Chapter Text
Chapter 9
“You don’t think you’ll need those?” Sorrengail asks, gripping two of her daggers and facing me on the mat with an impressive lack of trembling. Hell, she looks more pissed than she does terrified that I'm about to end her, even though I've handed my weapons to Imogen.
“This is reckless,” Sgaeyl lectures.
“Nope. Not when you brought enough for the both of us.” My mouth quirks into a smile as I crook my fingers at her, then lock my shields firmly in place, since Aetos hovers close by. The second-year is good on the mat, even if he's a little too straight-laced to really be the best in this place. “Let's go.”
She takes a fighting stance, and I forget the members of Second Squad surrounding the mat, forget the mission I'm due to fly this weekend, focusing solely on her. Violet Sorrengail. The five-foot-nothing sister of the rider who’s turned out to be one of the rebellion’s greatest assets inside Navarre. And the daughter of the general whose mission it is to unearth evidence of our treason. I have every right to ruin her, according to the Codex. She might fall under my chain of command, but she's not in my squad.
I could snap her neck and no one in this room would interfere. But her brother would definitely flay me within an inch of my life. So what the fuck am I doing on this mat?
Her posture changes subtly, her wrist flicking a second before she flings a dagger at my damned chest.
I catch it by pure reflex, then cluck my tongue at her. “Already seen that move."
That is what I'm doing out here. Took me all of two weeks to realize she's somehow figured out who she'll be facing and has been poisoning her opponents. That brilliant, devious mind might regrettably be a complete turn-on, but she's going to get herself killed if she depends solely on that method —and flinging daggers like a carnival act. To my surprise, the thought doesn't sit right with me. Nothing about her does.
She attacks in a typical first-year swipe-and-kick combo, which is as easy to predict as it is to block. I pluck the badly balanced dagger from her grip and catch her by the thigh, using her own momentum and slight bodyweight against her to drop her to the mat.
Her hazel eyes flare wide as she stares up at me, fighting to draw breath, and I drop the dagger at her side and kick it out of her reach, toward the squad leader who should have taught her better.
Were she any other opponent, I'd put the blade against her throat, proving my point and ending the match, but fuck me if I don't feel like I somehow owe the first-year for keeping her mouth shut about the meeting she saw under the oak tree. My form of gratitude just happens to be not killing her as she lies at my feet, battling her own lungs.
Her ribs finally rise, and she heaves herself upward to a sitting position, then tries to plunge a knife in my thigh.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
I block the strike with my right forearm, then take hold of her wrist with my left hand and disarm her as I lean down into her space, mere inches from her face. “Going for blood today, are we, Violence?” I whisper.
Rage shines in those mesmerizing eyes as I drop her blade to the mat and kick it out of reach also. She's too easy to disarm, and her false confidence that she's not will get her killed. And why the fuck isn't she using weapons suited for her body type and fighting style? Not that she actually has a fighting style yet.
“My name is Violet,” she retorts, and I half expect her to hiss at me like a cat. That’s exactly what she reminds of, all sleek lines and bared claws. Only the pulse fluttering beneath my fingertips gives away her fear.
Violet is too soft of a name for her. Too breakable. I'm well aware of the shit people talk about her bones and joints, but from what l've seen, the woman has a core of steel.
“I think my version fits you better.” I release her wrist and stand to my full height, offering her a hand up and hoping she's too smart to take it. “We're not done yet.”
But she does.
Fuck me, she's naive. I pull her to her feet, then whip her around before she can get her bearings, twisting her arm behind her back and trapping our hands between us as I tug her hard against my chest. Too naive for this place.
“Damn it!” she snaps.
I slip one of her obnoxiously big daggers from her thigh sheath and lift it to the soft skin of her throat, pinning her in place with my forearm. Her head falls back against my chest, the silver ends of her hair braided up like a crown. She barely reaches my collarbone, so I dip my head so the others won't hear, and gods she smells really fucking good like—
No thinking about how she smells, jackass.
“Don't trust a single person who faces you on this mat,” I lecture quietly near the shell of her ear, careful to keep my mouth off her. Since when do I think about putting my mouth on an opponent?
“Even someone who owes me a favor?” she retorts, keeping her voice equally low.
Warmth flares in my chest in appreciation of her discretion, her quick observation that this lesson isn't for public dissemination, and I drop the knife, kicking it to her squad leader just like the other two and ignoring the bluster of threat in his stern expression.
