Page 106 of Cursed Shadows 3

If I’d known it even existed, I imagine I would have filled more of my blank time up here. I’ve always liked rooftops and towers, liked the breeze better up here, the view, the softness of the quiet that steals me away from the noise of rickety carriages and the shouts of nearby folk.

I like to stand on the edge, spread my arms and feel for a moment like I might be able to fly.

But I don’t do that now.

Dare won’t humour my whims.

Beyond the smiles and jests and teasing, Dare is a no-nonsense male when it comes down to it. Like Samick. It’s only their exteriors that differ.

Rune is softer at his core.

If Rune was the one Daxeel asked to train me, I think he would indulge me, let me stand at the edge of the roof, my hands on the metal railing, and give me some moments to let the Breeze brush through my still-damp hair, ghost over my face, thread through my fingers.

But it’s Dare, and he only allows me a second before he’s chucking a coiled rope at my back. “Unless your plan is to jump to your death, you’re wasting my time.”

I throw a lazy sneer over my shoulder.

In this rooftop armoury, Dare leans against the spear racks, and I think it a little poetic. A clash of battle and romance, the chaotic blend of loveseats and cushioned chairs with throwing knives and battered targets crafted from boiled leather.

Dare reaches for the wooden table at his side. From it, he plucks another rope, this one leathery and sharp, then lifts it—ready to chuck a coil at me again.

I don’t doubt the second strike will come with more power, hurt just that bit more.

So I surrender.

With a huff, I push away from the black metal railing.

Dare doesn’t watch me approach in all my lethargy. He’s quick to move for the stack of brittle branches piled under the table of coiled whips.

“There is little point in starting with sparring. You have no skill in battle.” He shifts the foliage to pile beside the charred stone pit that’s seen many uses. “Your priority will be to hide until I find you. Fires are not for your warmth. They are short, quick stops to cook whatever meat you can get your hands on.”

I drop down beside the fire pit.

My lashes are heavy over my reddened eyes, and I yawn something pained, but I watch. I watch Dare stack the branches and dried leaves in a particular fashion; and I listen as he tells me how long certain fish will take to cook, how to gut them, and how long to risk a fire before stomping it out and moving on.

It takes me until the start of the First Wind before I get the hang of fire building. It’s not like I ever did it before. Our servants were always the ones to light the hearths.

But I do it, and it’s only then that Dare lets me flee.

I return to my bedchamber.

Fresh sheets await me, and I climb into them in my breeches and sweater. I don’t even kick off my boots.

Sleep finds me fast.

The next phase, Dare comes again.

And the one after that.

Each phase, he drags me out of bed to the roof, where he teaches me the survival basics.

I learn to gut a fish, cook it, de-bone it. I learn what water is safe to drink, which berries to avoid, and that when teaching, Dare has little humour in him.

Like a steel blade, he keeps a sharp edge about him. Doesn’t crack so much as a smile during the lessons. He only loosens up after I prove I can do it without his help.

On the fifth phase, I graduate to the sparring mat.

Dare stands opposite me, only combat trousers to shield him, the marble gleam of his skin glistening in the reflection of the glowjars scattered around.

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