Page 30 of The High Mountain Court

Chapter Eight

The day was heavy with rain. The darkness of the early morning had yet to lift off the land. Remy felt the little clouds in her head. She always felt sleepy when there was no sun. She wasn’t designed for this gray, humid climate. It burdened her soul. She knew more sunshine lay ahead as they traveled further South. They headed toward the capital city of Saxbridge, at the very bottom of the Southern Court where it was rumored to be warm all year round.

Remy preferred when they made camp in the woods. The cold stone ruins were uncomfortable to sleep on and haunting to look at in the night. The taverns were noisy, overcrowded, and full of prying eyes. She wished, however, that they had slept in a place with a roof last night. Even with the shelter of the overhanging trees, she had still felt pinpricks of rain. The wetness of the ground sank into her bedroll in the night too. The weather was warmer than in the West, but wetter too, it seemed. They laid their soggy hiking clothes on a makeshift frame over the fire.

Briata had bought a new maplewood bow and a quiver of arrows for Remy during their unfortunate stopover in Guilford. Remy had taken over hunting duties on their trek. It made her feel good that she could offer something to the group. She knew the others could catch a rabbit or squirrel just as quickly, but it still made her feel useful and they seemed happy to have someone else take over for a change.

Briata’s boot in her back woke Remy.

“Get up,” the golden-eyed female said, tossing Remy her traveling attire from the clothing frame. “Let’s go.”

Remy had dressed quickly and followed Briata away from the fire and the rest of their sleeping companions. The sun strained to peep through the heavy clouds on the horizon as Bri led her to a small clearing in the forest, freshly opened to the sky from a fallen redwood tree.

When they reached the center of the clearing, Briata turned to Remy and crossed her arms.

“Why do you want to train?” The Eagle’s jaw jutted to the side as she looked at Remy. Chewing on her lip, Remy considered her answer.

She did not want to cast her mind back to the witch hunter attack, so she simply said, “I want to be able to defend myself. I don’t want to be rescued again.”

“Good.” Briata nodded. She pulled the dagger from her left hip and gave it to Remy, adjusting her grip on the weapon. “This way,” she said so that the knuckle of Remy’s pointer finger aligned with the top of the blade.

Briata instructed Remy where to put her feet, how to hold her body, and how to move her arms. It felt awkward and strange, unlike how she thought it would feel. Her body didn’t move the way the others did. Briata taught her three different foot positions: a strike, a block, and a series of hits. It was a simple combination, and yet Remy couldn’t seem to get her feet to move at the same time as her arms. She felt all twisted up in her mind. She would freeze for several seconds after Briata called out a combination before her body would move. It felt ridiculous. Briata was going so easy on her, and yet she still wasn’t moving right.

“You’re still holding it wrong,” Briata corrected Remy for the 200th time in ten minutes.

“Why does it matter how I hold it?” Remy dropped her arms in frustration.

Briata unsheathed the sword from her right hip and swung it before Remy could blink. The dagger went flying out of her hand.

“That’s why,” Briata said. “Now pick it up and hold it the way I showed you.”

“Why can’t I just use a sword like you?” Remy felt like a child holding the smaller weapon.

“Because your scrawny human arms won’t be able to lift a fae sword,” Briata said. Remy looked to the warrior’s considerable biceps and frowned.

“I’m not a human, I’m a witch.” Remy tucked a sweaty ringlet of hair that had escaped her bun behind her rounded ear. Her breathing was already so heavy, and she had barely moved.

“Well, you all look the same.” Briata shrugged. “Were it not for the smell of magic on you, you’d be human to me.”

“My arms aren’t scrawny—I’ve been lifting trays of ale since I was seven.” Remy frowned.

“Your arms are shaking just from holding up that dagger for the last ten minutes.” Briata smirked.

Remy cursed. She didn’t think the shaking was so noticeable. The fae missed nothing.

Briata darted a glance to Remy’s feet and looked back at her, cocking her eyebrow. Remy rolled her eyes. Without saying a word, she swapped her feet back into the fighting stance that Briata had shown her. The whole thing was demoralizing. If anything, she felt less able to fight in this position.

“This is hopeless, Briata.” Remy clenched her teeth.

“Call me Bri,” the fae warrior said. Remy’s lips pulled up a bit at that. She had earned the right to call the fae by her nickname. That was at least one victory.

“It’s not that bad,” Carys’s voice came from the forest. The female appeared and perched herself on a thick branch of the fallen redwood. “You should have seen some of the people we trained in Falhampton and they were fae. You’ve got to remember fighting is like a dance . . .”

“It is not like a dance,” Bri said, annoyed.

“Yes it is.” Carys grinned at her.

“It is nothing like dancing,” Bri growled. This was clearly something the fae had argued about before.

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