Page 81 of Kissed By the Gods
Before I can make sense of it, Faelon comes flying out of the ring in a spectacular arc and lands in the dirt at my feet with a grunt.
“That was cheating!” He groans out, holding his hand to his side.
“All is fair in love and war, boy,” comes Nyrica’s clichéd reply. He twirls that axe in his hand and flashes his dimples at us. “Who’s next?”
Ryot calls his blunted sword from the weapons rack, and thewhooshof it sliding through the air cuts through the busy yard, bringing all chatter and motion to a stop.
“Me and Leina,” he says. “She has something to learn today.”
My palms go damp on my scythe, and it almost slips from my grasp. “What’s that,Master?”
He stalks toward me, furious. “That this isn’t a game. That every single man here has already risked their life for you, and they’ll have to do it again. The least you can do is be on fucking time.”
My scythe nearly slips from my grasp, but it’s not nerves now. It’s rage. Anger twists my insides, snarling in my chest like a beast rattling its cage. He’s been harder on me since the patrol a month ago.
But godsdammit, in the last two months I’ve lost my parents. I left my brothers behind, swore to forsake them. I was kidnapped—by him. I’ve killed in cold blood, and been beaten, cut, and strangled. I’ve survived an encounter with a goddess. Been deprived of sleep. And somehow walked away from not one, but two encounters with death demons.
And he’s upset that I slept five fucking minutes past sunrise?
I step into the ring, boots grinding into the packed dirt, and try to breathe past the thudding of my pulse. Ryot’s broadsword gleams under the morning sun, slung easily in his hand, as if it weighs nothing, though adamas is the heaviest of metals. He rolls his shoulders back and angles his stance, all calm brutality and simmering command.
I grip my scythe tightly. “I’m here now,” I say again, voice flat, masking the storm inside me. “Let’s train.”
He nods once—and then he moves.
Like the last time I fought him, he’s there and gone. The first strike is a feint—his blade comes in low before pivoting up in a wide, arcing slash. I jump back, barely clearing it, and my scythe swings up instinctively to block the follow-through. The force of his blow jostles my grip and sends vibrations up my arms.
“Don’t block me like I’m your equal,” he snaps. “I’m stronger. I’m bigger. That’s not how you win.”
I grit my teeth and spin, letting the scythe arc around me. He steps out of reach.
“Use the length of the scythe,” he says, circling me. “Don’t pull in close unless you want to die.”
I swing again, wide and clean. He ducks under it and barrels toward me, shoving me with his shoulder and knocking me off balance. I stumble, catch myself, and whirl back into position.
“You’ve got speed,” he growls. “So move. You stay still too long, you die. Again.”
He charges, his blade coming down. I pivot and swing my weapon in a sweeping arc toward his legs. It whistles through the air. I nearly nick him before I realize my scythe isn’t blunted for training yet. I abort the swing.
He’s livid, but not that I nearly hit him.
He’s furious that Imissed.
“Disarm me,Leina. Swing wide. Cut the angle. Take my weapon, or I take your life.”
His next swing comes hard, and I duck low, sliding beneath it. My scythe lashes out. He hops back, but only barely.
“That’s better,” he says.
We crash again—his blade meets my shaft with a resoundingcrack. I twist, using the curve of the scythe to hook his sword, like he’s been teaching me.
He yanks it free before I can leverage it. “Faster.”
I’m panting now, arms trembling. I strike high, then low, then pivot around his left side and drag the scythe across in a tight arc aimed for his wrist.
He grunts and jerks back.
I almost smile. Then he slams the flat of his blade into my thigh. Pain lances through with enough force to drop me. I hit the dirt, gasping for breath, hands white-knuckled on my thigh.
