Page 101 of Kissed By the Gods
I wrapmy fingers more solidly around my scythe and stand as they come to a halt on the other side of the room. We’re separated by the sandpit in the middle. Tyrston smiles, and it reminds me so much of Maxim’s smile that I cringe. He even looks like his dead master, both of them broad and hulking men with reddish-brown hair, though Tyrston’s face is clean shaven because wards aren’t allowed to grow facial hair. But really, more than any physical likeness, he brings a similar energy, a malevolent presence that wrinkles the air. I felt it around Maxim, and it’s here now, too.
Tyrston has several daggers strapped to his chest, but his main weapon is the same hammer he had in the clearing. Fenrir and Varek both prefer spears, and their weapons are strapped to their backs. All three of them are drenched from the rain.
You avoid Tyrston at all costs, Leina. He’s gifted. If he walks into a room, you walk out of it.Ryot’s warning echoes in my mind, but I don’t leave.
“Well, well,” Tyrston drawls. “If it isn’t the gods’ favorite.”
I tighten my fingers on my scythe.
Leif takes a step toward Tyrston. “We’re training here, Tyrston. You need to go somewhere else.”
Tyrstontsks, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me. “You’re not in here training. You’re hiding. Can’t handle a little rain.”
“Maybe they’re planning to get warm in the bathing chamber,” Fenrir says, a predatory smirk on his lips.
Tyrston’s smile widens. “Ah, I knew you were a naughtygirl,” he whispers, shrugging out of his soaked coat. “Well, we were planning to break the rules ourselves and get warm. We’ll let you join us.”
My knees quake, but I hold my gaze steady.
“No,” I say, moving to take a wide stance in front of the door to the bathing chamber. “No one will be breaking the rules today.”
Tyrston’s face darkens, his hand dropping to the hammer hanging on his belt.
“Did you tell me no?” he asks, his voice a humming threat. “Did you hear that, boys? She thinks she can tell me no.”Fenrir and Varek both laugh. Tyrston indicates they should try to circle the room on the outer edges.
Leif pulls his sword, and the sound is a warning. Varek stops, his hands on his own spear. “Back off, Varek. This is dumb. You’re not an idiot, are you?”
Varek says something else, but I don’t catch it, because Tyrston steps into the sand pit, coming toward me.
No.
“I’m sure someone like you is well-accustomed to ignoring the ladies when they reject you, Tyrston, but you would do well to remember that thislady has a weapon.” I bare my teeth at him in a facsimile of a smile. “And I’m not afraid to rip you apart with it.”
Tyrston laughs. “You’re surprisingly confident for one so outnumbered.”
I swing my scythe up in front of me, recalling Ryot’s lessons in weapons training.A scythe is designed for wide, sweeping arcs. Use it to keep your enemies at a distance.I swing the scythe, and it’s enough to have Fenrir jumping back.“Well, I am currently undefeated in duels to the death.”
Tyrston smiles wider. “You think you can defeat me because you took out an old, unarmed man? I’m like nothing you’ve fought before,” he says. “I’m better. I’m gifted.”
Gifted … gifted …
Stay balanced on your toes to avoid telegraphing attacks.I change the position of my feet.
I snort. “I highly doubt that. In fact, everything about you screamsordinary.” I shoot a mockingly compassionate look at his pants. “Some might even saybelow average.”
He flushes red. “I’ll not accept any lip from you,bitch.”
“Haven’t you heard, Tyrston? I’m Thayana’s bitch. Best for you if you walk away now.”
“Ah. Yes, blessed by the goddess Thayana herself. Should we test the blessing of Thayana against that of the old gods? Thayana’s kissagainst the raw magic of creation? Against the gift bestowed on my bloodline long before the Altor were even a thought, long before they were so much as a murmur in Sol’vaelen.”
He frees his hammer from his belt. One side has a blunt edge, like for battering, and the other side is like the bladed end of an axe. The entire thing is made of adamas and is about as long as his arm. The air around the hammer sizzles. My gaze swings up from the weapon to its wielder, whose anger is tangible, almost a living, breathing thing. And he’s feeding all that energy into the hammer somehow. It’s hissing, and wisps of smoke are rising from the end.
Like it’s … otherworldly.
Gifted.Bloodline.
Oh, my gods. My mind flashes back to every time I’ve heard that phrase.
