Page 42 of The Incendiary

“You may have one.” He nodded at a lieutenant who dragged over a wooden chest. “Choose wisely.”

The chest opened with a creak, and… yes. It was right at the top amongst the other daggers I came here with and plenty of others. Relief washed over me at the sight of the silver, crown-shaped pommel with worn, intricate designs on the handle. I snatched up my ancient blade, drew it close, and couldn’t get away from Elias Winterton and his stare quickly enough.

“You must have a death wish,” Mina mumbled, allowing me to slide in between her and Mavic. “You can’t just walk up to Commander Winterton and make demands.”

Technically, I realized, giving commands to the commander was something I could do.

“She’s a thrill seeker.” Mavic wiggled his eyebrows. “Aren’t you, Fera?”

I snorted and instantly thought of, and missed, both Caz and Finn. Mavic’s lighthearted, joking attitude reminded me a bit of Caz. It was clear how they all fit together as a family.

“Something like that,” I answered, half grinning.

Training began with basic hand-to-hand combat, which most of the others had already learned while growing up in the Caves. Elias observed, stone-faced, while lieutenants milled about, correcting posture and position. Valda walked by and cast her critical eyes over me, clearly itching to correct my stance or technique.

Pride swelled in my chest when she didn’t have to.

Soon, they separated us into pairs. Cadets were mostly matched evenly with each other. I was given a male opponent twice my size with cropped black hair and thick arms tattooed in bold artwork.

“You’re the Brinnean,” he observed in a deep, raspy voice as he began to circle me. I kept a few steps between us and countered his movements.

“Pleased to meet you.” I kept my steps light. With his massive, bear-size feet, he moved slower and more deliberately.

“Have you visited the infirmary yet?” His lip curled to reveal a crooked smile with a chipped front tooth. “I have a feeling you’ll be spending a lot of time there.”

“Can’t say I have.” I glanced at the thick, meaty fists clenched at his sides. Those would hurt if I wasn’t careful.

“You will today,” he grumbled menacingly.

I shrugged and gave him a simpering grin. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

He lunged and swung immediately. Sloppily. I dodged. Despite his size, he was just a cadet, so maybe this would be easy. Another swing. I dodged again. This continued for about a minute, until I dropped low, sprung up, faked left, and swiped my right fist across his mouth. A small shock wave of pain shot through my wrist from the contact, but that was expected. My blow wasn’t strong enough to knock him out, but it did throw him off.

He touched his index finger to the blood beading on his upper lip, cussed out an insult, and sneered at me from across the mat. A few snickers from bystanders fueled his embarrassment and anger. A hot-headed opponent made for an impulsive one, and I was confident that I had the upper hand.

But then my left foot slipped on something slick that hadn’t been there a moment ago. I shifted quickly to regain my balance, but the hair’s-breadth lapse in composure was enough for him to lunge and strike me in the gut.

His punch knocked the air right out of me. I bent forward, breathless, gripping my stomach with both arms. My vision blurred as I tried not to vomit from the throbbing pain beneath my ribs, which I knew would burst into an array of bruising colors by morning.

Breathe.

My command to myself, echoing in his voice, centered me, and I obeyed. I hadn’t heard a crack, I could raise my arm, and unless adrenaline was staving off the pain, I could still breathe comfortably.

“Good one. That… hurt.” I stumbled forward to brace my hand on his shoulder and make him believe I was out of breath. That I was surrendering after a single blow. “Gods, you’re strong.” He stood tall, smug and arrogant. “But you should never let your guard down after a hit.”

Grunting through my own pain, I gripped his broad shoulders and kneed him in the groin. As he keeled forward, I punched his jaw and sent him stumbling backward. It wasn’t enough to knock him unconscious, but he lost his balance, and I leveraged his own weight against him. One shove, and he hit the mat, both hands guarding that precious place between his legs.

A chorus of empathetic groans sounded from the small crowd of spectators. I stepped off the mat and tried to hide how I winced with every step, then stole a glance at the spot where my foot had slipped. A puddle of grease glinted in the morning sunlight streaming in from the upper windows. My opponent must have put it there as we circled, just in time for me to step right in it on my way around.

Elias watched me drag myself down the aisle between sparring mats, his face stern and unreadable.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the prick had put my opponent up to it.

“Damn,” Mavic muttered to his sister as I passed by them. “Badass.”

I wanted to smile at him. To relish in my win. But the pain in my side was too sharp to do much else other than force myself to breathe. I could consider healing it, but they all saw how hard I’d been hit. Too quick of a recovery could raise suspicion.

No one objected when Mina paired with me for the rest of the morning, and I helped her master the basics. When everyone else took a break, I inhaled a light but nutritious meal, chugged water, and secluded myself to a corner of the main hall with a sand-filled punching bag. I worked at it while the others took their time eating. Four more hours of sparring followed, and no one else attempted to mortally wound me.