“I'm the one who decides when to grant that favor. Not you.” I release her so I don't dislocate her shoulder and step back.
She acts immediately, spinning with a raised fist, and I bat it away from my throat.
“Good.” I can't help but smile as I block her next attempt just as easily. “Going for the throat is your best option, as long as it's exposed.”
Her cheeks flush, anger narrowing her eyes as she kicks in the same fucking combination she's already tried, and I grab hold of her thigh again, unsheathing the last dagger there and letting it fall before I release her. I lift my scarred eyebrow in sheer disappointment. She's smarter than that. “I expect you to learn from your mistakes.” I kick it to Aetos.
She retrieves her next weapon from her rib sheath and takes a defensive stance as she circles me. It's all I can do not to sigh in complete, utter annoyance. I don't need to see her to hear every step on the mat behind me as she hesitates.
“You going to prance or are you going to strike?” That should get her moving.
The shadows on the mat give her away, and I twist and duck as she jabs forward, the knife slicing through the air where I'd been standing. At least she really went for it, but the move leaves her exposed, so I use her arm to flip her around the side of my torso, sending her face-first into the mat and following her down.
She gasps when I wrench her arm into a submission hold, forcing her to drop the dagger. Careful to balance most of my weight on my right, I set my left knee onto her back just enough to stress her. She has to learn how to move under pressure, how to think on the edge of death. I strip away another of her daggers and fling it at the squad leader's feet, then pull another from her ribs and set it to the exposed skin beneath her jaw.
Then I invade what little space she has. “Taking out your enemy before the battle is really smart; I'll give that to you,” I whisper into her ear, and she tenses beneath me. Yeah, Violence, I know what you've been up to. “Problem is, if you aren't testing yourself in here”—I drag the blade down her neck, careful not to draw blood—“then you're not going to get any better.”
“You’d rather I live long enough for whatever you’re scheming for me, no doubt,” she retorts. “At least if I die I’ll leave this world knowing I caused you some inconvenience.”
Aetos has apparently convinced her we have some scheme to capture her for ransom. If it weren’t for her brother being on our side, it wouldn't be the worst idea. Syrena would be happy to have a political prisoner who’s the daughter of one of Navarre’s top generals. But Brennan is one of our top assets in Navarre. He’s our top negotiator with Tecarus and he finally agreed to negotiate our way out of my betrothal to fucking Cat. So there’s no way in hell I’m going to piss him off. I’d do just about anything to not have to see Cat’s face ever again.
No, we have no plans for Brennan’s baby sister, other than my assurance that I’d keep an eye out for her. He was enraged when I told him his baby sister was in the Riders Quadrant, convinced his mother must have forced her into it and that she had no chance in hell of leaving in one piece. So I moved her into my wing, and moved Liam into her squad to keep Brennan happy. Of course I had to take fucking Aetos. And I made the mistake of not informing Imogen soon enough to lay off her.
“And be denied the pleasure of your company?” Sarcasm drips from my retort. She has no idea what an inconvenience her appearance in the quadrant has already caused me.
“I fucking hate you.”
A corner of my mouth lifts. Gods, she's just as merciless as Sgaeyl when it comes to her tongue. “That doesn't make you special.”
I gain my feet and kick the knives to Aetos, leaving Sorrengail with two more to fight with as I offer my hand again.
She scowls, but doesn't take the help this time, standing on her own, and another smile curves my mouth. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun. Every single one of her expressions is beautifully raw. There’s no guile. No artifice. But there's also no control. “She can be taught.”
“She's a quick learner,” she fires back.
“That remains to be seen.” I take two steps backward and beckon her forward by crooking my fingers again.
“You've made your damn point.” Her voice rises to a public level, and Imogen gasps behind me, no doubt worried that I'll lose my temper and kill the first-year.
But killing her is the last thing on my mind.
“Trust me, I've barely gotten started.” I cross my arms and shift my weight back, curious to see what she does next and even more perplexed as to why I care so damned much.
Sure, she's beautiful, but I've never let the symmetry of someone's facial features sway me. And it's not the palpable hatred in her ever-changing eyes, either. I'm used to being loathed. But the combination of her hatred and her silence about seeing us meet is too intriguing to ignore.
Out of curiosity, I drop my shields and reach out to her mind. I’m not an inntinnsic, not really. I can’t read people’s thoughts, but I can pick up on their intentions. However, it’s close enough that it would be a death sentence if anyone ever found out, which is why only Sgaeyl and I know. I’m very careful about keeping my shields up at all times and I’m careful about who I attempt to read.
