Venn’s mouth drew into a line. “Did you notice anything else? Did he have an accent? A weapon?”
“This,” Bennick said stiffly. Clare and Venn both watched as he jerked the knife out of the door. He examined it, his voice hard. “There’s nothing unique about it. Just a plain dagger. You could buy one like this on any corner in Iden.”
“Not Mortisian?” Venn asked, surprise lifting his tone. “That’s new. Could this have been rebels?”
“They attack in groups,” Bennick said, still examining the knife, though clearly it wouldn’t reveal any secrets.
“Not always. But if this was the assassin, it’s the first time he’s come to do the job himself, rather than rely on poison.” Venn frowned at Bennick. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” He cut a glance at Clare. The skin around his eyes tightened. “I need to report this to the king.”
“I could go—”
“No,” Bennick overrode Venn. “Stay with her.”
Though her mind was truly fuzzing now, Clare flinched at Bennick’s tone. “Please stay,” she whispered.
His body remained hard, his face unreadable. “I’ll return soon.”
She wanted to beg him, but he was already striding out the door.
Venn sighed and busied himself with hanging a blanket over the window to ward off the chill in the air.
Clare drifted, only partially aware of Vera returning and helping to strip off her ruined nightgown. The blood was bathed away and then she had a new gown and Vera tucked her into bed, mindful of her bandages.
Sleep claimed her, but Clare came in and out of wakefulness. At one point she saw Vera curled at the foot of the bed, asleep, and Venn draped a blanket over her, his eyes softening as he did. But each time Clare peeked at the room through slitted eyes, the one person she desperately wanted to see remained absent.
Bennick didn’t come back.
Chapter 37
Clare
The wooden training dagger stabbed into Clare’s ribs. She shoved away from Bennick, her side burning and her breaths sharp as she whirled on him.
He matched her glare with coolness. “You’re dead.”
Clare’s hands balled at her sides, her lungs heaving for air. The mostly-healed wound over her heart twinged with pain. “At least give me a chance to fight back.”
Nothing in Bennick’s hard expression changed. “An assassin won’t go easy on you, Clare.”
She grit her teeth. It had been over a week since the assassin had attacked her in the princess’s room, and although she’d only resumed training with Bennick three days ago, something had changed. It was Bennick squaring off before her, but an insufferable mask of detachment covered his face and never slipped. Their training had intensified. They worked on the field for three hours now, since Bennick was insistent that they make up for the time she’d lost while recovering from her stabbing. Clare dreaded this time a little more each day, and that hurt went deeper than the throbbing bruises that covered her. Irritation tightened her skin. Impatience had been building for days, but today it flared, nearly swallowing her.
Bennick spun the mock knife, flipping it over his fingers, his gaze level. “Again.”
Clare swiped a wrist across her sweaty forehead, her breathing still ragged. “I want a break.”
He shook his head. “We’re not resting today. We only have a week left.”
She ground her teeth. “I need to rest.”
Bennick bent, scooping up the wooden knife he’d twisted from her hand a moment ago. He tossed it at her face and she caught it on instinct, before it hit her nose.
She scowled, fingers clenching over the wooden weapon. “I’m not fighting you.”
“That will make it easy for me to win.” His wooden knife shot out.
Clare stumbled as she dodged his attack. A growl vibrated her throat. “Stop!”
“No.” Bennick advanced again and she was forced to retreat.
She knew the men on the field were probably watching them, but she was sick of being stabbed and she knew Bennick wasn’tgoing to allow her a chance at winning. What was the point of losing again and again?
She didn’t debate. She turned on her heel and marched away, toward the stable that sat on the other side of the field.
“Clare!”
She ignored his shout. She wouldn’t let him give her another bruise or make her feel like a weak fool.
When she heard his footsteps pounding after her, she instinctively lifted the hem of her skirt and slipped into a run, still strangling the practice knife.
His footsteps pounded after her and she knew she couldn’toutrun him. She was already winded from training, each sharpbreath tugging at the tender flesh over her heart, and though Bennick was also breathing hard, he gained quickly.
Clare had just cleared the training yard when he grabbed her elbow, hauling them both to a stop.“What was that?” he demanded.
She shoved against his chest, but his grip remained tight on her arm. “My first defense is to escape danger, remember?”
Bennick’s eyes narrowed, the heat from his body pressing against the small space between them. “You think I’m a danger to you?”
“You hurt me.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“No, you’re not!” Clare jerked her arm again and this time she broke free. More likely he’d let her go, but she ignored that as she stepped back. “I know an assassin could kill me in a second. You don’t have to beat it into me.” He cringed, but she wasn’t done. “A week ago I was lying on the floor, bleeding, an assassin on top of me. I know how terrifying that moment is. I could see my death in his eyes, and it didn’t matter how hard I fought him—he still stabbed me.” Her voice cracked, and she hated that.
Bennickthrustahandthroughhishair,throatbobbing.“Clare—”
“No.” She made her voice hard, forcing back the break that threatened. “You’re not training me, Bennick. You’re humiliating me. And I’ve had enough.” She turned and stalked away, spine straight.She stillheldtheblastedwoodenknife; she threw it aside.
Bennick followed. Of course he did. They were nearly to the stable when he finally spoke, his voice
