and I go over to retrieve my sword. “I’m still learning, you know.”

Ruskin spins his sword in his hand in a move I’m sure Halima would condemn as unnecessary showboating.

“Learn faster,” he says with a shrug.

I gape at him and am about to argue, but he’s coming in for the attack again.

His blade flashes in the sun, and I wonder how he can be sure he won’t hurt me. Halima’s swordsmanship always seemed to have such tight control, but Ruskin—his fighting reflects his personality: it’s a whirlwind of power and passion.

I remember Halima’s instruction about overhead blocks and direct my sword up into a horizontal position. The steel clangs loudly enough to echo through the valley. I’m not fully focused on what my sword’s doing, though—I can’t be, not when I notice there’s another vine slithering towards my feet. When it reaches my boot, I direct my magic towards the boot’s buckle. The metal loop lifts, expands, then snaps shut around the creeping plant, severing it in two.

“Good,” Ruskin says, flashing me a grin of approval.

But despite his congratulations, he’s already withdrawn his sword to attempt another strike. I block it again, but only just this time, barely getting my sword up before his goes glancing past my ear. I stare at him, wondering if he’s aware how close he came to injuring me, but his face shows only a steely focus.

“Are you just going to block me all day, or are you actually going to try some offensive moves?” he demands, swiping at me. I almost fall over again as a root erupts from the ground and nearly impales my foot, forcing me to clumsily jump back from it and Ruskin.

I can’t catch my breath, can barely think in the onslaught of attacks. I’m working purely on gut feeling, and my blood pressure is dangerously high. I can’t take much more of Ruskin’s close calls and goading.

As I dodge the next blow, I take his advice. I don’t think I can disarm him when I’m on the back foot like this—pulling the sword from Halima was hard even without her having a fraction of Ruskin’s magical power. Instead, I seize upon the first thing I can see that would be useful: a pair of silver buttons on his cuffs.

The spell is a simple one. Whenever I use magic on metal, it grows hot to the touch anyway, so I just push it further now, encouraging the buttons to heat up, raising their temperature until they’re searing.

Ruskin hisses in pain as the metal scorches through the fabric and burns his skin. His wrist jerks and his grip on the sword loosens.

It’s a tiny window, but I try to seize it, running forward with my blade raised.

A fully formed tree bursts from the ground directly in front of me before I can slow my momentum and my magically propelled sword sinks into it, embedded in a spray of splinters.

I let out a groan of frustration, yanking on the handle to get it free.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Eleanor. A few buttons, really?”

He’s not playing fair, which might be expected, but he’s not teaching fair either. I can’t learn anything like this, when he’s foiling me at every turn, never giving me a chance to succeed. Ruskin is so powerful and experienced that of course he will win this fight, but making me lose spectacularly, with a running commentary of snide remarks, just feels like beating me down rather than helping me get stronger.

And yet we go on like this—him attacking me, me just about blocking him and his magic while desperately grabbing any opportunity to go on the attack myself. Each of my attempts fails. I find I can’t get within inches of him.

“This is a waste of time,” I bite out in between heavy breaths, my hair plastered to my face with sweat, my body aching and sore. “I’m not getting anywhere. You’re not letting me.”

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