Page 24 of Heart of Winter
Undoubtedly, Erik was the stronger party, here, but he pulled back, rather than press. Leif pursued, and then it was a flurry of strikes and parries, steel chiming and scraping.
Oliver had always enjoyed watching this sort of thing; it had become a sort of game for him, predicting who would come out victorious. He liked to study technique, footwork, compare approaches and tactics. He always knew who was about to cheat, and who would eventually outmuscle the other party. He’d known, for example, that Rune couldn’t last against his brother, and had been keeping up a running checklist of all the ways the brothers differed, and approached the craft of swordsmanship the same way. They’d been trained by the same hands, held the same heroes on pedestals, but each brought their own particular strengths to bear.
He was ashamed to admit that he wasn’t watching for footwork and gauging striking distances now. His gaze kept catching on the flare of Erik’s coat when he spun; the visible play of tendons and muscles in his wrists when he brought the sword down; the way his breath steamed white through parted lips, and the way he almost looked like he smiled a time or two, a quick curl at the corner of his mouth. His movements were a blend of Leif’s and Rune’s, part dancer, part deadly bludgeoner, honed, perfected, polished by years of training, and hard, bloody battle experience.
Even alone with his nephew, only playing with a blunted practice sword, he was a sight to behold.
He was, in a word: magnificent.
Wild, Birger had called him before. But less happy. Oliver could almost see him, then; could almost overlay the stern, joyless, burdened king that he’d met with the flashfire, angry spark of a young man good at killing, and better at driving half the kingdom mad.
Leif’s sword went flying, and he let out a dismayed cry, right before the tip of his uncle’s sword came to rest at his throat.
“And you’re dead,” Erik said, matter-of-factly.
Leif grimaced, panting to catch his breath.
Rune laughed over his brother’s defeat.
Erik held a smug smirk for a long moment, and then he blinked, and stepped back, his sword falling. Oliver didn’t think anyone else noticed that, for a moment, the king’s face was stamped with horror, his gaze faraway. Erik stood a moment, sword tip resting in the snow, strong chest heaving as he fought for breath, all the color of exertion bleeding out of his cheeks.
Then the king turned, and caught sight of Oliver, and Oliver saw the wall come up; saw the awful, iron mask of indifference cover Erik’s features, until he was back to stern and scowling, and Oliver thought that moment of memory and loss had only been his imagination.
Tessa started clapping, gloved palms coming together delicately. “That was wonderful!”
Rune was still laughing.
Leif looked shame-faced.
Erik inclined his head and said, “Don’t judge my nephew too harshly, my lady. He would have bested anyone else.”
“I thought he was splendid,” Tessa said, and one corner of Leif’s mouth hitched upward in a softer version of his uncle’s quick smile.
“And what of you, Mr. Meacham?” Erik asked, and it took every ounce of self-control Oliver possessed not to startle.
He lifted his brows as mildly as he could. “Beg pardon?”
With an easy flick, Erik tossed the sword, gripped it by its dulled blade, and offered the pommel to Oliver. He was smirking now, subtly, blue eyes bright. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Oliver could only stare at him a long moment, until that infuriating smirk deepened. “No,” he finally said. “No, that’s – thank you, but I can’t do anything, really. It wouldn’t be much fun to watch.”
The sword thrust in closer. “I insist.”
Oliver scolded himself for all such unhelpful thoughts asmagnificent. For not denying Tessa’s claim that there waskindnessto be found here.
Hehatedthis man. And his smirk, and his blue eyes, and the sweat at his temples, and his windblown hair, and the way his tunic clung to his chest.
He almost refused. But he could hear Leif and Rune murmuring to one another, and the guards were watching, and a clear challenge shone in Erik’s eyes. This was a man who wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d humiliated him. Until he’d proved his worthlessness in front of witnesses.
Perhapshatewasn’t a strong enough word.
Stomach churning with nerves and fury, Oliver reached up and gripped the sword, gratified by the quick flicker of surprise on Erik’s face.
Then the king turned away and went to retrieve another sword from the rack.
“Ollie,” Tessa whispered. “You don’t have to.”
“Oh, yes I do. He’s seen to that.” He stood, and took a few deep breaths. Shook out his hands and arms.
