Page 6

T he practice yard behind the training hall was smaller than I'd expected—a cobblestone square nestled between high stone walls that blunted the sounds of the city beyond. Autumn vines crept along a weathered wooden pergola, casting dappled shadows across the ground.

I shifted Ellie higher against my chest as I stepped through the narrow archway.

She was awake and alert, dark eyes taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with the solemn curiosity that always made her seem older than her months.

I'd fed her before we left Tinderpost House, hoping she'd be content through whatever Uldrek had planned for our first lesson.

The yard appeared empty. I checked the sun's position—just past midmorning, exactly when he'd told me to arrive. Maybe I was early. Or maybe he'd reconsidered what he promised in the frost-kissed garden the night before.

I wouldn't have blamed him.

A patch of sunlight warmed the stones near the eastern wall. I moved toward it, pulling a folded blanket from my satchel and spreading it carefully on the ground. For a moment, I simply stood there, Ellie secure against me, the blanket empty at my feet.

This was the hardest part. Setting her down. Even for a moment.

"You can do this," I whispered, more to myself than to her.

I'd brought her favorite toy—a smooth wooden ring carved with leaf patterns, stained with beeswax and mint to soothe her gums when she chewed it. I placed it in the center of the blanket, then slowly eased Ellie down beside it.

She looked up at me, startled but not upset. Her tiny hands immediately reached for the wooden ring, fingers closing around it with surprising strength. When she rolled to her side, focused entirely on getting the toy to her mouth, I took half a step back.

Just half.

"Brought your chaperone, I see."

I turned sharply, my hand instinctively moving back toward Ellie.

Uldrek stood at the far end of the yard, leaning against the stone wall.

He wore a sleeveless leather vest over a simple linen shirt, the fabric worn but clean.

His dark brown hair was slicked back from his face, the sides closely cropped.

A short, well-kept beard framed his jaw, revealing the sharp angles of his face.

It struck me, not for the first time, just how big he was. Broad through the shoulders, thick in the arms—built like someone who'd spent a lifetime absorbing damage and giving it back. There was no mistaking what he was, even without the tusks or the scars. He didn’t blend. He didn’t try to.

And still—he was standing there, hands empty, watching Ellie, not me.

"I don't go anywhere without her," I replied.

Uldrek pushed himself away from the wall, crossing the practice yard with unhurried strides. He stopped a respectful distance from where Ellie lay contentedly gnawing on her toy.

"Smart," he said, with a small, approving nod.

I'd worn my oldest clothes—a faded blue tunic loose enough for movement, leggings that had seen too many washes, and soft leather shoes I'd bartered for in the last town before Everwood. My hair was tied back in a simple braid, dark strands already escaping around my face.

"What do we start with?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious under his steady gaze.

"Standing," he answered.

I frowned. "I know how to stand."

"No," he said. "You don't. Not for this."

He moved to the center of the yard, feet shoulder-width apart, weight balanced evenly.

"Like this," he said, gesturing for me to copy him.

I did, aware of how awkward I felt. My shoulders were too tense, my spine too rigid. Beside me, Ellie rolled onto her back, kicking her feet in the air, utterly unconcerned with my discomfort.

"Relax your shoulders," Uldrek instructed. "You're not carrying the weight of the world."

When I didn't immediately adjust, he stepped closer. "May I?"

I hesitated, then nodded once.

His hand settled on my right shoulder. "Down," he said. "Let it drop. Natural, not forced."

I tried. My body was stiff with memories I couldn't quite shake—of hands that corrected too harshly, of a voice that had grown colder with each perceived flaw.

Uldrek seemed to sense my tension. He stepped back, giving me space.

"You're not a tree," he said, his tone lighter. "Don't root yourself. You need to be able to move."

I exhaled slowly and tried again. This time, I felt something ease in my upper back, a softening I hadn't realized I needed.

"Better," he said. "Now, your hands."

I looked down at my clenched fists.

"If you grip that hard, you'll break your own wrist before he does," Uldrek observed dryly.

A surprised laugh escaped me—short and rusty, as if I'd forgotten how. The sound startled me more than it did him.

Uldrek's mouth quirked slightly at the corner. "Relax your fingers. Keep them curled, but not tight. Like you're holding something precious but not fragile."

