Page 26 of Heir of Illusion

Pulling the blindfold back into place, I take up a defensive position. “I’m merely eager to correct the gaps in my education.”

“As the person who educated you, I feel that statement was meant as an insult.”

“Men and their tender feelings.” I flick my wrist in his direction. “Take it how you will.”

He lands another blow against my back, knocking the air out of me.

“Your problem is that you aren’t listening,” he says, his voice coming from my left.

“I’ve listened to every damn word you’ve said!” I seethe as my sword strikes out in his direction, but doesn’t make contact. “Which, so far, hasn’t been helpful.”

His chuckle comes from my right now. “You always were a sore loser.”

“I am not! Take that back, you cad.” I swing blindly, my wooden sword waving through the air in what I’m sure is an amusing visual for him.

He knocks the weapon from my hand and grabs my wrists, pinning them behind me with embarrassing ease. I knock my head back, smiling when I catch him in the chin. His huff of pain has a slight improvement on my mood.

“Listen, Ivy.” He lets me go and slips out of my reach. “Focus on my footsteps, the rustle of my clothes. Feel the air moving toward you before my strike lands.”

Doing as he commanded, I empty my mind of the frustration and embarrassment that have taken hold of me. My encounters with the reaper haven’t done much for my self-confidence.

At first, the room appears to be silent, but as I listen closer, I’m able to note several small sounds. A bird chirps outside the window, and distant laughter echoes from a passing guard somewhere down the hall. Suddenly, a slight breeze passes against my cheek a second before a fist connects with my skin. My free hand moves to my jaw, gingerly pressing against the tender joint. It wasn’t a hard hit, but it still stung.

“Again,” I tell him.

As we continue this strange exercise several more times, I begin to understand what Remy meant. While I don’t successfully dodge any of his blows, I am getting better at anticipating them. I can now tell exactly where his strike is going to land a second before I feel it. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering how I’m going to apply this to myeidolon. When I’m staring through her eyes, will I be able to sense a fist coming toward me before it lands? And if I do, can I react fast enough to dodge it?

“Again,” I repeat, wiping a spot of blood from my split lip.

“Let’s take a break. We’ve been going at it for hours.”

Lifting my blindfold, I note how the bright morning sun filters through the smudged windows. Considering the dawn had barely begun to rise when I got here, I’d say it’s probably around nine now. As I stand still for a moment, all the aches I’ve been suppressing make themselves known.

“Ow.” I hunch forward, rubbing my tender knee.

I haven’t taken this many hits since my first lesson. I took to fighting quickly because I spent all of my free time either training or studying books on different techniques. When something doesn’t come easily to me, I have a tendency to become obsessive about it.

Remy shakes his head. “I think we’ve done enough for today.”

“One more time.” I move the sword to my left hand, knowing I’ve been relying too much on my right today. “I almost had you in the last round.”

“Ah, yes.” He nods, tucking his hands behind his back. “You mean when you stood completely still as I punched you in the face?”

I shoot him a vicious glare—it’s menacing effect only slightly dampened by my wince. “One more time, and then I promise I’ll spend the whole day resting.”

“Oh, really?” He cocks a brow.

“I swear. I’m planning a trip to the library.”

“Well, that I believe,” he laughs fondly. Since Baylor kept me isolated from other children growing up, when I wasn’t with Remy or Leona, I spent the rest of my time in the company of books.

The humor falls away from Remy’s face, leaving behind a hesitant expression. “I’ll agree to one more round if you tell me what all of this is about.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, feigning a casual tone as I bend down and fiddle with my boots. I pull one of the laces loose so I can retie it, giving myself an excuse to keep my head lowered.

“Just tell me what has you spooked.” His patient tone grates against my nerves, making my skin feel too tight.

I stand up, meeting his gaze head on. “Why do you assume I’m spooked?”

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