Page 15 of Dangerous Exile

“My office.”

“An office where you spy on people?”

“I watch over my business. I make no apology for it.”

She nodded and turned around to him, shifting the braid of her thick, deep brown hair behind her shoulder, and her right hand smoothed down the front of her simple pale yellow muslin dress. Curious that was what Verity had found for her to wear. Something so…innocent.

“I am ready.”

His eyebrow arched. “Ready for what?”

“For you to start teaching me.”

Right to it, then.

Talen stifled a smile and moved across the room to stand in front of her. “You are positive you want to do this?”

“Positive.”

“On with it, then. I am about to attack you.” His left hand lifted and he motioned about them. “Look around—what weapons do you see?”

A flicker of fear sparked in her eyes and her look shifted off of his face to search past his shoulder. Chairs, desk, chests, fireplace. Her amber eyes snapped back to him. “None.”

He studied the unease in her face. “Look again. There must be something solid to get into your hand. Can you injure me with something on the desk? Something on the floor?”

Her arm flew up, her forefinger pointing toward the fireplace. “The fire poker.”

He nodded, turning sideways from her to look at the heavy black fire iron hanging beside the fireplace. “You think?”

Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth and then she nodded. “Yes.”

He motioned toward it. “Then grab it. Attack me. Hit me with it.”

She glanced at him, her brows drawn together. “You want me to do what?”

“Attack me with the poker. People learn best by doing, so do.”

Hesitant for a long moment, she took a deep breath and scampered past him toward the fireplace and took the fire poker from the wall, then turned back to him.

“Now attack me.”

Her cheeks cringing, she lifted the tip of the poker until it was higher than her head and swung it toward his shoulder. Swung it slow.

He easily caught the length of the black iron in the air and yanked it from her hand.

“Oh.” She stumbled a step forward.

He held the handle of the poker out to her. “Do it again. Harder.”

Her lips drawing into a determined line, she snatched the poker from him and swung it down faster.

He caught it mid-swing but didn’t pull it from her grasp. He released it. “Again.”

She took a step to the right, swinging sideways toward him at a lower angle. He caught the iron. “Again.”

She huffed a breath of annoyance, then swung quickly, hard.

He caught it. “Harder.”

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