Page 25 of Esperance

They reached the training yard. The cleric had walked the other men over to a rack of mock weapons. Even though they weren’t real, Carver’s palm still itched to hold them.

“For those who do not wish to duel,” the cleric was saying, “you are more than welcome to simply observe. You will have the use of the yard for the rest of the afternoon.”

Carver wanted to move for the stand of weapons immediately, but he forced himself to hang back and observe the other men.

Argent was the first to move to the stand, and as he picked through the faux blades, Darrin was quick to join him.

Carver had never met him before coming to Esperance. Darrin hadn’t come to train in Westmont because he’d apparently suffered from many illnesses as a child, which kept him home. He was a high-ranking nobleman in the kingdom of Vadir. He was a top suspect in Carver’s mind, purely because he had several family members who had openly professed anti-empirical sentiments. At the moment, the dark-haired man looked especially eager to make inroads with Argent—which only increased Carver’s suspicions.

The next person to make a move was Ivan. He took a place at Argent’s other side carefully, making an effort not to move his left arm. Carver knew he’d been injured in the attack yesterday. With cool blue eyes, Ivan surveyed the spread of weapons, but he didn’t touch anything. His blond hair brushed high cheekbones, making him look even more severe. He was from Sibet, where the winters were harsh and the people harsher. He was not the heir to his father’s throne—he was the second son. He’d also never come to Westmont to train, but his reason had been distance related; Sibet and Westmont were on opposite ends of the empire. Some believed that distance created a disconnect from the rest of the empire, and there might be truth to that. Carver would need to make a point to get closer to Ivan.

Samuel hung back. He didn’t look altogether excited to be in the training yard, but Carver knew that was because Samuel was a scholarly prince. Wendahl was known for its universities and healers, but even so, Samuel’s father had sent him to Westmont for one summer. Carver had crossed paths with him, but Samuel was younger by nearly six years, and that had kept them from forming any real bond.

That left Rivard.

The high-born noble of Daersen stood apart, but it really wasn’t a surprise to see him darting a look at Carver. The last time they’d seen each other outside of Esperance, Rivard’s face had been covered with blood.

The same blood that had coated Carver’s fists.

Rivard was tall and thin, but surprisingly adept with a blade. His black hair was longer now, nearly brushing his shoulders. He came from a family of devout worshipers who had held various positions within the church and in the Daersen government. His family had demonstrated unfailing loyalty to the Craethen Empire from the beginning, which was why the emperor trusted Rivard. While Carver agreed that Rivard was loyal to the empire, trusting him implicitly wasn’t a mistake he would ever make again.

Rivard’s green eyes landed on Carver’s, and then he was walking forward. “Carver,” he said, once he was close.

Just hearing his voice made the latent rage in Carver’s gut swirl. It took every bit of his self-control to keep his emotions in check.It’s just water flowing under a bridge.“Rivard.” His voice was flat, but that was the best he could manage.

Rivard’s expression was neutral. “I was hoping we could speak. Perhaps later, after—”

“I don’t think there’s any need for that.”

“I disagree. I think we should clear the air.”

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

Rivard’s forehead creased. “You’re being petty.”

Carver took a step forward, sinking as much menace as he could into his stance. “Do you want me to break your nose again?”

Rivard didn’t cower. He only jutted out his chin, his gaze narrowed. “I thought war changed men, but you’re exactly the same.”

A hollow smile curved his mouth, revealing an edge of threat. “You have no idea how much I’ve changed.”

“Carve!” Argent called, swinging the wooden blade he’d selected. “Come pick a sword so we can spar! It’s about time we had another bout.”

Without a word, Carver pivoted on his heel and strode away from Rivard. Argent’s gaze spoke volumes, but he didn’t say anything as Carver moved for the stand of weapons.

Ivan, Darrin, and Samuel had all selected blades. While Ivan and Darrin paired off for a match, Samuel asked Rivard if he wanted to join him.

“Of course,” Rivard accepted, his smooth voice only a little tense as he moved toward the stand.

Unwilling to remain near Rivard a second longer than necessary, Carver snatched the closest wooden sword. The blade was weighted with lead, which gave it a comfortable heft. He still missed his own blade, though.

He walked with Argent to a corner of the yard and they took up positions across from each other on the hard-packed dirt. After the customary bow, they began circling. The familiarity of dueling each other was comforting, and Carver could feel his muscles relaxing. He hadn’t expected Esperance would have a training yard, but he would now make an effort to come daily.

It would help keep him sane.

Argent struck first, as he usually did, and the crack of their wooden blades split the air. They dealt rapid blows, parrying and twisting to get a better hit. They fell into their old patterns, moving fast and fierce. Though Carver was focused on the mock fight, he was aware of the other fights in progress.

Ivan and Darrin were going at each other with increasing intensity. Rivard had already won against Samuel, but they were squaring off once more. The clerics and guards simply watched.