Page 55 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Torj

‘Balance kept is ground never lost’

– The Guardian’s Handbook: Principles and Practises of Personal Protection

‘I TOLD YOU it wasn’t designed for hands as small as yours,’ Torj said, surveying Wren as she held his dagger. ‘The weight and balance are wrong for you.’

‘I thought you were going to teach me . Not stand here complaining,’ Wren replied.

‘I will, but you should really use a different dagger. We could get you one made.’

‘I like this one.’

‘Stubborn woman.’ Torj shook his head. ‘Show me your grip first, then.’

They stood in the grounds just beyond the greenhouses, in a clearing on the edge of Evermere Forest. Wren wore her usual simple gown, and while Torj had been tempted to tell her that trousers would be more practical, he decided that when it came to the poisoner, he had to pick his battles wisely.

Wren held the dagger out in her right hand, fingers curled around the grip. ‘Like this?’

‘Keep your hold firm, but not unyielding,’ he told her, his callused hand enveloping hers as he adjusted her fingers on the hilt.

The simple touch sent a familiar ache through his chest. ‘Too tight and you’ll compromise your own ability to move and adapt.

Too loose...’ He knocked the blade from her grasp easily, catching it by the tip with his free hand. ‘And you’re weaponless.’

The move brought him closer than Torj had intended, and her subtle intake of breath didn’t escape his notice.

He tried to ignore the intoxicating scent of her, his rough palm tingling where it pressed against hers as he returned the dagger.

‘A dagger is good for when you’re too close to throw your poisons and potions, and when you’ve already been physically overpowered. ’

‘Is my boot the best place to keep it?’ she asked. ‘You change between keeping it there or sheathed at your side.’

‘It matters less for me,’ he explained. ‘People expect a Warsword to be armed to the teeth. If I have one in my belt, I likely also have one in my boot. You, however, have the element of surprise, the advantage of being underestimated...’ He gestured to her skirts.

‘Keep it where it’s comfortable and within easy reach.

In your boot or strapped to your thigh beneath your layers is usually best.’

Wren nodded. ‘I’ll get something fashioned.’

Torj loved watching her mind work. He could see the plans forming in the furrows of her brow. ‘You’re getting ahead of yourself there,’ he told her, suppressing a smile. ‘Show me your grip again.’

She did. Torj tried to knock the blade from her grasp again, but Wren held firm.

‘Good!’ He shifted and looked to her feet. ‘Now your positioning. It’s the same principles you’ve learned before, but everything flows from a solid foundation.’ He nudged her stance wider with the toe of his boot.

Wren took to it easily. ‘Thea drilled this one into me while you were gone.’

A tug of regret threatened to drag Torj under – that he hadn’t been here for her, that someone else had taught her in his place – but he squashed those feelings down. ‘Thea did a good job,’ he said instead.

‘I’d expect nothing else,’ Wren replied. ‘Now what?’

Torj guided her arm into a defensive position, hyper-aware of how she tensed at his touch. There was a time when she would have melted into him at such a moment. ‘Have you ever heard of the warrior’s second?’ he asked.

‘Only once. You mentioned it, when you talked about...’ She trailed off.

‘The soul bond?’ he finished for her with a note of regret.

‘Well, it’s something we’re taught as shieldbearers.

When you’re fighting for your life, there’s a surreal moment, right before one opponent claims victory.

It’s the intake of breath before the slice of a blade, or the swing of a hammer.

.. The warrior’s second where we make our actions count, make them worthy of legend.

I hope you never have to use your warrior’s second, but if you do.

..’ Torj demonstrated a sharp upwards motion.

‘In a close fight, you’ll likely be rivalled for strength, so it’ll be rare that you’re attacking from above.

Mostly, you’ll be wanting to use uppercut movements. Show me.’

When she lunged, he caught her wrist – gently, always gently with her. Instead of releasing her, his Warsword instincts took over and he pulled her closer. Suddenly she was pressed against him, her dagger arm trapped between them, and the familiar softness of her nearly broke his composure.

‘This is why you need to be lighter on your feet.’ His voice came out rougher than intended as he tried desperately to focus on the lesson rather than how right she felt against him.

But he’d lost the privilege to let his touch linger. He stepped around to face her, missing her warmth immediately.

‘Try again, and remember to avoid striking bone where you can. The blade can get stuck, and if you don’t have the strength to pull it out, you’ve just lost your weapon. Not to mention – really pissed someone off.’

Wren laughed, and the sound lifted the weight on Torj’s chest, if only for a moment.

‘Mirror me,’ he told her, leading her through a series of simple movements, watching her determination build with each repetition.

She’d always been a fast learner; it was one of the countless things he admired about her.

As good a teacher as he was, he wished he could be half as efficient at mending what he’d broken between them.

‘You’re better than I expected,’ he admitted. ‘You weren’t with Thea that long.’

Wren smiled sadly. ‘I guess I never told you about Dancing Alchemists, then?’

‘Dancing what ?’ Torj asked, stepping back and pausing their lesson for a moment. Another laugh escaped Wren, and he found himself smiling back at her.

‘It was a game Thea, Ida, Sam and I used to play back at Thezmarr when we were younger,’ she explained. ‘It basically involved throwing knives at each other’s feet and jumping out of the way.’

‘What in the midrealms was the point of that?’ he blurted.

Wren grinned. ‘To avoid losing a toe?’

Torj chuckled. ‘Good to know the alchemists of Thezmarr were just as foolhardy as the shieldbearers.’

‘It was Thea’s idea,’ Wren offered with a shrug.

‘I don’t doubt it.’

Torj showed her all the basic techniques with a dagger – blocks, strikes, footwork patterns.

But with each exchange, the air between them grew heavier with unspoken tension.

Every correction became an excuse for contact, every demonstration a dance of desire that simmered just below the surface, despite the hurt that was buried beneath Wren’s determination – the hurt that he had put there.

Torj forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. ‘In close quarters like this, your enemy’s sword is useless. But a blade like this...’ He guided the dagger in her hand in an upwards motion that could pierce between an opponent’s ribs. ‘That’s dangerous.’

Like the way you’re looking at me now , he thought as Wren’s stormy eyes met his.

‘When you fight with a dagger, you need to be efficient. Every movement should have a purpose, no wasted motion,’ he told her.

Unable to resist, he closed the short distance between them in two fluid steps.

One hand caught her blade while the other settled at the small of her back.

His traitorous heart raced. ‘Like that.’

Her breath hitched. ‘Very efficient.’

‘Do you want to try?’ he asked, using every ounce of willpower he had not to pull her into his arms.

‘No,’ she said, stepping away, allowing the cold to sweep in. ‘I think I’ve got the hang of it for now.’

Torj hated the distance, hated the pain still lacing her words. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure,’ she told him firmly, handing his dagger back. ‘We’re done here.’