Page 32 of Magic Cursed

Daimis and I are in a large rectangular open yard surrounded by columns rimming a cobblestone walkway. The tall stone castle walls tower over us on all sides. Melodic tinkling of water trickling from a fountain on the far wall is the only sound, save for mine and Daimis’s shuffling and breathing. Half of the yard is grass and on the other side is a sparring ring filled with dirt. Off against one wall are an assortment of training weapons. And on the opposite wall is an archery set up. Daimis and I, the only ones in the training yard, jog around the circumference as a warm-up. Thanks to my injury, constant use of magic to heal myself, and disuse of muscles as I laid in my bed for far too long, the warm-up feels more like a marathon.

My breathing is labored, and my muscles simultaneously burn and itch. I gaze to my left at Daimis, who seems completely at ease. He’s not even breathing with his mouth open. What the actual hell? He watches me looking at him and raises a brow. “You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” I lie.

We continue running for another half hour. When we stop, we both go to the fountain for a drink. My legs feel wobbly, and it takes all of my concentration not to let it show.

“Okay, so I’m a little impressed that you were able to keep up, especially after your injury,” Daimis says. “I thought you’d want to stop after the first twenty minutes.”

“Ididwant to stop after twenty minutes,” I say, still catching my breath. “I didn’t realize it was an option.” I press my hand over a cramp in my right side, internally cursing Daimis and his running, and his stupid hair that somehow looks even better with his curls damp with sweat. I hope it all falls out in his sleep.

He hands me the ladle. “Don’t drink too fast or you’ll feel—”

“Sick” I finish. “Yes, I do know a thing or two about training.” I take a slow drink and finally feel like I’ve caught my breath. Even though I’m tired and sore, there is something wholly empowering in knowing I didn’t quit when I wanted to, that when my body pushed, I pushed back and won.

I hand Daimis the ladle. He gives me a nod before scooping water from the fountain with it and taking a drink. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down with the motion. A bit of water falls down the sides of his mouth, to the golden-brown skin of his neck until it reaches his collarbone. When he’s done, he cups water in his hands and throws it into his face and over his curls in a back-and-forth motion, splashing me in the process.

“Hey,” I complain, taking a step back.

He throws me a wicked grin. I knowthatlook.

“No, no, no,” I say putting my hand out to him like he’s a feral animal. But it’s too late, he splashes a handful of water onto me. I gasp at the shock of the frigid liquid hitting me square in the face.

Daimis laughs out loud while I wipe water from my eyes. The sound of his laughter fills the space until there is no room left for my annoyance. In fact, I’m filled with pure joy at seeing a part of my old friend surface. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to get even.

I close the distance to him, and he stops laughing, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help my—”

Before he can finish, I hook my foot behind his and shove him, he falls back, landing ass-first into the fountain. I laugh at the shocked expression on his face.

I give him a winning smile. “That’s one point for me.”

“What? We weren’t sparring yet.”

I squeeze water from my braid. “The way I see it, we’re in a training yard, you’re on your ass, and I’m on my feet. Point for me.” I turn and walk to the center of the dirt-covered space, leaving him to fish himself out of the fountain. He chuckles behind me. When I get to the center, I turn to face him. He has climbed out of the fountain, and a trail of dripping water follows him as he makes his way over to the wooden weapons.

“Choose your weapon.” He stretches his hand out to the assortment of wooden swords, knives, staves, shields, and axes lined up against one wall.

“Doesn’t matter to me. I think we’ve already proven I don’t even need one to beat you.”

He picks up a wooden sword and swings it before putting it back. “With your reasoning, I’d say we both have a point because I beat you in the conservatory.” He grabs a staff and turns it slowly, end over end, in his hands.

I roll my eyes. “Not this again.”

He grabs another staff. “Have you handled a staff before?” He walks forward and tossed one of them at me.

I catch it midair and immediately swing it into wide figure eights all around my body, spinning with the motion, then bringing it over my head and finishing with striking the staff at an invisible foe. “A little,” I say with a smirk, ignoring the slight burn in my arms and legs where the shadow demons had injured me.

“Okay, so you can dance with it, but can you actually fight with it.”

“Come and find out, Princess.”

He matches my smirk and joins me in the middle of the sparring ring. We tap staves, the knock of wood on wood ringing out in the quiet space. We back up a couple of feet and start circling one another. I start us off and test Daimis by throwing out a few basic strikes and jabs. Analyzing his blocks and counterstrikes, it doesn’t take me long to decipher his fighting style. It’s the typical sharp jabs, jerky motions, all force, and no grace of the human’s way of fighting. Even though his movements are fast, they’re predictable.

I learned from Des, who was diligent in teaching me how to use a staff like the fae, fluid, graceful motions, that uses your opponent’s trajectory and force against them by transferring it back to them. While his offense is lacking, he’s fast enough for his defense to be adequate enough to keep me from getting a decent enough hit in.

We carry on, hit, block, turn, stab, shift and block, counterstrike, parry, block, and so on and so on.

Daimis blocks my next strike. “You fight like the fae,” he says, though there isn’t accusation in his tone, my heart still beats a little faster.

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