Page 78 of Shade of Ruin

His sword comes down in a simple chop designed to cut me from shoulder to hip, and if I’d stayed still, he would have done just that. It would have broken through my dagger block as it had done more times than I can count.

I don’t wait for it, taking a half step back and letting the tip pass so close to me I can feel the breeze. Then I lunge, my spear lashing out like lightning.

He expected this, and his hilt comes up to block, the steel hand guard meant to catch the tip and push it off its trajectory. My left hand twists as soon as the pieces of metal make contact, and the spear changes angles ever so slightly. Just enough that when he pushes the tip, he drives it into his chest right above his heart rather than into the air above his shoulder.

The tip connects, and his eyes go wide, but I know it’s not a killing blow. Even if the tip were sharpened, Cole would still be fighting like a boar, and I don’t expect him to stop just because I managed to hit him a single time. Battles are won when one person dies. Not when one person gets hurt. Thankfully.

Instinctively, I yank the spear back since it’d have been embedded in Cole’s shoulder, probably piercing his shoulder joint, and it would have been hard to get loose. The movement throws me off balance since it wasn’t actually embedded in him, and Cole is moving already, his left arm hanging at his side, pretending to be useless.

I feint a thrust at the left side of his abdomen, knowing he’ll try to knock the spear tip out of the way with his blade, and when the blade connects with the metal tip, it pushes the spear out wide.

I was ready for that motion too, and my entire body spins with the momentum, making a complete circle and transferring that power to my next strike. The tip is on a path to slice at his bicep, which is barely in range. Cole has to stop to parry it.

He’s having to work at least a little. I’ve never seen anyone hit him. Not me or Darian or Lee. Everyone has just… lost. When Cole Cyrus attacks you, you lose. That’s the rule.

But I’m not losing.

He stops the spear swing, and I’m already dancing backward, preparing myself for another thrust, and this time he rushes me. Sword held in a center line between the two of us, he slams the flat of his blade against my spear tip, and immediately tries to close the distance between us, to make my spear useless.

If I’d had a side sword, this would be the time to drop the spear and focus on swordplay, but I don’t, and I don’t particularly want to have one. Luckily, I’ve missed thrusts in my life and had to keep fighting. Against wolves and boar, and they’re far faster and far meaner than Cole is.

The thing about a longsword versus a spear is that they’re both terrible up close. Cole doesn’t try to swing at me. He doesn’t have the angles to hit me. He’s going to turn this into a wrestling match, something that there’s no chance for me to win.

And that’s not going to happen.

I leap backward, and the spear moves in the opposite direction. It flies directly toward Cole, who had thought he had gotten past my defenses.

Except he blocks the thrust as easily as he had when I’d been using daggers. I hit the ground and throw my feet over my head, rolling backward. By the time I stand up, Cole’s longsword is at my throat, his left hand still hanging limply at his side.

“Never do that. Ending up on your back even for a second is a death sentence.” He says it without even panting. I’m breathing hard, each strike having been my full force. He pulls his sword away from my neck and walks back to where he started in the sand of the training pits. “The thrust was good, though. Better than anything else you’ve done. You may be right. What you did with that spear was a far cry better than what you’ve done with the daggers.”

He raises his sword and grins at me. “Now, try it again.”

My body feels like I was pretending to be a bridge, and people were driving wagons over me all day. I don’t think I’ve ever had this many injuries. And they’re not just minor cuts and bruises. I have several broken fingers, three cracked ribs, and my nose still won’t stop bleeding from where Cole hit me in the face with his forehead.

But I’m smiling wider than I have in so long as I sit down across from him at the table in our chambers. “Three times,” I say.

He chuckles and nods.

I hit Cole Cyrus three times today while sparring. I confirmed with him it’s been a very, very long time since anyone has hit him. “You know,” he says, “I’d like to get something made for you.”

I cock an eyebrow at him. “What kind of something?”

His lip curls up in a grin. “Armor. With a good spear and good armor, you’d be mostly safe in one-on-one fights. I don’t know of many people outside of the House of Steel that you’d be completely outmatched against.”

Armor. The thought’s more than a little surprising. The guards in the House of Flame don’t wear it because it interferes with their magic. I glance down at my fingers and think about the shadows that I had learned how to wield in battle. The things I’d done with them against the Shade only a few days ago. I wouldn’t be able to use those shadows if I was wearing armor.

“I’d rather not,” I say and wish that I could tell him why. That I’m learning to use shadows like I should be able to. Likea weapon, and not just in that way that the Shade taught me. Revulsion is a difficult emotion to control, but using shadows like ropes is far more natural for me.

Cole frowns at me, those icy blue eyes staring hard. He’s trying to understand why. He wants to put those pieces together to know why I’d turn down safety. Because he’s right. I’d be a lot safer wearing armor than if I weren’t.

Except that our real enemies are from the House of Steel, and armor would only hurt my ability to fight them.

“Why?” he finally asks.

I chew my lip, not wanting to admit anything. “What if I want to use my shadows?” I ask.

Cole’s brows knit together in worry. “Have you been practicing with shadow magic in Draenyth? This is the last place…”

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