Page 4 of Crime & Punishment
High. Low. Middle. Step. Strike.
Coal’s practice blade shatters, and I wince for both the abused wood and the warrior’s shoulder that took the impact. Coal’s metallic scent reaches me with the shifting wind. Tossing the broken blade into a pile with the two others, the warrior turns to look at me, his blue eyes harsh. Unreadable.
I search the male’s face for clues of what he makes of last night’s outing, the sculpted angles of his set jaw and cheekbones, but there is no information to be had on that front. Coal is too good at hiding his thoughts. After years as a Mors slave, he has to be. I wonder how his human persona is accounting for the nightmares—which, if I’m reading the tightness in his shoulders correctly, the male is having again. In spades.
Taking two new practice blades from a rack Coal has already pulled out, I vault over the chest-high wooden fence. A trick Tye taught me, just as Coal worked on my riding and combat. Landing softly, I toss one of the blades to him, rotating the other to get its full feel.
“This isn’t why you are here.” Coal’s hand closes over the practice blade, the wood already an extension of his body.
“I’m aware.” I settle into my fighting stance, my feet finding purchase in the sand as I bring my blade to ready guard, watching Coal over the sword’s dull tip. “But this is why you are here. And I’m early.”
Coal cocks his head, watching me curiously while tossing the practice blade from one hand to the other.
I hold my breath.Talk to me, Coal. With your sword if not your words.
He snorts, the blade in his hand now swinging a wide, contemplative circle. “Youareaware of what’s to happen this afternoon, right?” he asks, his low, gravelly voice tinged with curiosity—and annoyance at my nonchalance. He wants me intimidated before my punishment even starts, and I won’t give him the satisfaction. “Moving stones yesterday was only a taste. Wasting energy before it even begins isn’t the wisest decision I’ve seen made.”
I don’t answer. In the past year, Coal and the other males have trained me, pushed me beyond my imagined limits, cheered as I conquered each challenge, no matter how many tries and screams and bruises it took to get there. They never punished me, though—and the chasm of that difference suddenly shakes the very foundation beneath me.
I swallow, telling myself I’m making a mountain from a molehill. From the perspective of a military unit, River has enforced discipline for centuries.Stars,Tye alone has stories upon stories of being punished, and I’ve seen Coal take his share from River. It never changed them from the brothers they are. This, even under the veil that makes us strangers, will change nothing either. It can’t. And as for Coal, I trust he’ll stop short of doing true damage.
Realizing that Coal is watching me, waiting for an answer I’ve not voiced, I clear my throat.
“We’ll call this a warm-up,” Coal says, saving me from the need to find words by swinging his blade for my shoulder. Hard.
4
Lera
Isnap off a parry, managing to deflect Coal’s blow only by virtue of having expected it after so many times facing the warrior across the sands. The flicker of surprise in the male’s blue eyes brushes against my skin, intensifying as I adjust my footing in an experienced wager that Coal’s next assault will come from above. Then an ankle sweep. Then—
I fall backward, my ankle kicked swiftly from beneath my body, the sand rising in a small amused puff. Knowing what Coal will do offers only so much protection against stopping it. Rolling backward over my shoulder, I return to my feet, my attention tightening on the male’s movements. The slight, intrigue-touched gaze as he circles, the flex of his sharply carved jaw, the crests of his hips shifting over the waistline of black fighting leathers. His scalpel-precise strike at my ribs.
My sword snaps down as I step, parry, strike, my breath quickening with each movement. The rhythmicclack, clack, clackof our swords vibrates across the empty ground in a hypnotic chorus that fills an aching void inside me.Clack, clack, clack.My heart keeps time with the strikes and parries, the perfectly packed sand beneath my boots a familiar echo.
My breath catches as Coal’s blade shifts to his weak hand, a brush of pleasure rippling down my spine. The warrior isn’t just toying with me, but training. Honing his own skills as he dances, each swing and lunge and slice carrying enough force to crack bones. Trusting me not to get dead. Not to be frightened into dropping my guard.
The harsh lines of his beautiful face are set in concentration, his metallic musk washing over me, weaving an illusion of usual quint training.Focus, Lera. Shade can’t just heal a limp anymore.
I shift my weight again, circling Coal, my eyes intent on his hips and shoulders. The immortal’s ethereal movements flow with perfection, thin whips of steam rising from the sheen of sweat that accentuates each muscle. The tension of his pectoral as he winds up his assault, the ripple in his biceps as he executes. Never stopping. Never letting me stop either.
Awake. Alive. My body blazes with heat despite the crisp spring air, my breath coming fast, the growing ache in my lungs a distant distraction.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
“Good to see Lieutenant Coal taking out the trash.” A musical female voice I’ve heard before sounds from the edge of my vision, followed by a beat of silence before coming again. “How long do you wager it will take, Tyelor? I’ll put a kiss down on an hour. Name your time and your wager.”
My gaze shifts, cutting across Tye’s muscular forearms as he leans on the fence, Princess Katita standing beside him. Her white-blond hair and brilliant teal eyes mark her immediately, even from the corner of the eye. She’s that striking—and that invasive of any space she stands in.
Coal lunges in, his blade rapping painfully against my left ribs, then twists to capture my sword arm. The eerie gray light sculpts his lines, giving his skin a new golden hue that highlights his harsh blue eyes. Eyes that hold neither compassion nor quarter. The blazing heat of him wraps around me, his chest expanding with even breaths that make him bigger still. Claiming all my attention with a warrior’s ruthless skill, until I dare not mind my stinging left side, much less anything beyond the world of us.
I gasp for air, Coal’s metallic scent filling my nose. My world.
Stepping away for sword room, Coal loops his practice sword back in a deadly arc that aims for my head.
I swing my sword high to meet his blow, the clash of wood filling the air. Rippling through my arms, my spine, my thighs. With our blades now crossed, I shove my whole body against the contact, forcing Coal’s own sword closer to his throat. One inch. Two. Salt streaks down my face, stinging my eyes. My lungs burn, my muscles screaming with the effort of it. Shaking.
Coal cocks a brow, the first sign he’s given of having an opinion on anything I do. Even if that opinion calls me three times the fool for getting into a battle of strength. Letting my own momentum shift my balance, Coal steps aside before hooking my blade and ripping it from my grip.