I thought of Ellie's small hand wrapped around my finger when she was just days old. How I'd marveled at the perfect miniature of her nails, the delicate creases of her knuckles. How I'd held her firmly enough that she wouldn't fall, gently enough that she could still move.

My fingers uncurled naturally with the memory.

"There," Uldrek said. "Now you're standing."

"I thought you'd start with something more... aggressive," I admitted.

He shook his head. "Fighting starts before the first punch. It starts with how you carry yourself."

For the next hour, he showed me basic stances. How to shift my weight without telegraphing the movement. How to keep my balance when pushed. I stumbled more than once, my body clumsy with years of careful stillness rather than deliberate motion.

"You're thinking too much," Uldrek told me after my third misstep.

"I'm trying to get it right," I countered, frustration edging into my voice.

"There is no 'right.' There's only what works." He demonstrated the movement again—a simple pivot that seemed effortless when he did it. "Your body knows how to move. Trust it."

I bit back a retort about how little I trusted anything, especially my own judgment. Instead, I tried again, focusing on the feeling rather than the form.

This time, when he pushed lightly against my shoulder, I shifted my weight smoothly, absorbing the pressure without losing my footing.

"Good," he said. It was a simple word, casually delivered. Yet something in me warmed at the approval.

Uldrek nodded toward a stone bench beneath the pergola. "Take a break."

I glanced immediately at Ellie, who had abandoned her wooden ring and was now studying a sparrow hopping along the edge of her blanket. The bird pecked curiously at the cobblestones, unafraid but cautious in its approach.

I moved toward them, my muscles humming with unaccustomed use.

"She's fine," Uldrek said from behind me. "Been watching the bird for ten minutes now."

I hadn't realized he'd been keeping an eye on her.

The thought both reassured and unsettled me.

I'd grown used to being Ellie's only vigilant guardian, her only protector.

I crouched beside her blanket, brushing a dark curl from her forehead.

She looked up at me with a gummy smile, hands batting at the air.

"You're good with her," Uldrek observed. He'd settled on the bench, one arm stretched along its back, legs extended in front of him. "Patient."

I shrugged slightly. "She's easy to be patient with."

"Not all parents think so."

"Have you known many?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Some." His golden eyes were thoughtful. "My sister has three. Wild as young wolves, all of them."

It was the first personal detail he'd offered—a crack in the wall of practiced neutrality he maintained.

"Where is she now? Your sister."

"North of here. Verdant Pass. Has a mate who makes weapons—good ones, too. They have a solid life."

There was a note in his voice I couldn't quite identify. Pride, certainly. Maybe something else.

"And you didn't want that?" I asked carefully. "A solid life?"

Uldrek's mouth twitched. "Never found someone willing to be solid with me." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What about you? Before all this—" he gestured vaguely at the space between us, "—what was your life?"

I hesitated. The deal was honesty, but I wasn't used to talking about myself. Not the real parts.

"I was a scholar's aide," I said finally. "In the Grand Library at Elarion."

Uldrek's eyebrows rose slightly. "Fancy."

"Not really. I organized scrolls, copied texts, fetched reference materials. Basic work." I traced a pattern on the cobblestone with my finger. "But I loved it. Being surrounded by all that knowledge. All those stories."

"Is that where you met him?"

I knew who he meant. I nodded. "Gavriel was researching ancient bloodlines. The noble houses before the war. He needed assistance with the archives."

I didn't add how his attention had felt like sunlight after years in shadow. How his interest in my work, my thoughts, had seemed like recognition of everything I'd hidden behind quiet competence.

"He was charming," I said instead. "Everyone thought so."

Uldrek studied me with those steady golden eyes. "The dangerous ones usually are."

The words hit closer than he could have known. I looked away, toward Ellie, who had rolled onto her stomach and was reaching determinedly for the wooden ring just beyond her grasp. I moved it closer, and her fingers closed around it triumphantly.

"Ready to continue?" Uldrek asked after a moment.

I nodded, grateful for the shift back to practicality.

"This time we'll try something more direct," he said, standing. "What to do if someone grabs you. Because that's what happened yesterday, isn't it? He grabbed your arm."

The memory flashed sharp and immediate—the tracker's hand closing around my wrist, the sudden spike of fear, the certainty that Gavriel would somehow see through his eyes.

"Yes," I said quietly.