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Chapter eight

A s Smyth promised, when the winter sun peeked out from the clouds to offer a sliver of warmth against the chilly air, I was summoned outside to begin training. I stood next to a snow-dusted spruce tree, arms crossed, elbows gripped by each palm, waiting for Smyth to finish sharpening a knife.

He turned to face me and immediately stopped, running his fiery gaze up and down the length of my body. “Why are you standing like that?”

I rubbed my elbow nervously. “Like what?”

Concern flickered through his expression.

His face tightened, eclipsing any escaping thoughts.

I sucked in a breath when he marched toward me, his broad, towering form closing in.

He unfolded my arms—his touch like lightning through my body—and laid them at my side.

It irked me, how I let him touch me as if I wanted him to arrange me like a limp doll.

As if he could show me the way, and I could trust it was the right one.

But I let him, because he made me feel safe.

“You have nothing to hide and no reason to cower.” His blended words and touch were a panacea for my nerves.

Smyth’s gaze darted to my lips, parted in surprise, and his fingers twitched on my arm.

He cleared his throat, dropped his hand, and averted his eyes.

“You also have a long road ahead of you if you want to survive, which I have every intention of ensuring.”

“I know.” My shoulders sank with a sigh. “I’m too… timid.”

“You’ve been shaped into what’s been allowed.

Can’t expect a lion cub held captive to grow up and survive in the wild.

” He watched and waited, and I quickly straightened my form.

The need to please him ran through me, a beckoning river.

“But until you gain your strength back, you have one option if you wish to survive hand-to-hand combat against a person twice your size. You have to be faster, and you have to be smarter.”

“I can do that.” I said it over and over again in my mind. I can do that. I can do this. I can.

“I know.” He withdrew a small weapon from his pocket—a knife—and pulled it from its sheath. “This is yours.”

The hilt of the knife, small and unthreatening in his palm, consisted of a taper wrapped with black leather and a silver pommel in a crown-like shape with three tips. The cross guard was curved, its ends pointed in the same direction of the blade.

“Mine?” I took the hilt. The feel of a weapon in my hands was foreign. I’d only held a knife for run-of-the-mill homestead tasks. This blade had violent intentions.

He nodded toward my thigh—where there was a pocket in the gray pants I’d borrowed from Gemma. “Yours. Store it there. It will be a few days until we get to weapons.”

He started by teaching me the stance for simple hand-to-hand combat.

Feet offset, shoulder width apart so I could shift my weight to throw a punch but still maintain my balance.

I felt ridiculous standing there poised to fight as if I was anything more than frail bones wrapped in thin skin.

In front of him , no less. Smyth could envelope my clenched fist in one of his large, calloused hands and shatter my wrist and knuckles with a single squeeze.

Then we focused on breathing. I hadn’t realized how poor and erratic my breaths were until he taught me to do it properly.

Inhale. Exhale. Feel each movement, each muscle in my body as it took in air and released it.

His gaze locked on me while I practiced, gauging each rise and fall of my chest like my breathing captivated him.

His gaze sent warmth to my belly and made me feel… alive . I wasn’t sure I wanted him to ever stop.

But I also needed to strengthen my core.

It was just as important as breathing, he said, to master the place in the body where energy and power originated.

So, on top of learning to breathe, I was tasked with a daily full-body workout.

Push-ups, sit-ups, lunges, squats, and an abhorrent exercise where I was to position myself parallel to the ground and support my weight between my forearms and toes.

With nothing to think about, nowhere to look but the frozen ground as my stomach clenched and burned.

It was effective, Gemma assured me when I told her about it.

I couldn’t disagree. With every shift of my body, I could feel my abdominal muscles howling, the tiny fibers breaking down so they could build back stronger.

When I looked at Smyth’s entire body, ripped and corded with muscle, I wondered how many times he had broken and rebuilt himself.

Smyth showed me the first places to aim for on a man’s body—temples, eyes, nose, throat, if I could reach them. Otherwise, the center of the chest, and of course, the groin. But I refused to practice that one with him.

