“I’m sorry about your father,” I said.

“Thanks, I am too.” He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you ever think about going back home?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “I miss my sister and my mother. I’m sure I’ll go back eventually, but I need some time to figure things out first.”

“Why did you leave?” he asked.

“I had a fight with my father. Feels stupid now, honestly. But we fought, and he told me I’m not his daughter and he didn’t want me in his house anymore. So I left.”

“I’m sorry, Hal.” He placed his hand gently over mine on the railing of the bridge. My heart contorted in my chest with painful intensity.

“Do you think I could stay here after we get Eilith back?” I asked. “I’d like to keep training in Sourcery. And fighting, if you’ll teach me.”

“Of course.” He smiled down at me. “There’s a place for you in Rhyanaes as long as you want. And I heard El gave you the best room. I wouldn’t be in a hurry to leave that either.”

“She told me she never lets you stay in it,” I said.

“That’s true, but I can’t think of any reason why, other than to get under my skin.”

“Maybe she just likes me more than you,” I said, shrugging in mock innocence.

“Alright, Little Lamb,” Byrgir said, “you’re clearly drunk and it’s late. Let’s get you back to that fancy room of yours.”

He slipped an arm around my shoulders and placed his hand on the back of my neck to steer me towards home. My core erupted with desire, and my heart pounded. I leaned back into his touch ever so slightly. But I did not look up at him, didn’tallow myself to think of inviting him up to that peaceful, private room. Not while I wasn’t sure of his history with El, and of my place with all of them.

Instead, I fought to quell the longing raging within me as we walked home together through the glowing streets of Rhyanaes.

The rain was bitingly frigid the next morning. Winter still held its grip over the valley in the early hours of the day, barely above freezing with a steady, drenching drizzle. It was the coldest weather to endure, more brutal than any dry winter cold snap, the kind that soaked you to your bones and left the chill lingering for hours after you had dried and warmed yourself. I trudged through the rain toward the large Ironguard Hall, a building El had pointed out yesterday that I found easily enough today.

Byrgir and Crow were already in the sparring ring outside when I arrived, stretching and jumping to warm up. They both wore leather armor. Crow’s was a deep black with feather filigree etched along the hems, two swooping ravens facing each other over the chest piece. It was flexible and trim. Byrgir wore the familiar set I had seen before, a mix of woven leather and hardened leather plates, sculpted steel plating across the chest, and studded leather plates for greaves and shoulder pauldrons. Both the leather and steel were etched with incredibly intricate knotwork depicting serpents, bears, and wolves, all open-mouthed and vicious.

“Morning, Little Lamb.” Byrgir jogged to the side of the ring, his boots squelching in the mud.

“Morning,” I answered groggily. “How are you so chipper?”

“Not the first time Crow and I have been in the ring early after a big night, oh no. We’ve trained hungover more than I’d like to admit.”

“And more than I’d like to ever experience again,” Crow mumbled behind him.

I stepped into the ring and joined them in their warmup, following their lead as we hopped, squatted, and kicked. When we were all breathing heavily, Byrgir grabbed a set of thick sparing pads from a rack near the ring and a set of padded fingerless gloves that laced up the wrists. He tossed me the gloves.

“Make sure they’re nice and tight over the wrists.”

I slipped my wet hands into them and laced them up, then approached Byrgir as he held up the two pads.

“Just like before, follow my lead. I’ll drop them low to my thigh for leg kicks, or turn to the side like this for body kicks,” Byrgir instructed, and we began.

We moved through several rounds until I was sweating, even in the cold rain.

“You remember we talked about the size of your opponent and their reach?” Byrgir asked.

“You said I will almost always be outmatched in both. And probably strength too.”

“Exactly. Unless you’re fighting another woman, which will happen. But if you’re in a battle, or just in a bad situation, odds are good you’ll be fighting some big ol’ dumb brute like me. So I want to show you a few moves you can use to get inside the guard of a larger opponent.”

Byrgir showed me two moves to reach past the strike of an opponent and land a hit, then a defensive move to dip, step, and spin out of arm’s reach. We drilled the same combination, then another similar, and then worked on stringing them together. Soon I was hot beneath my sweater, and a break in the cold rain was a welcome reprieve.

I took my rest beside the ring, watching Byrgir and Crow spar. Byrgir was deceptively quick for his size, graceful and intentional in his movements. I had seen him fight before, knew how devastating his well-timed blows were, the power he couldput behind them when he chose to. But Crow was faster, more dexterous still. Predicting his movements was impossible––even though they were sparring at a fraction of their actual fighting pace––yet Byrgir seemed capable of it. Crow’s strikes were precise and intentional, often choosing places that would end the fight with one hit had he been wielding a dagger.