Violet’s mind is not like anyone else’s I’ve ever experienced. Right now she’s not thinking about the fight at all, as far as I can tell. She’s focused on her intention to research whether Garrick, Imogen and I have second signets due to our dragon bonds. Holy shit. Liam told me that Kaori explained to their class about Sgaeyl’s previous bond with a family member. How did she figure out about Garrick and Imogen’s dragons, or about the second signets? I’ve never told another soul about mine, not even Garrick. Fuck she’s smart. Too smart. She’s going to start putting things together and come to the wrong conclusions because she has the wrong information. It could really fuck shit up.
We’re going to have to tell her the truth. I don’t see any other way to get her to back off on this train of thought. Which means I’ve got to talk to Brennan. Fucking shit.
She moves, and I'm too fucking distracted to react like usual, and when she kicks for the backs of my knee I fall. Hard.
Holy shit.
“What did I say about being reckless?“ Sgaeyl pushes through my shields.“The silver-haired girl is a distraction you can’t aff—“
I plant my feet on that mental hillside in Tyrrendor and put my shields back in place. She's never going to let me live this down.
Sorrengail lands on my back and attempts a headlock. Good for her. It's a solid choice, but she isn't physically strong enough to cut off my air supply. She's fighting like she's six inches taller and has another forty pounds on her instead of leaning into her actual strengths.
I don't bother with her arms. Twisting quickly, I break her grip and grasp the backs of her thighs in one motion, throwing us into a roll that ends with me pinning her back to the mat. Before she can take another breath, I put my forearm against the delicate line of her throat but don't press.
There are over a dozen different ways to end her in this position, and I have all the leverage. But though my hips anchor hers to the mat, I have most of my weight braced on my left arm so I don't crush her.
She's well and fucking caught, and the flash of fear that's quickly masked by fury in her eyes tells me she knows it, too.
Damn it. I don't want to crush her.
What the fuck is happening to me?
She grabs for a dagger and I get a vivid picture of her intention to go for my shoulder. A monumental mistake. I abandon her throat and move to capture her wrist to pin it above her head. But at the last moment, quicker than lightning, she shifts her aim and lands her dagger in my hip.
Fucking hell, that hurts. She’s fast. Brennan is going to fucking owe me. Shit.
“Pull yourself together. You’re making us look bad.” Sgaeyl is definitely never going to let me live this down.
I reach out for Violence’s mind once more. She’s terrified I’m going to kill her for stabbing me. I grab her wrist, pinning it above her head. I watch her face with rapt fascination as her expression shifts from wide-eyed shock, to tensing fear, to pursed-lipped anger all in a matter of seconds. The speed with which she processes information and compartmentalizes her feelings is such an advantage, and I doubt she even knows it.
Pink flushes up her neck and into her cheeks, and suddenly I find myself studying her for an entirely different reason. The blush, the skittered pulse, the way her gaze flicks toward my mouth for less than a second... I'm not the only one attracted here.
I get a flash of my lips on her neck and fuck. This is dangerous. She is dangerous. I have her dagger stuck in my hip and all I can think about is how soft the skin on her neck would feel on my lips. As quickly as it came, the flash is gone, replaced by…Liam’s dimpled face? The fuck?
Is Liam sleeping with Violence? Gods, I asked him to look out for her, not fuck her. The thought makes me irrationally angry, and I refuse to contemplate the reason why because Violence’s dagger is still stuck in my fucking hip.
The world outside the mat ceases to exist as my focus narrows to just Violence. She really is stunning, especially when pissed. Tension surges between us, and my heartbeat jumps despite my best effort to lock that shit down. But damn if I'm not critically aware of the feel of her body beneath mine, the warmth of her skin under my fingertips, the way her breath catches as I lower my face to hers slowly.
“Get your remaining dagger, Violence,” I demand.
“What?” Her eyes fly wide.
“Get. Your. Dagger,” I repeat, moving her hand with mine and dragging it to her ribs, to the last of her daggers. I curl my fingers around hers, grabbing the hilt.
Even her hands are soft. Fragile. Breakable. And if I don't teach her how to use her petite size to her advantage, the next opponent will use it to shatter her. And for some fucking reason I can't identify or deny...I care.
Gods damn it.
“You're tiny.” Anger simmers in my stomach.
“Well aware.” She glares.
