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‘Tired?’ he asked lightly.

‘Never,’ she told him.

‘Then on your feet with your sword. I have an exercise for you.’ He pulled a small vial from his pocket.

‘What’s that?’

She didn’t miss the slight upward tug of his mouth, nor the hint of dimple the half-smile revealed as he uncorked the glass vessel and positioned a strange wire wand to his lips.

He blew.

A dozen or more bubbles danced between them.

Frowning, Thea popped a few with her index finger. ‘What are these for?’

‘Training,’ he said.

Thea understood immediately. Eagerly, she unsheathed her sword and —

He laughed. He actuallylaughed at her. ‘You’ll be surprised at how hard it is,’ he told her, seeming even more amused at the scowl she aimed at him. ‘But although it’s such a simple drill, it can dramatically increase your precision.’

Thea was already moving on her toes, thrusting her blade at the shining orbs floating around their campsite.

‘You did this?’ she asked. ‘When you were training?’

‘Many times. Talemir found it endlessly amusing. Now I see why.’

Thea rolled her shoulders to loosen her muscles and tried again as Wilder blew more bubbles from the vial. ‘It helps to hone your ability to block out details that will distract you or cause you to lose focus,’ he added thoughtfully, eyeing her critically as she moved. ‘Your lunges need to be more controlled. More control means you recover faster, and can strike again sooner.’

Thea listened, storing the information away in the recesses of her mind. She would take every kernel of wisdom he offered and treat it with reverence. For every piece had a part to play in her plan to become a Warsword of the midrealms. At long last, Wilder was doing exactly as he had promised.

He was training her.

* * *

Hours later, Wilder ordered a stop to her efforts. Thea wanted to protest, to tell him that she could keep going, but he silenced her with a look. And as her gaze met his, the exhaustion hit her, down to her very bones. He knew her better than she knew herself, it seemed, and she found that the thought didn’t bother her half as much as it might have once.

Her whole body sagged as he went off to check the horses, leaving her to prepare for the night in privacy. At long last, she collapsed onto her bedroll and almost instantly sank into a deep sleep.

* * *

She stared at a familiar face.

Anya.

The girl was older this time, perhaps sixteen or so. She stood in a canvas tent before a mirror, parting her hair with her fingers, a bloody patch of her scalp showing through.

Someone had torn a chunk of her copper locks from her head.

Anya scowled at her reflection and adjusted the patch over her right eye before unsheathing a dagger from her belt. She grabbed a fistful of her hair and sawed through it, the unruly tresses floating down to the ground.

Thea watched as the strange girl cut her hair, the uneven lengths swinging by her jawline. Anya seemed removed from the whole process, her one-eyed stare glinting with purpose and determination.

When she was done, copper locks fanned out around her boots, but she stepped over them without a care, brushing any remaining loose strands from her shoulders with cold efficiency.

She stepped outside the tent – and Thea gasped in horror.

For beyond the canvas flaps was a temporary camp amid a rotting field.