Page 7

Chapter

Seven

D arkness surrounds me.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

My knee sinks into the soft training mat as I keel over from the pain in my abdomen. I anticipated the blow, but not where it would land.

“You could at least pull your punches.” I wipe the sweat from my damp brow, careful not to disturb the strip of black fabric that sits over my eyes.

“And you could tell me why we’re doing this,” Remy’s amused voice calls from somewhere on my right.

When I arrived at our sparring session today, I asked if Remy would teach me to fight while blindfolded. He found my request to be odd, especially when I wouldn’t elaborate on why I wanted to start working on it immediately.

“But since you won’t,” Remy continues, “then neither will I.”

My recent encounters with the reaper frightened me more than I’d care to admit. It’s been one week since I last saw him, and in that time, I’ve admitted to myself that I most likely wouldn’t have survived our first encounter without the help of my eidolon . Perhaps if I wasn’t uncomfortable using her, I wouldn’t have ended up running for my life with a self-inflicted stab wound.

Still, the idea of training with her has my palms sweating. I’ve kept this ability secret since it first appeared nearly a year ago. It’s not as if I’ve never considered telling Remy, but every time I try, memories of the first time I summoned an eidolon keep me silent. Explaining those circumstances would be dangerous.

For both of us.

But it’s becoming clear to me that I need to learn to use this skill during combat without draining myself. Or dying. While the eidolon does rely on a combination of my commands and instincts, there’s also a mental tether connecting us that allows me to see through her eyes when I wish. But doing that is dangerous since it splits my focus and leaves my real body vulnerable. Training with a blindfold doesn’t fully solve that problem, but it’s the best I can do without revealing my true reasons.

Something hard smacks against my ribs, pulling my attention back to the fight. I lift the blindfold to find Remy holding a wooden sword in each hand.

“Really?” I rub the newly tender spot on my side.

“Be grateful they’re not real.” His bushy chestnut eyebrows pull together in admonishment as he dumps one of the weapons onto the mat in front of me. “Now get up.”

Humiliation burns in my gut as I rise to my feet and grab the sword. My fingers brush over the knicks in the pale wood, tracing the familiar flower design in the pommel.

Is this the same set we used when Remy first began training me? I was terrified the day he tossed them aside and grabbed two steel blades from the weapons wall. At only eleven years old, it was the first time I’d ever touched a real sword. I walked away from that session with shallow slices all over my body, but the pride shining in Remy’s eyes erased any pain I might have felt.

As one of the few half fae in a position of authority, he’s worked tirelessly to rise to his rank as captain of the city guard. Despite not being blessed with magic, he’s the greatest fighter I’ve ever met. I’m lucky that he took an interest in the strange little girl the king brought home one day. Without Remy, I doubt I’d have made it this far.

“I simply thought it might be fun to fight with my eyes closed,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “It would even the odds a bit. Make things more exciting.”

“Because fights to the death are usually so dull,” he says dryly.

“It was just an idea.”

“And the urgency with which you demanded to be taught?”

Pulling the blindfold back into place, I take up a defensive position. “I’m merely eager to correct the gaps in my education.”

“As the person who educated you, I feel that statement was meant as an insult.”

“Men and their tender feelings.” I flick my wrist in his direction. “Take it how you will.”

He lands another blow against my back, knocking the air out of me.

“Your problem is that you aren’t listening,” he says, his voice coming from my left.

“I’ve listened to every damn word you’ve said!” I seethe as my sword strikes out in his direction, but doesn’t make contact. “Which, so far, hasn’t been helpful.”

His chuckle comes from my right now. “You always were a sore loser.”

“I am not! Take that back, you cad.” I swing blindly, my wooden sword waving through the air in what I’m sure is an amusing visual for him.

He knocks the weapon from my hand and grabs my wrists, pinning them behind me with embarrassing ease. I knock my head back, smiling when I catch him in the chin. His huff of pain has a slight improvement on my mood.

“ Listen , Ivy.” He lets me go and slips out of my reach. “Focus on my footsteps, the rustle of my clothes. Feel the air moving toward you before my strike lands.”

Doing as he commanded, I empty my mind of the frustration and embarrassment that have taken hold of me. My encounters with the reaper haven’t done much for my self-confidence.

At first, the room appears to be silent, but as I listen closer, I’m able to note several small sounds. A bird chirps outside the window, and distant laughter echoes from a passing guard somewhere down the hall. Suddenly, a slight breeze passes against my cheek a second before a fist connects with my skin. My free hand moves to my jaw, gingerly pressing against the tender joint. It wasn’t a hard hit, but it still stung.

