Page 136 of Blackheart

As I approached the small group, they turned their attention to me, scrunching their noses up in the sunlight.

“Are we in trouble?” one asked, his pell dropping to the ground.

I shook my head, pushed my pride aside and grabbed a small pell of my own out of the barrel.

“I’m quite bad at using these,” I admitted, waving the training stick around. “I was hoping you all could teach me what you know.”

The four children were tickled pink, and took the task at hand with the utmost seriousness and diligence.

A boy named Ryder, the eldest of them, instructed me to hold the pell above my head while running a lap around the training grounds. I was hesitant until Kyla, the youngest, insisted she would go with me.

“There is no shame in runnin’ like a war-ri-or,” she said proudly.

Warrior.

I winced at the word. Sitara had wished every day for a warrior. The woodland village had claimed me to be one.

“You’re right,” I said. “Let’s go run our lap.”

Kyla couldn’t have been older than six, but she did exactly as we were instructed. With little black bangs and pigtails frolicking around her face, she ran next to me with her pell held high above her head.

When she started to tire, I slowed with her, but that was no good to Kyla.

“No,” she demanded. “We speed up, not slow down. Just like the boys do.”

I ran at her pace, which was surprisingly fast. With shaking arms and red faces, we made it back to our corner of the training grounds, ready for another task.

There was a twinkle in Kyla’s eyes as she set down her pell and stretched her arms out. A literal twinkle, like a star chasing the moon.

She was a Nightcastor.

Not all of them had it, but it was a telling sign they used their Nature often.

She would certainly be impressive one day, assuming she kept up her training and continued working on skillsoutsideof her Nature. Combining the two would make her a force to be reckoned with.

I wished I wasn’t starting so late, but thankfully, I had help, even if it came from adolescents.

As the rest of the children finished their laps, Ryder began instructing us on wielding a sword—well, pell. We all stood there, me with twice the height of little Kyla, holding our practice swords as the oldest child went over the rules.

“So, uh, what my father says is that you have to hold tight to your weapon, so it doesn’t go fallin’ on the damn floor,” Ryder recalled.

I held back a smile. The other children admired Ryder like a victorious leader, though he couldn’t have been older than twelve. Even so, he had our small group pair up and begin practicing against each other. I partnered with Kyla.

She boldly smiled. “The biggest versus the smallest.Thatis cool,” she declared, holding her pell firmly.

“Begin!” Ryder called.

Kyla was fast and fiery with her attacks, forcing me to work up a sweat just to keep up with her. Despite her being a child, the spar was challenging, but not hopelessly impossible. It was a starting point that I’d desperately needed.

“I have something I know,” Kyla chirped.

I parried. “What do you mean?”

“You asked us to teach you what we know, and I know something.”

I suppose I had said that.

“Well, go on then,” I said, out of breath. She was tiring too, her chest rising and falling heavily and face blazing red.