At supper, I ate everything Smyth placed in front of me—green beans, potatoes, another venison steak, even a sweet cheese spread across a warm, grainy bread roll that had me exerting effort not to groan in delight. I was too hungry, too tired to say no to him or the delicious food .

The next day was the same as the one before. I woke at dawn, ready to train with Smyth, this time more excited than nervous. I dreaded the achiness and discomfort but welcomed the sense of accomplishment I felt from doing something other than sitting alone in that house.

To warm up, Smyth instructed me to run ten laps around the edge of the clearing.

Soon, he told me, I’d be running for thirty minutes nonstop, then an hour.

Eventually longer. That was difficult to fathom, because after the third lap around the clearing, I was ready to heave up my breakfast. As long as I continued to give my body what it needed in terms of energy and hydration, he didn’t expect it would be long before I could withstand the running.

For the most part, I liked the sharp bite of the frigid air at my throat, as if what I breathed in was pure.

It hurt, but the whipping winter wind on my face also thrilled and motivated me until I clenched my teeth together and grunted through that last lap.

I decided I liked running. Or how I felt when I was done with it. At least I had that going for me.

“Again.” Smyth stood towering before me with his large palms open as I threw a punch into each of them, the sound of it smack-smacking at his every command. His massive, calloused palms wouldn’t budge even with my full body weight thrown against them.

“How is this going to help if someone is trying to kill me?”

“You have to rely on being quick and precise. Your enemies are like wolves and boars, and you are like…” A trace of a devilish grin flickered across his face. It frightened me and took my breath away. “A kitten. You may only get one strike, so it has to be an effective one.”

“A kitten?” I asked, mouth agape.

“Small, adorable, fearless.” Something like hunger flashed through him. “And born to be lethal.”

I rolled my eyes to pretend the comment annoyed me, to try and draw attention away from the blood collecting in my cheeks.

“I highly… doubt… that, ” I grunted, using the momentum of my body thrust forward against his palm, which gave this time, just a little.

When he shifted, I noticed a black leather cord holding two silver rings—one large, one small—around his neck.

I wanted to ask, but now didn’t feel like an appropriate time.

“Good one.” He nodded in approval. “And doubt all you want, Aryella. Doesn’t change what I know, and it doesn’t matter how powerful an adversary you face if you’re quick enough to slip right through their fingers.” A sly smile pulled up the corners of his mouth. Heat pooled in my belly.

“Well, I’m not fearless.” I dropped my hands to take a much-needed rest.

“Maybe not now.” I sucked in a startled breath when he reached forward and gently brushed my cheek with the knuckle of his index finger. My eyes widened at the warmth of his touch. “But you will be when I’m done with you.”

I shuddered at the thought of him being done with me, whatever that meant. And yet, his confidence made me feel… taller .

“I should be good at this, right?” I gulped water from the metal canteen Ezra had brought out to me and thought of my newly discovered heritage. Generations of powerful people. “It’s in my blood.”

“You’ll be better than good if you choose to be, and practice, whether it’s in your blood or not.”

For as long as I could remember, I’d shied away from the weight of making a wrong choice. Both the fear of being wrong and the attendant consequences were debilitating. With few memories, I already felt like I’d lost so much.

Now that so many decisions were being made for me, I would give a lot for the freedom of choice again. Even if I wasn’t sure what I would do with it. Here Smyth was, trying to give that back to me as if he knew what I would be asked to give up once I got to those Caves .

Then again, had my choices only ever been an illusion, like my fake life and family, crafted to keep me hidden and docile until someone else decided my time had come?

“Choices.” I laughed ruefully and shook my head.

“You always have a choice, Aryella.” His stare was fierce. As I soaked in his fervor, I felt that warm, tight pull in my chest. “Don’t ever let anyone take your choices away from you.”

I bit my bottom lip in thought. His eyes darted to my mouth. Something startling flashed across his stare, and I saw his throat bob with a heavy swallow. It passed quickly, but self-conscious warmth flooded my cheeks.

“How did you sleep last night?” he asked, distracting me.