Page 102 of The Last One
“Veril’s bed.”
He snorts a laugh. “Mmhmm.”
Self-doubt still lingers in my heart. “The questions you asked were fair.”
He nods. “I don’t want to give you my all when, in the end, you’ll discover that you actually do have someone in your before-time who loves you and misses you.”
We rest our eyes on each other, and he says, “Let’s get back to where we were, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He rubs his hands together. “So, what do you want to work on today?”
“Weapons,” I say, rolling up my sleeves. “But remember that I can’t do too much. Don’t wanna pull, break, or snap something that just healed.”
“We’ll go easy.” He heads to a cleared area ringed by workbenches and sawhorses, bales of hay, and the saddest-looking straw man in the realm. “I was thinking about you this morning.”
Still limping a bit, I join him. “What were you thinkingabout?”
“I was thinking that maybe you’d enjoy meeting my swords.”
I stretch my arms across my chest. “I’m very eager to meet your swords.”
He points at me. “Prepare to be amazed.”
How long have I waited to meet his sword? Since the day we met, right before Narder decided to throw me in the clink. So much has happened since market day.
“Before we begin,” I say now, shaking a finger at Jadon, “let’s be clear. I may not remember my home, but I know that I’mveryfamiliar with battle. If I’m a little awkward, it’s because I’ve been wounded. Or because I don’t know how to handleyourspecific…”
“Sword.” Chin high, he says, “It will be the best sword you’ll ever hold in your hand.”
Delight ripples through me as I slowly turn one ankle and then the other in a circle. “Only one hand?”
“Two, but I didn’t want to brag.” Jadon gives me a crooked smile. “Just as you requested, we’ll go slow—I don’t want to hurt you. And sometimes, slow is best. Once you’re stronger, we’ll go faster.” He tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow. “Fast or slow, you won’t leave disappointed.”
My pulse quickens, and my body heats. “That was a brag.”
“Yeah, it was.”
He takes my hands and kisses them both. “Are we okay?”
“Are we?” I teeter, my legs threatening to quit me as his soft lips linger on my skin.
He winks, then nods at the worktable and the four weapons that will push me closer to regaining my strength and dexterity. “So,” he says, squeezing my hands one last time, “your natural weapons are—”
“These.” I waggle my reclaimed fingers.
“When you tried to push wind but couldn’t, how did your hands feel?”
“Cold. I tried rubbing them together, willing them to work, but they refused.”
“And when they finally worked, what were the conditions? How were you feeling?”
I think back to those times my hands burned—the fight with the emperor’s men, the fights with the otherworldly, and when Johny and his friends attacked me. “I felt threatened. I was angry. I feared for the lives of others.”
“Have you been angry before and your hands didn’t work?”
I cock my head to think about it. “Yes.”
