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Chapter

Thirty-Five

“ H ow are you going to train me if you can’t look at me?” Lessia yawned as she followed Merrick down into the lower levels of the castle, where apparently, there was some kind of training ring.

Her body was still exhausted, her clothes worryingly loose from the weeks without food, but Merrick had woken her before dawn, a steaming bowl of porridge in his hands that he made her eat every last bite from.

Shivering, she took the final step onto a dimly lit cellar floor and glanced around.

The room was simple, with smooth curved walls, racks of wooden swords and daggers to her right, and a raised platform lined with thick rope to her left.

Merrick set down the two lanterns he’d carried and hopped onto the platform, waving for her to follow. “I don’t need to see you to fight you. Or to teach you.”

Hoisting herself up, she ducked underneath the rope. “You fought in the War of Storms, didn’t you? You were considered a hero, together with that other male. What was his name?”

There had been many wars between the Fae, especially before King Rioner’s family came into power.

The War of Storms was one of the most brutal.

A Fae family that could wield clouds had tried to take control of Vastala—and nearly succeeded—by conjuring raging thunderstorms and electrocuting whole towns.

She shuddered just thinking of it.

Hailing from an island far away, further than anyone in Havlands had ever traveled before, they fought for control over every Fae lineage. They’d made nearly all Vastala bow before Merrick and his band of Fae warriors took them out.

Apparently, they were all formidable, a combination of mental and elemental Fae, and while Merrick and the other leader were the strongest, they were all deadly in their own way.

“Raine,” Merrick muttered.

“That’s it. And there were more of you, wasn’t it? Where are they now? Do they also support the king? I thought you were a brotherhood or something.”

“They’re gone,” Merrick growled. “And we were friends, not a ‘brotherhood.’”

A muffled laugh escaped her lips.

“What?” Merrick’s shoulders tensed.

Taking a step back, Lessia raised her hands. “I was just surprised you had friends, that’s all.”

“Why?”

A wave of Merrick’s magic wove its way through the room, but she couldn’t stop another laugh from bubbling up. “I don’t know… Because you’re not very friendly?”

He seemed to vibrate from the rumbling in his chest, and the air shifted again, thickening with whispers .

“Sorry, sorry!” Lessia grimaced. “Maybe it’s just with me you’re not very friendly.”

And he was literally called the Death Whisperer, not the most warm and fuzzy nickname.

But given the vibrations rolling off him, she decided not to bring that up.

They were alone down here, after all.

Probably best not to rile him up too much.

Merrick impatiently gestured for her. “Stop stalling and get into position. We’ll start with hand-to-hand before we go into trying weapons.”

Groaning to herself, she took up a spot opposite him, trying to mimic his squared shoulders and wide stance.

“That’s not the right position,” Merrick hissed.

“Well, I told you I haven’t done this before,” she snarled back.

While she was grateful he’d offered to teach her—even if it was for his own benefit—she was still weak and tired from the past few weeks.

And she had little patience with his stupid attitude.

“Feet apart, and plant them firmly. Lower your center, so you’re more stable on the ground. And brace your core,” he barked. “You need to be steady if you’re attacked. If your enemy gets you down on the ground, you’re done.”

Trying to engage her abs only reminded her of the gnawing hunger that still preyed at her, and she placed a hand on her stomach when the ache intensified. She couldn’t eat enough to satisfy it yet, as queasiness would set in after only a few bites.

As Lessia tried to follow his instructions, Merrick sighed loudly, and she stuck out her tongue at him.

“Very mature,” he snarled.

“I thought you couldn’t see me.” She grinned at him .

“I see more than enough even if I don’t see your eyes, Lessia. Now raise your arms and be prepared.”

Scowling, she raised her arms, the leather tunic she’d pulled on shifting after her weight loss. As she habitually pulled at it to ensure her tattoo was covered, she slammed into the hard ground, the air knocked out of her.

“Don’t ever lose focus,” Merrick gloated.

Lessia blinked up at the stone ceiling, her heart thumping against her ribs until she finally could draw a breath again. Wheezing breaths whistled down her throat as she cursed Merrick, cursed the stupid elections, cursed King Rioner, cursed all Havlands.

When she could breathe normally again, she shifted up on her elbows, glaring at him.

Not even a lock of silver hair was out of place from his advance.

“Are you not going to help me up?”

If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn he hid a smile when he reached out a hand and easily pulled her to her feet. As she let go of his grip, Merrick spun around and moved a few feet away again.

“Into position. I’ll go slower this time.”

Biting her cheek, she took up the wide stance again, her eyes fixed on his set jaw as he approached her.

Still, when his arm wrapped around her, she didn’t have a chance. He easily swept her legs out from under her, and she once again fell onto the floor, dust swirling around her, layering over her face and clothing.

Scrambling to her feet using the rope around the platform, she swore loudly. “Again.”

This time Merrick couldn’t hide the crooked smile that spread across his face, and the urge to slam her fist into his face nearly overwhelmed her.

When he approached again, she jumped to the side, shoving her hand out, but Merrick caught it with such force she lost her footing.

Only his hand wrapping around her arm kept her from falling face-first into the stone.

“Better. But you’re still not fast enough.” Merrick let go of her arm, his finger poking her gut so hard she hissed at him. “And keep your core engaged. You need to have control of every limb and every muscle if you’re to stand a chance against me. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Letting out a sharp breath, she clenched her muscles, ignoring the black dots whirling in her vision. Merrick nodded as he paced around her, his lethal movements slow and deliberate.

But when he approached her again, he moved so quickly she didn’t have time to spin around before his arms had hers in a lock. Kicking backward, she tried to get free but only managed to allow him a better grip.

Merrick twisted her arms so hard crimson tinted her vision, and when he pulled her close and a low laugh escaped him, she felt her features twist into a sneer.

Letting him pull her even closer, she relaxed for a moment, and it seemed Merrick was about to let her go; then she stomped on his foot with all her might.

A hiss blew through her hair, and a tremble shook her shoulders when the air stilled and whispers reverberated through the chamber. But Merrick only muttered “Good” before releasing her.

Panting, she whipped her head from side to side as he stalked around her in a circle, like a predator moving in on its prey.

Lessia wiped at her forehead when drops of sweat formed there even in the damp, cool air, and Merrick didn’t hesitate as he took the opportunity to strike her with such force she once again crashed to the floor.

They continued this dance until she could barely get herself up from the dusty stone.

When Merrick dragged her to her feet yet again, her body swayed, and he finally took a step back. “That’s probably enough for today. I wasn’t expecting much, but at least you have some control over your body. It’s a start.”

“Is the almighty warrior complimenting me? Why, thank you, Merrick.” Even if he couldn’t see, she exaggeratedly batted her lashes in his direction.

“Don’t push me,” he grumbled, but the corners of his mouth curled again before he stalked off toward the stairs.

As she followed him up from the cellar, she thought he wasn’t so scary after all.

Even with the bruises she’d gained from his deadly skills, when that hardness always etching his face softened, he almost seemed friendly.