Page 62 of The Assassin's Bride

Dead.

He'd recited the word often enough in the early rounds of their lessons that he no longer had to. She drew back to readjust her stance.

He didn't give her time. The next round of blows came faster, but she was primed for them; he didn't make contact until the tenth attempt.

“Good.” He gave a firm nod and stepped back to let her breathe.

She relished those few seconds of respite and the sound of his approval, too. No matter how many times they sparred, he always offered reassurance when she'd done something right. Most people she fought, he'd told her, wouldn't be experienced soldiers. They'd be rough-around-the-edges sorts who'd grown up brawling without training. Practice made them effective, but it would do the same for her.

This time, she sprang first.

He wasn't surprised. He deflected her blade and spun to tap her back.

“Am I allowed to make suggestions?” Rilion called.

“For Thea, or me?” Gil gave her three seconds to recover, then came at her again. He moved like water, ebbing and flowing, always in motion.

Thea knocked his blade aside and darted into the gap. Her knife drove toward his chest and something jabbed her side. His other hand, dagger turned so she wouldn't be cut.

“Watch both hands,” he murmured. “I am not the only person who can fight with both at once.”

Rilion cleared his throat as he approached. They stepped apart, pausing their practice. “You're mirroring some of his movements. You're a good bit shorter than he is, so you don't have the same strength behind some of these lunges or swings, and they won't land on him the same way.” He grasped the back of her dagger hand and repositioned her arm. “Focus on going in low and you'll pass under his arms more often. His height is a weakness for him. His stomach is right at stabbing height.”

She studied the way he stood her, then extended her arm to full length. The tip of her dagger was level with the hollow where Gil's rib cage would split. A little higher and bone would halt a strike. Lower, and almost anything would be fatal.

Rilion nodded his approval. “You'll have more strength going in like that, with the full force of a stab. You're standing too upright, trying to match his height, and that takes strength from your arm.”

Thea lunged forward in an experimental attack. It didn't land, but she came closer.

From the way Gil looked at her, he approved, too. “I have difficulty seeing her as a knife fighter. She'd be better with a sword. She's graceful.”

It was the first compliment of the sort he'd given her. Thea felt her cheeks warm and was grateful the flickering campfire hid the color.

“I could teach her,” Rilion suggested. “I have more experience with a regular sword than you do.”

Gil held his hands to the side, daggers balanced on his palms, and shrugged. “I'm certain you could, but you're overlooking one problem. We haven't brought any swords.”

His hands closed on his daggers again and he swept forward, but not toward Thea. This time, he went for the prince.

Rilion stifled a shout and leaped backwards. His knife was out by the time his feet hit the ground. “That's unfair!”

“Have you ever known me to be fair?” Gil drove him back toward the fire, but after a few steps, Rilion found his rhythm and held his own. The prince snarled something under his breath, not quite words, but agitated enough that the sentiment was clear.

They were well-matched; Rilion wasn't as nimble or practiced, but it grew clear he was familiar with the way Gil moved, and he anticipated almost every blow. Thea considered letting them fight on their own. But fighting in a group was something they hadn't had an opportunity to practice, and she wasn't going to let it pass. How many more practice sessions would they have before they hit trouble?

She leaped forward to engage Gil from the side.

He hadn't expected her to join. Surprise flashed on his face and vanished a moment later, replaced by concentration. Her stab did not reach him, nor did Rilion's. The three of them shifted, rotating toward the fire and then around it, a flurry of stabs and slices, swings and jabs.

Fighting alongside Rilion gave her confidence, but Thea couldn't deny that Gil wasgood.His footing never faltered and his defense never failed, even as they both hammered against it. At the same time, he forced them sideways and spun them toward the fire. It limited their movements and forced them to split their attention between the campfire and their target. With how well Rilion had matched him on his own, the message was clear. Skill alone would not overcome strategy.

She bounded forward and kicked the campfire. A shower of embers burst around the toe of her boot and a flaming log flipped end over end to crash into Gil's legs.

He hissed and leaped back. His black boots spared him the burn, but the movement left him open.

Thea surged forward, curling her hand.

Her finger jabbed between the ridges of muscle in his stomach.

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