“So stop going for bigger moves that expose you.” I bring our laced hands to my side and drag the tip down my ribs. “ A rib shot would have worked well.” Then I lead our hands around to my back, leaving myself vulnerable for the first time since I walked into this prison of a war college. “Kidneys are a good fit from this angle, too.”
She swallows, and I fight the urge to watch the motion of her throat, holding her gaze instead. I swear, her eyes seem different every time I look into them. No wonder I can't look away.
I bring our hands to my waist, keeping my eyes locked on hers. “Chances are, if your opponent is in armor, it's weak here. Those are three easy places you could have struck before your opponent would have had time to stop you.”
Her lips part, and she draws a shaky breath.
“Do you hear me?” I'm sure as hell not repeating this lesson.
She nods.
“Good. Because you can't poison every enemy you come across,” I whisper, watching the blood drain from her face as I level the accusation. “You're not going to have time to offer tea to some Braevi gryphon rider when they come at you.”
“How did you know?” She tenses under me, and fuck, her thighs clench around my hips.
I have to get the fuck off her before she realizes she has another weapon at her disposal when it comes to me. “Oh, Violence, you're good, but I know better poison masters. The trick is to not make it quite so obvious”
Brennan would give one of his frustrated sighs if he knew just how obvious his little sister was. Then again, he'd also kick my ass for the position I have Violence in.
“I don’t believe you.”
A bitter taste floods my mouth. She has no fucking clue how much of the shit she shouldn’t believe, all the lies and deception.
She opens her mouth like she's about to speak.
“I think she's been taught enough for the day,” Aetos barks.
It takes every ounce of control I possess not to startle at the sudden reminder that we're not alone. “He always that overprotective?” I mutter, putting a couple of inches between us.
“He cares about me.” She narrows her eyes at me, which I'm starting to think is her default expression.
“He's holding you back. Don't worry. Your little poisoning secret is safe with me.” I arch my scarred brow and hope she gets the hint to keep my secret safe, too. Then I slide our joined hands along her side and sheathe the jewel-hilted blade she has no business carrying. It's too fucking big for her. Too easy to knock loose.
“You're not going to disarm me?” she questions as I slip my fingers from hers and lift my weight off her.
Thank gods she has the common sense to release my hips from the grip of her thighs, because mine has fled, replaced by the urge to leave them right where they were and carry her to the nearest empty room to see just how attracted we both are.
But that way lies absolute disaster.
“Nope. Defenseless women have never been my type.” I reach down and pull her dagger from my hip. Gods that fucking hurts like hell. I stand and hand her back her dagger. “Let’s call it a draw,” I tell Emetterio. She stabbed me, which is more than any other cadet has ever managed on these mats. I turn and walk to the edge of the mat to get my weapons from Imogen.
“What the hell was that?” she whispers, handing back the last of my knives.
“Aetos.” I ignore her question and turn toward the squad leader across the mat, who's busy coddling Violence as usual.
His head snaps toward mine, and the anger there almost makes me smile.
“She could use a little less protection and a little more instruction.” I level an accusatory look on him until he nods, then turn and head towards the healers quadrant.
“You in the mood to spar with first-years?” Garrick asks, keeping pace with me once I'm a few steps from Second Squad, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Or just that particular first-year?”
“Sometimes I hate how fucking observant you are.”
“It's hard to miss the way you look at her,” he says, lowering his voice.
“Like I want to kill her?” I retort.
“Or fu—”
“Don't finish that sentence when I'm in the mood to hit people.” We’re mutually assured destruction against each other, which makes us the perfect sparring partners, but I'm just aggravated enough to do some real damage to my best friend, despite the size he has on me.
“Oh, would you, please?” He puts his hand to his heart and grins. “I need you to use those big, strong hands to show me—”
I shove his shoulder hard enough to send him staggering sideways, but motion for him to come with me out of the sparring gym. The farther the better when it comes to Sorrengail.
Once we’re far enough away, I pull us into an empty classroom and shut the door. “I need you to take me to see Brennan later. It’s urgent.”
Garrick nods. “Usual place and time?”
I nod back.
“You need help getting to the healers? Looks like she got you good.” He smirks at me, eyebrows raised.
Fucking Garrick. I roll my eyes. “It’s barely more than a scratch. Get back to the gym. And tell Liam I need to see him in my room after dinner.”
I turn and continue to the healers. I hope the mender is in. She actually did get me pretty good.