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‘Yes, and you know how he gets,’ Thea muttered. She had only been in a handful of training sessions with the older Warsword, and what she’d seen had not sat right with her. But right or not, they were due back at the training arena within minutes, and she didn’t want to risk his wrath.

Thankfully, they made it in time, their cohort only just gathering around the arena. Thea’s body was already taut with anticipation. Since that initial demonstration, she had sparred with a range of partners besides Kipp and Cal, and from each of them, she had learned something new. Over the weeks, she had memorised the rules of engagement, and following Hawthorne’s advice, had experimented with how to break them. She had noticed a change in herself. Not only was she physically stronger and faster than before, but she was also more confident. That initial fear of being overpowered had faded and while she was what Torj called a ‘scrappy’ fighter, she could hold her own against most. Thea relished the physicality of close combat, the impact of the blocks and blows, the ringing in her ears from the clash of steel and the weight of a shield on her arm.

And so when Vernich the Bloodletter walked into the arena, she did not fear him.

But she should have.

The older Warsword was in a foul temper already, she could tell by his clenched jaw and the narrowing of his eyes as he surveyed them.

‘Pair up,’ he barked.

As always, the instruction caused a second of hesitation in their trio, but Thea relented and turned to find herself another partner. Lachin was one of the few shieldbearers left without an opponent and so, reluctantly, Thea approached him.

He looked around in genuine surprise. ‘Really?’

‘We’re both out of options, it seems,’ she replied. She hadn’t sparred with him before, always lumping him in with Seb, whom she did her best to avoid. Because of that, she expected some nasty comment or objection, but he merely shrugged and tossed her a training sword.

‘Alright then,’ he said, planting his feet apart. ‘When you’re ready.’

‘I’m ready,’ Thea told him and launched into an attack. She had learned that most of her fellow shieldbearers expected her to hesitate or take her time, and so she did neither of these things. More often than not, she was the first to strike, and typically it was this tactic that caught her opponent off guard.

Not this opponent.

Lachin was ready. He deflected the first thrust of her practice sword and delivered a powerful blow of his own. Thea didn’t know how old Lachin was, or how long he’d been training at Thezmarr, but from the way he moved she guessed it was a damn sight longer than her.

But it didn’t intimidate her. She was stronger and faster than she’d ever been, and she had an edge that no one knew about - she always fought like her fate depended on it, because it did.

And so she advanced without pause, throwing a high, horizontal cut from her strong side to Lachin’s weak side, hiswooden blade looping around to meet her own with a strong, two-handed strike. The impact vibrated up Thea’s arms and she grinned. She lived for this, for the challenge, for the fight.

Lachin was grinning too. ‘You’re better than before.’

‘I know,’ Thea replied, slicing again.

This time, he nearly failed to block –nearly, before striking again.

‘You didn’t want to use a shield?’ Lachin joked.

And Thea suddenly realised that hewasjoking, not mocking… Something had shifted in the dynamic.

She flashed him another grin. ‘Don’t need one with you.’

Lachin snorted and attempted an upward cut with the back edge of his blade, but she deflected it, cutting him off and managing to momentarily hook his blade under hers, drawing it down as she delivered a swift kick to his exposed side.

He grunted at the impact.

Thea drew back and circled him. ‘Tired yet?’ she teased.

‘You’re dreaming —’

‘You fucking useless idiot!’ Vernich’s bellow echoed across the entire arena, bringing everyone’s sparring to a standstill. The sound of a fist cracking bone followed his words.

Thea froze, exchanging a look of alarm with her opponent. Panic latched its claws into her heart as she scanned the shieldbearer pairs, dread sinking in her gut. She spotted the Warsword’s hulking frame almost immediately.

He stood towering over Kipp, who was clutching his bleeding face, doubled over.

Thea’s throat constricted, and she thought she might choke.

Vernich crowded her friend, his face flushed, his lip curled in a snarl. ‘You can barely hold a sword, you pathetic piece of shit.’