Page 33 of Of Withering Dreams
14
SPARRING WITH BLADES AND WORDS
It had been a few days since the mare wyrm incident. I hadn’t seen Gavrel in that time. I wondered what kept him busy as a high-ranking commander within the Order—besides training, giving commands, and walking his rounds.
He frequently attended private meetings with the Elders. With Melina. I doubted he wanted her attention, considering what little information he had shared with me. But the idea of them together lingered.They were both full-blooded adults … with needs. I swallowed, a sour taste lining my tongue.
My hands stretched to the sky, and I yawned. The rising sun painted it in shades reminiscent of ripe peaches. My stomach grumbled as my arms dropped. I was seriously questioning my sanity.Why had I agreed to meet him so early in the morning?
My thoughts drifted as my fingers fiddled with the end of my messy braid, fiery curls struggling against their weaved confines.
The even pace of steady footfalls sounded behind me, bringing my awareness to the present. Gavrel’s bright smile met me. Mocking me, his dimple flashed.
“How dare you be so chipper this early in the morning,” I muttered, tossing my braid over my shoulder so it trailed down my back.
He laughed heartily. “And what a fine morning it is. Have you stretched?”
“Can confirm.”
“Wonderful. We’ll use these to start.” He pushed a wooden sword into my hand. “I trust you remember the basics.”
“Yes, but why can’t we use real swords?”
He looked at me, clearing his throat. “You haven’t practiced in a long while. I’d prefer it if you didn’t cut off your own foot.”
“How dare you!”
“I do dare, only when it’s true.” His smile was good-natured, disarming.
“I yield then. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of truth.” I chuckled.
“Much obliged, Asteria.” I grinned at his use of my nickname. And then Gavrel promptly knocked my wooden sword to the grass with his own.
“What the?—”
“First lesson. Always be ready,” he advised, his mouth a grim line of composure. “Your enemies won’t wait for you to form a thought.”
He slashed his ligneous weapon toward my belly. I dove out of the way, grasping my sword’s hilt, blocking his downward attack.
“Ah, excellent. I see you haven’t forgotten everything.” He grabbed my hand, pulling me up. I showed my gratitude with a swift stab toward his thigh, which he deflected easily.
I huffed, balancing on my feet and body as he had taught me. Slashing, stabbing, parrying—urging my muscles to recall his earlier teachings and work through the discomfort. We continued until the sky was its azure hue. People were making their way to the palace for breakfast. I swiped sweat from my brow, pushing a loose curl behind my ear.
“What have we here?” Letti asked, trotting up to us from the barracks.
“Just some light torture,” Gavrel deadpanned.
I rolled my eyes. “Practicing my fighting skills.”
“I think that’s best. We wouldn’t want you to get attacked by any more slugs,” Letti stated, her expression solemn.
I cuffed her on the arm. She laughed, kissing my cheek and taking my practice sword from me. “I’ll bring you some breakfast if you want to wash.” She smiled sweetly, returning the sword to the rack.
“Are you saying I smell?” I asked in mock offense, putting a hand to my chest.
“Yes. Yes, exactly.”
I scowled at her, and then we both burst out laughing when I could no longer keep a straight face.
