Page 71 of A Storm in Every Heart
We trade blows like that for several long minutes, almost as if sparring for fun.
Connell is an odd fighter—it doesn’t feel as if he’s really trying to kill me, but neither is he letting me find a moment to land a fatal strike. More importantly, he forces me to keep both hands on my sword to keep up with his quick motions, preventing me from drawing another wave from the ocean to wash him overboard.
“So,” Connell says conversationally between swings, “where did you learn to fight?”
“Prison,” I grunt, slashing at his shoulder.
He laughs, ducking just in time to avoid losing an ear. “Fascinating. I might say the same of myself—in a manner of speaking.”
He whirls, and I only just lean out of the way in time to avoid catching his blade in the throat. I duck low and sweep my blade toward his shins.
“You’re human?” I ask—though it’s more of a comment than a question.
“Originally,” he replies, spinning just in time to stop me from planting a blade in his flank. “Ooh, nice one. That was close.”
“Is this a game to you?” I growl.
“Isn’t everything?” He grins. “It’s not bloody often I get to practice with a real fighter, and undoubtedly you were well trained.”
“Don’t expect me to thank you.”
“Oh, I don’t.” He feints left. I block high, but he pivots low, taking my feet out from under me. “Because I do believe I was trained better.”
I hit the deck hard, the sword tumbling from my grip. Connell steps on my hand to prevent me from reaching it and stands over me, saber tip at my throat.
“Good show, mate. Truly.” He says, breathing hard. “But this is where you beg.”
My face hardens. “I’ve never begged for anything for my entire life and I’m not about to start with you.”
I knock his boot away from my hand and raise my fingers just in time to conjure a jet of water from midair. It’s imprecise and weak, but the motion surprises Connell long enough for me to roll out of the way—barely.
I scramble for my sword, fingers closing around the wet hilt just as Connell brings his down in an arc.
Our blades lock, crossguards grinding, and I shove him back.
He’s stronger than I expected a human would be and doesn’t move easily. I let out a grunt of effort and shove harder, finally forcing him back a step at the same moment as another wave of ocean water crashes into him. Connell staggers, and I slam the flat of my sword against his temple, and he goes down hard.
I kick the saber away, then kneel on his chest. “This is where you beg.”
He grins up at me, eyes bright with mirth, as if this is all a grand joke staged for his amusement. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?”
“Beg,” I repeat.
His eyes flash. “Please, let this be the end.”
A disconcerting shiver of discomfort passes over me, but I shove the feeling aside as I draw the blade across his neck, fast and sure.
His blood wells up and he keeps grinning up at me as he draws a last ragged breath. I kneel there a long second, breathing hard, feeling nothing but the ache in my limbs and the way the deck tilts beneath me.
When I finally stand, the world is quiet.
I gradually become aware of the throbbing in my right arm and upper chest. I don’t remember being hit there, but the blood coating my shirt proves otherwise. I lift the hem of my shirt to wipe sweat from my face, and it too comes back bloody.
Fuck, this is going to hurt tomorrow unless I can find a healer or muster up the energy to heal myself.
I’m not even sure how many men I just killed. Twenty? Thirty? Captain Connell could have been ten men on his own—he was one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen.
But I suppose I wanted it more—I had more to fight for.
