Page 45 of The Secrets of Jane: Reborn
I nearly roll my eyes, as I’m too fucking tired to implement something likethat. I glance around the storage room that’s been partially cleared for fighters to keep insomewhatshape down here. The fire lanterns above us aren’t as optimal as the sun, and I’m already growing tired of being down here. “So what’s my strength then? Let’s just start focusing on that. We’ve been sparring like this for three days.”
“We’restartinghere because you need to know how this feels, so your instinct doesn’t go to it. You can’t evade attacks if you’re not used to it.” Bones strides in his spot, his armor removed to leave only his leathers and cotton shirt. “From what you’ve shared, you’re used to the streets as a child, or the taverns at Coalfell. Not active combat. How many times have you been able to overpower me?”
I breathe heavily, eyeing a box that I’d really like to sit on right now. “None…yet.”
“Precisely.” He eyes the space as he talks. “Your fighting tactic stems from something you’re already used to—element of surprise, and very close quarters. Very pirate-like in style, but you’re using none of the evasion. If you’re up against a fucker in armor, just literally dance around until his arms get tired ofswinging a long sword. Again,evasion. I’ve been waiting to see if that would spark on its own, but, well, can’t all be winners. You take pain well, though.”
I tut, walking over to the pail of water for a drink, sliding the wooden blade under my armpit to hold it. “Then these last three days have been a waste.”
I admit I could have said something prior to now, but I also wanted to give it a real shot. It wasn’t until today that I started to realize I might not be as good at sparring as I thought. I can’t even be mad at Bones for his criticisms, because he’s notwrong.
I’ve hardly been able to land a hit on him.
“Ha! Awaste.So many men would pay their entire inheritance to train with me for three solid days, and you’re getting it forfree. Which also includes cheap shots.” Bones is advancing on me fast enough that I drop the cup of water, pull out the sword, and wonder what the hells do I do as he lifts his like he might swing it—how do I focus on evasion versus taking the hit?
“What—” I bend backward to avoid the strike, stepping back, grinning when it worked.
“You’re not watching my footwork,” he chides, coming in again, and I use my hand to grab the wood, so damn tired of it hitting me or knockingmyblade out of my hands. The sting from the contact travels into my bones, but it’s also when I realize Bones is slightly open, and I heavily prod his chest with my training sword.
“Ha!” I exclaim.
His mismatched eyes flash with pride as the action seems to wind him, coughing slightly as he takes a few steps back. “There you are,” he says through a strained voice, rubbing his chest. “Might not have a left hand if that was a real sword, but that’s for another day. You’ll just have to get good at sewing yourself back together, so maybe just keep leaning into that.”
I place a hand over my stomach where Anya stabbed me, sliding it off so as not to make it obvious. “I hate blades.”
“Well, there will be many slashing at you. Not a great time to hate them,” he warns, although there’s such a lightheartedness to him. “Let’s take a break and eat. I smell food.”
Limping with a lower leg that no doubt needs a lot of healing magic put into it, I lay the sword against a box in silent agreement. “You didn’t have to hit my leg that hard.”
“On the contrary. Your body will remember that sting.”
“Maybe I’m not meant for combat,” I remark. “I prefer the stealthy stuff.”
“Too bad, little rogue. Even thieves need to know how to fight.”
For a moment, I consider making an excuse not to join him in the Commons, in case Soren is in there. Today is the third day since we arrived down here, and Soren has yet to ask me about what Cypress wanted with me. I’ve also not questioned him on anything further related to Basilisk, or any of his history, in case Soren wants to usethatmoment to dig deeper.
I’ve just been a good little healer, taking care of him and then spending the rest of my time training.
My father has also been as available as he always was—a ghost. We haven’t spokenonce.Can’t say I’ve wanted to complain, though. Keeping a distance frombothof them is better for me so I can focus.
At least, I’m attempting to. I’ve poured nearly all my energy intotryingto beat the shit out of Bones, but he’s admittedly quite impressive on his feet, even with a training sword.
“You’re deep in thought again,” Bones says as we’re already at one of the small tables in the Commons, the sound of everyone around me appearing as if there was a fog hiding them.
I glance up to catch Bones’s steady gaze as we settle in at the empty table. Based on what hangs off a hook on the wall—a largepiece of wood painted yellow with a black stripe running through—it’s apparently midday, and stew is almost ready. It’s how they all tell time down here: a black stripe signifying food will be ready within the hour.
“It’s hard not to let my mind wander when I don’t even remember what the sun looks like,” I retort, looking up at a few of the hanging lanterns before dropping my gaze to Bones. He has thesmallestbruise on his chin from where I got him earlier. “That will turn a nice purple,” I say, nodding to him.
“You’dhave a lot more if you didn’t heal them all,” he counters, looking around as if his attention has completely wandered away, until it’s clear he spots a pitcher of water.
“Must be real proud to overpower someone like me,” I say, my voice lifting just enough to carry over the crowd that gathers for a warm meal. He strides over to grab the pitcher and a few cups, sitting back down with a littlebouncefrom the force.
“I don’t have any pride,” he comments. “I just want what I want.”
I try not to laugh, biting my bottom lip as I glance around the dark space with warm fire lighting it. I can’t deny the bastard is alittlefunny.
Alittlebit.
