A shiver rippled through her. She glanced at the hill. Saw nothing.
He crouched down, his leather trousers creaking. His black-gloved hands gripped his knees. “What? Did you see something up there?”
“Did you?” she asked. “Last night? I thought . . . But it was just my imagination playing tricks on me.”
Ōbhin worked his jaw. His eyes flicked to the hill then back to her. “You understand fear, yes?”
She nodded. Last night wasn’t the first time terror had gripped her. That day with the whitewash . . . The emptiness beckoned. “We are acquainted.”
“Then you need to train your body to move without thought. When shock is on you, it will save your life until you can start thinking. Now, up. Let’s practice moving. Once you have that down, I’ll teach you how to hit with the binder.”
“You’re different,” Avena said.
“I’m remembering who I used to be.” He rose, towering over her. “On your feet and adopt the stance.”
She scrambled upright with eagerness. She wasn’t sure if Ōbhin was here to watch over Dualayn or not, but she felt a sincerity from him. A willingness to teach her, and she wanted to learn. She didn’t want that helplessness to ever grip her again. Too many times she’d felt it. No longer.
“Okay,” she said, right toe pointing to the side, weight spread between her parted feet.
“See that bush?” Ōbhin pointed across the lawn. The other guards were running past it.
“The rhododendron?”
“Move to it as fast as you can while keeping your feet in this position. Push with the left, step with the right. Push with the left, step with the right. There and back.”
It wasn’t nearly as easy as he made it seem when he lunged. Her legs wanted to swing past each other. That was the natural way of walking. She shuffled her right foot forward and almost lost her balance. She held her arms out at her sides to catch herself. She wouldn’t be defeated.
Call me stubborn? He should meet Daughter Heana. She smiled. That woman could teach stubbornness to a mountain.
She worked across the grass. It grew easier. Push with the left, step with the right, then draw her left foot in.
Push. Step. Step.
Push. Step. Step.
She felt her confidence grow as she approached the rhododendron. Her thighs burned from the strange motion. Sweat broke across her brow, cooling her face as a wind blew in from the lake. The sweet scent of rhododendron flowers brought her closer and closer.
She reached the bush and . . . had no idea how to turn around. He pivoted on his foot when I knocked him off-balance.
She shifted her weight on her left leg and turned herself around, falling into the stance and smiling at her own triumph.
Ōbhin stared at the hill.
A chill raced through her.
“What are you doing?” Miguil asked.
She squeaked and whirled around, regaining her stance as she came face to face with her promised. The handsome groom had a perplexed look on his face. Heat blushed across her cheeks as that excited flutter billowed through her.
“Learning to fight,” she said, lifting her chin.
He scowled and shook his head.
“I won’t be talked out of it,” she added.
“I’ve learned the futility of that,” he said, raising hands. “Just . . . you sure? From him?”
“You don’t like Ōbhin either?”
His face darkened and something flashed in his eyes. Jealousy? A pleased ripple ran through her. “I don’t trust him.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. She gave his hand a quick squeeze and planted a brushing kiss on his cheek. Then she resumed her practice, heading back to Ōbhin with confidence.
*
Ōbhin’s eyes kept drawing to the hill. The feeling of being watched skittered across his spine.
He wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Avena’s haunted gaze kept flicking up to the hill. Her shoulders tightened and a renewed vigor would strengthen her. She would fight through the soreness in her legs and the exhaustion weighing at her. She wasn’t used to such physical exertion.
Her tenacity was admirable and rooted in that reckless stubbornness. She was like a rock just thrusting up through the dirt. She didn’t look big, but she was just the tip of something larger. Something that would break your toe if you struck it in the wrong way.
Her skill at moving had grown. It was still simple—he’d let her master the basics before teaching her more complicated placement of feet. It was bad to be rigid while fighting. You had to resonate with Zolinee’s watery Tone. To flow like the rivers which, in their own way, sang with her melody. Adapt, change, react. Fighting was both a passive and active endeavor. You had to flow between the calm pool and the raging rapids, depending on circumstances.
Now, he just needed to keep her from cracking open her own head.
The eyes on the hill weren’t the only watchers. Miguil had lurked with sullenness on the edge of the practice area, watching his promised learning to fight. Even the fussy butler had come out, though Ōbhin knew whom he watched.
He ignored those eyes as he glanced back at Avena.
She traded blows with Bran, the two enthusiastically swinging their binders with little skill. The metal rods clanked together. Both wore heavy gloves to protect their fingers, which was good since both had taken hard blows, bringing yelps and curses.
“Too hard,” Smiles said, his grin gone. He had the look of a sergeant now. Though only a year or two older than Ōbhin, the man wasn’t inept. Even Fingers knew how to brawl, drawing more on lessons learned in a dozen
