Page 23

I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet and raised my hands, palms flat, just like Uldrek had taught me. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades despite the coolness of the afternoon.

"Higher," Uldrek said, tapping my elbow with one finger. "Keep your guard up. You drop it every time you're thinking too hard."

I adjusted my stance, aware of how my body had begun to change over these past weeks of training. Muscles I hadn't known existed now made themselves known with each movement. My forearms were leaner, my shoulders stronger. Even my breathing had changed—deeper, more controlled.

"Better," he said. "Now, again. Remember—"

"I know," I said, a hint of a smile touching my lips. "Speed isn't strength."

His mouth quirked at one corner. "Smart and deadly. I'm in trouble."

We circled each other, our movements deliberate, measured.

This was our eighth training session, and each one had felt different from the last. The initial awkwardness had given way to something smoother, a growing understanding between our bodies.

He knew when to push me and when to let me breathe.

I was learning the rhythm of his movements, the subtle cues that telegraphed his next action.

I feinted left, then darted right, aiming for the opening he deliberately left. He blocked my strike, but there was approval in his eyes.

"Good," he said. "You saw it."

Ellie dozed in her basket in the corner of the training yard beneath the shade of a gnarled oak. Hobbie sat cross-legged beside her, a tiny, wizened figure in layered shawls, muttering what sounded like curses at a persistent bee that kept investigating the honey biscuit in her lap.

"Vile winged pest," she grumbled. "Buzzing nonsense. Go away, or I'll feed you to a toad."

I smiled at the sound of her voice. Hobbie had become a fixed part of our lives since Ellie's fever, appearing and disappearing according to her own mysterious schedule.

She rarely announced her intentions, preferring to simply materialize whenever help was needed—usually with food in one hand and some sharp comment ready on her tongue.

"Why are you smiling?" Uldrek asked, feinting a strike that I managed to sidestep. "I'm trying to teach you how not to die."

"I'm not going to die in a training yard," I countered, blocking his next move.

We continued our dance, and I found myself relaxing into the familiar push and pull of our bodies. There was something freeing about this—the honest exertion, the lack of pretense. When we trained, I wasn't hiding or running. I was simply learning, becoming, doing.

"Oh," I said, ducking under a controlled swing. "I forgot to tell you. Yesterday at the Archives, a councilor came by."

Uldrek raised an eyebrow, dropping his guard slightly. "Official business?"

I took advantage of his momentary distraction and stepped inside his reach, tapping him lightly on the sternum. He grunted in surprise.

"Nice," he said. "Using conversation as a weapon. I've taught you well."

I smiled, stepping back. "It wasn't intentional. But yes, official business. He needed access to some post-war charters. Edwin wasn't there, so I helped him find them."

We reset our stances, circling again.

"And?"

"And nothing," I shrugged, blocking a slow strike. "Just did my job. Found what he needed."

Uldrek snorted. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. He gave me a token. A recognition token from the Council. And Edwin promoted me to Archive Keeper's Aide."

I tried to sound casual, but something in my voice must have betrayed how much it meant to me. Uldrek stopped moving entirely, his hands dropping to his sides.

"Issy," he said. "That's… that's good. Really good."

I glanced away, suddenly shy beneath his gaze. "It's just a title."

"Don't be modest," he said, his voice low.

I felt heat rise to my face that had nothing to do with exertion. Before I could respond, the sound of approaching voices broke the moment.

"Well, look who's learning new tricks!"

A group of off-duty guards had wandered into the training yard—four of them, still in their uniforms but with the collars loosened and weapons belted. They sauntered toward us with the loose-limbed confidence of men who owned the space.

Uldrek's posture changed subtly as they approached—not tense exactly, but more contained, alert.

"Helvey," he said, acknowledging the leader with a short nod. "Taking another break?”

The broad-shouldered guard called Helvey laughed, the sound easy and unbothered. "Thok has us running drills since dawn." His gaze flicked to me, curious but not unfriendly. "This the missus, then?"

I felt rather than saw Uldrek's spine stiffen.

"This is Miss Fairbairn," he said.

One of the other guards spoke then, a taller man with a young, clean-shaven face. "Didn't think Wolfsbane was into soft things."

There was an edge to his voice that didn't match his smile. His eyes moved over me in a quick assessment, lingering on the claiming mark visible at the edge of my collar.

