Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Mireen and Ambrose have both taken what I assume are involuntary steps away from Raith. Even with the weapons on display, the other waters are also watching him with mixtures of wariness and awe.
I shake my head, heat creeping up my neck. "Just trying not to imagine somebody skewering me with one of those."
"Be the one doing the skewering, then," Raith says simply.
Easy for him to say. I don't think Raith has even come close to losing a sparring match since he arrived. Even if someone did want to kill him, they'd have no chance. He's untouchable. Hardly even human.
And, for some reason, he's standing in the middle of us waters and talking to me.
He looks at the others, who are watching us openly. "Fuck off," he growls.
Eyes jerk away and people flinch back like he's a lion that just roared.
Except Malakai and his soldiers, I notice. They're watching Raith with calculated stares. Stares that don't make sense, unless they're really so bloodthirsty they'd go after people outside our affinity.
"It's okay," I say to Mireen and Ambrose, who linger, even though they look like they want to scatter with the rest of the students.
At least I hope it's okay. Raith wouldn't kill me right here, would he?
But I see he's studying the weapons, then returning his focus to me. His eyes scan my body, and for a moment, I wonder if he's actually checking me out.
He reaches and gives my arm a squeeze, then frowns, as if not entirely pleased.
"What?" I demand.
"You need to take your training more seriously. You're still… squishy."
"Excuse me?" My jaw drops in indignation.
I know I must be imagining it, but I almost think the corner of his mouth twitches upward at that. "Short." He's still staring at me—assessing me. "Somewhat weak. But fast. Hmm." He strokes his sculpted jaw with big, calloused fingers. "Smart…"
Smart? I'm not sure how he knows enough about me to assume that, but—
Before I can respond, he moves past me, selecting a thin-bladed sword with a simple crossguard. It's shorter than a full-sized sword but longer than a dagger.
"This." He offers it to me, handle first. "Emphasis on speed and precision. Quick thrusts rather than hacking power. A thrust is faster than a slash. The blade is short enough that you should be able to strike first against anybody with a longer weapon. Against a shorter weapon, you'll use this to keep out of their reach," he says, tapping my temple.
I take it hesitantly, testing its weight. The balance is perfect, the blade an extension of my arm rather than a burden. "Why are you helping me?" I ask, suspicious of anything resembling kindness in this place.
"You intrigue me." He steps closer, making my breath catch and filling my nose with that strange but intoxicating scent of his. "And I don’t think you’re as weak as you let on.”
Before I can press further, he walks away, rejoining the fire offerings on the other side of the arena. They've already selected weapons, and they're training cooperatively, rather than trying to kill one another like the waters and airs do.
It's ironic, in a way. Before coming here, I was told fire and earth primals were all spies for Red Kingdom. Those who weren't spies, they said, just hadn't turned coat yet. They were painted as the animals and the ones to fear.
But here? The fires organize under Raith, and I only know of two who have died since we arrived. Meanwhile, more than thirty waters have died and half as many airs. The earths also have only had one or two deaths, and they've organized themselves under the leadership of a pair of twins named Otho and Vireena. I can see them with their glowing green marks training in the distance.
Both the earths and fires act more like a cooperative team than competitors. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t cursed Bastian a few times for not simply suggesting I disguise my mark and join the fires or earths. But then I wouldn’t have Mireen or Ambrose.
"What was that about?" Mireen asks, joining me with a spear in her hands.
"I have no idea," I admit, still fighting the urge not to stare and watch as Raith moves between the fires, correcting form and barking orders.
We spend the next hour working with our blunted practice weapons. The idea is apparently to reduce fatalities as we’re training, but I have no doubts a determined student could still kill with these. I'm also pretty sure Malakai would have no problem using his giant, double-bladed axe to chop someone’s head off, blunted or not. Thankfully, he's training with his people instead of trying to go for a kill at the moment.
Small victories.
My weapon—a rapier, as Blackstone calls it—suits me better than I expected. What I lack in strength, I make up for in speed and precision. By the end of the session, even Blackstone seems grudgingly impressed by my progress.