A shock goes through the shackles on my wrists, ending with a throb in my skull. I grit my teeth as Amira clicks her tongue. “Your impertinent questions don’t deserve an answer. Now come with me.”
I grit my teeth, refusing to budge. Sighing, Amira raises a hand, and another shock goes through me, this time through the shackles on my ankles.
“Pick a weapon. Or two. A shield would probably be of use as well.”
As tempted as I am to spit at her, I turn and grab the two green shadowlynx daggers and a belt to sheathe them in. My hand reaches out for a shield, landing on a round one made of metal with a lion engraved at the center. It reminds me of the Pashu king Subodh. Pashu, I recall, are also capable of whispering. Feeling a little better, I slide the shield over one arm.
“Come. We’ve wasted enough time here already.” Amira steps out of the door without another look in my direction.
Under my breath, I call Amira a word so foul that Juhi would skin me alive if she heard me say it. I follow Amira to the room next to the kitchen, the doors now closed, Cook’s snores the only sound cutting through the silence. At the threshold of the old storage room—my new training ground—another shock goes through the shackles, making me tumble to the floor, pain shooting through my knee bone.
“That was for your filthy tongue,” Amira says before disappearing inside.
The moment the door locks behind us, Amira begins tapping the walls of the room with a finger. The faint, crackling sound of the noise-blocking shield raises tiny bumps on my skin. Apart from a small glass window, the storage room has no natural light. Before I can offer to bring in a lantern or two, a lightorb bursts from Amira’s fingers and floats overhead, illuminating the room.
Show-off.
Making light isn’t a gift limited to only a few magi, but not everyone is capable of doing it. Ma was the only one in our family who could magic lightorbs. Papa called her his Little Light, even though there was really nothing little about my mother—she was slightly taller than Papa, even. I blink away the sudden tears pricking my eyes and focus on Amira’s sharp voice.
“Fighting without magic often involves training the body in a series of physical movements,” Amira says. “Fighting with magic, however, is largely mental, and not every weapon can withstand the power of the human mind. There are substances, of course, that are useful. White Jwaliyan marble called sangemarmar, mammoth tusks from Prithvi, Ambari firestones, and seaglass from Samudra,” she says, pointing to the shimmering green dagger in my hand. “Any of these, when used in a weapon, can amplify magic.” She picks up a metal spear leaning against the wall, its sangemarmar tip glowing in the dim fanas light.
“The shield you’re holding is reinforced with chips of mammoth tusk, so it will protect you from quite a few spells. But no shield is better than the one you can raise with your own magic. When we fight, you must focus on a single word: Protect. Make it the sole object of your meditation, make it your prayer. Now raise your shield!”
It soon becomes clear why.
I barely take two steps forward before a blast of light hits my chest, sending me to the floor, the metal shield nearly clocking my jaw. Amira stands on the other end, unarmed apart from the spear. Her simple white sari is tied like a kaccha, the cloth draped to form pantaloons for ease of movement. I expect her to be sneering at me, but her face is expressionless.
“Up again. Concentrate this time, and try to protect yourself with your own magic instead of the shield.”
Another blast of magic. Protect, I think, but even though I raise my shield to block it, I simply fall to the floor again.
She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Clearly someone hasn’t been doing their morning squats. If you can’t even withstand a blast of air, how will you last through an actual fight?”
When she sends the next blast, I remain standing—out of sheer stubborn will. But I’m still unable to cast a shield spell.
“Good,” Amira says. “Now try to block me. Focus on protecting yourself. Use your mind, princess!”
“How—” The question gets lost in the next blast she sends my way—one I narrowly dodge. She has me like that, skipping and ducking, until a blast hits me right in the back, blowing me off my feet.
“Be aware of your surroundings at all times.” Amira sends another shock through my shackles. “First rule of fighting, remember? You didn’t even hear me come into the armory tonight.”
A stitch runs up my side as I try to catch my breath. “I didn’t know I had enemies to fear here as well.”
In the very next instant, I have to duck and roll across the floor, dodging a jet of light she sends my way, burning away the tail of my braid. Rising back to my feet, I react on instinct, throwing the dagger the way the Yudhnatam mistress once taught us, surprising myself when it misses Amira by a hair, forcing her to spin out of its way.
“Not bad.” She picks the dagger off the ground and twirls it. I barely have a moment to dodge the beam of green light she aims at me. “Even though throwing away one of your only two weapons without hitting your mark is a stupid thing to do during battle.”
My fingers curl around the hilt of the other dagger, feel the ridges and curves of the shells. This time, I let Amira move closer and use every bit of training I remember from the past two years.
Yudhnatam is not a fight, Uma Didi always said. It is a dance of approach and retreat. If you can remember this, you will