Another guard with a red beard and ruddy cheeks elbowed him. "Careful there, Daric. She's claimed."

"That right?" the tall one—Daric—said, tilting his head. "No offense, miss—but you look more like the tea-and-ledgers sort than someone who'd keep up with him.”

My stomach tightened. Not from the words themselves, but from the implication beneath them—unworthy, unsuited, soft in the wrong ways. I saw the flicker in Uldrek's jaw, the breath he didn’t take.

So I stepped forward before he could speak.

"I do like tea,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "And ledgers. But don’t mistake quiet for weakness. Uldrek doesn’t."

Daric blinked, then laughed—a short, dismissive sound. "Is that right? Your pet orc teaching you to growl, little mouse?"

"No," I said, meeting his gaze directly. "He's teaching me how to fight. Though I doubt you'd present much of a challenge."

The words left my mouth before I fully thought them through—not aggressive, just matter-of-fact. I hadn't meant them as a challenge, exactly. Just a boundary. A line drawn.

Daric's eyes widened, then narrowed with amusement. "Alright then," he said, his smile sharpening. "One round. Don't worry—I'll be gentle."

I heard the shift in Uldrek before I saw it—the faint catch in his breath, the way his boots adjusted against the packed dirt. But he didn’t step in. Didn’t speak.

He was watching me.

Not with alarm. Not with that bristling protectiveness I’d seen the day Ellie fell ill. This was something quieter. A stillness that felt like trust. Like he was letting me decide how I wanted to carry this.

I glanced over at Ellie—still asleep in her basket under the oak, Hobbie now fanning her with a large leaf. She hadn’t even looked up.

I turned back to Daric.

“Alright,” I said, shrugging off my overshirt and stepping back into the training circle. The dirt was warm beneath my bare feet. The weight of Uldrek’s earlier lessons sat low in my muscles, familiar now.

Daric moved with the lazy confidence of someone who expected to win. I recognized it. Gavriel had moved like that too—never hurrying, always sure I wouldn’t push back.

But I wasn’t pushing back. Not exactly. I was just standing in the space I’d been told I didn’t belong in.

Uldrek hadn’t moved. He stood near the edge of the circle, arms folded, expression unreadable.

I didn’t need to look at him to feel the echo of his voice in my head.

Guard up. Breathe. Don’t chase. Let him reveal himself first.

I took my position, squaring up against Daric as he rolled his shoulders and settled into a fighter's stance. He was taller than me by a head, his reach longer, his build leaner but muscled. From the way he moved—balanced, controlled—I could tell he'd had formal training. This wouldn't be easy.

But I wasn't aiming for easy.

"Ready when you are, little mouse," he said with a smirk.

I didn't respond. Instead, I focused on my breathing, on the ground beneath my feet.

Daric moved first, stepping in with a quick jab that I deflected rather than blocked. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he followed with another strike, testing my defenses. I stayed light on my feet, giving ground deliberately, letting him think he was pushing me back.

"Come on now," he said, his confidence growing with each advance. "I thought you were supposed to be—"

I didn't let him finish. As he stepped in for a more committed strike, I pivoted, using one of the first moves Uldrek had taught me—a simple redirect that used an opponent's momentum against them.

Daric's arm swept past me as I turned, and I hooked my foot behind his ankle, pushing at just the right moment.

The move wasn’t flashy or powerful. But it was practiced. Clean. Exactly what it needed to be.

Daric's eyes widened in surprise as his balance faltered. He tried to recover, but I was already following through, using my weight to amplify the off-balance moment. He hit the ground with a solid thud that raised a cloud of dust, the air rushing from his lungs in an audible grunt.

The training yard went silent.

For a moment, no one moved. Daric lay on his back, blinking up at the sky as if trying to understand what had just happened. The other guards stared, expressions ranging from shock to reluctant admiration.

"Shit," muttered the red-bearded guard, breaking the silence.

I stood very still, a strange calm washing through me. I hadn't expected to win—not really. I'd just wanted to stand my ground. To show that I could.

A sound behind me made me turn. Uldrek was staring at me, his expression a complex mix of pride, disbelief, and something deeper, warmer. He shook his head slowly, a smile breaking across his face—open, genuine, unfettered.