“Again,” I tell him.

As we continue this strange exercise several more times, I begin to understand what Remy meant. While I don’t successfully dodge any of his blows, I am getting better at anticipating them. I can now tell exactly where his strike is going to land a second before I feel it. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering how I’m going to apply this to my eidolon . When I’m staring through her eyes, will I be able to sense a fist coming toward me before it lands? And if I do, can I react fast enough to dodge it?

“Again,” I repeat, wiping a spot of blood from my split lip.

“Let’s take a break. We’ve been going at it for hours.”

Lifting my blindfold, I note how the bright morning sun filters through the smudged windows. Considering the dawn had barely begun to rise when I got here, I’d say it’s probably around nine now. As I stand still for a moment, all the aches I’ve been suppressing make themselves known.

“Ow.” I hunch forward, rubbing my tender knee.

I haven’t taken this many hits since my first lesson. I took to fighting quickly because I spent all of my free time either training or studying books on different techniques. When something doesn’t come easily to me, I have a tendency to become obsessive about it.

Remy shakes his head. “I think we’ve done enough for today.”

“One more time.” I move the sword to my left hand, knowing I’ve been relying too much on my right today. “I almost had you in the last round.”

“Ah, yes.” He nods, tucking his hands behind his back. “You mean when you stood completely still as I punched you in the face?”

I shoot him a vicious glare—it’s menacing effect only slightly dampened by my wince. “One more time, and then I promise I’ll spend the whole day resting.”

“Oh, really?” He cocks a brow.

“I swear. I’m planning a trip to the library.”

“Well, that I believe,” he laughs fondly. Since Baylor kept me isolated from other children growing up, when I wasn’t with Remy or Leona, I spent the rest of my time in the company of books.

The humor falls away from Remy’s face, leaving behind a hesitant expression. “I’ll agree to one more round if you tell me what all of this is about.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, feigning a casual tone as I bend down and fiddle with my boots. I pull one of the laces loose so I can retie it, giving myself an excuse to keep my head lowered.

“Just tell me what has you spooked.” His patient tone grates against my nerves, making my skin feel too tight.

I stand up, meeting his gaze head on. “Why do you assume I’m spooked?”

Remy isn’t supposed to ask me these things. He’s always been my safe haven, the one person who doesn’t push or pry. When I’m here in the training room, I’m free. Everything else fades into the background, and for a few hours, I simply get to exist.

“Ivy.” His raspy voice practically swallows the nickname.

My gaze falls to the thin, pale scar on his neck. An injury from my youth , he called it when I asked years ago. It appears as if someone tried to slit his throat. A mortal wouldn’t have survived such a wound. Being half fae saved his life. Supposedly, he was once a great singer with a rich and melodic voice, but after the injury, he was left with the warm, scratchy timbre that’s so familiar to me.

“For the past few months, I’ve sensed you retreating further into yourself,” Remy continues. “And now you come in here insisting I teach you to fight blindfolded? Has someone threatened you? Has—” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Has he threatened you?”

I take a step back on instinct.

Everything freezes as his words cut through all my lies, leaving me far too exposed. There’s no doubt in my mind who he’s referring to. The implication in his words is treasonous, and I know exactly what Baylor does to those he suspects of betraying him.

Would you do anything for me? Baylor’s voice whispers again in my mind.

A sharp pain pulls my attention to my hand where I find a piece of wood has jabbed into my skin, drops of blood bubbling up around it. I must have been gripping the sword so tightly that I cracked the hilt. The weapon falls from my hand, hitting the mat between us.

“Shit,” Remy mutters, stepping forward as he reaches for my injured hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I insist, retreating backwards. “ It’s nothing .”

I meet his gaze, hoping he understands the message in my eyes.

“Ivy—”

“Captain!” a familiar male voice cuts him off. I turn to find Warrick, one of Remy’s soldiers and Morwen’s older brother, rushing toward us.

“Captain Remard, you’re needed at once,” he says urgently, his chest heaving.

Remy hurries to the weapons wall, replacing the wooden sword with his real one and grabbing a few small knives for good measure. Warrick startles as he notices me for the first time and bows his head.

“My lady,” the half fae soldier says.

I nod back, forcing my face into a pleasant expression. Being interrupted before the conversation could get too dangerous might be divine intervention. Remy returns, his features stern as he reads each thought on my face. His eyes narrow as he pins me with a hard glare. He’s in full captain mode now.

“This conversation isn’t over.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for my agreement before exiting the training room.