Fireblood (Frostblood Saga #2)(46)
“Is that true?”
He grinned. “It sounds good, doesn’t it?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it? Sounding good. Looking good. Feeling good. You don’t worry about anything serious.”
He tilted his head to the side, considering, then shrugged. “Worry causes wrinkles.”
“Sud forbid.” Smothering a smile, I faked a bored look of superiority, the kind Marella had perfected. “Neither your clothing nor your skin shall bear such shameful signs of wear.”
He threw back his head and laughed, then gave me a little squeeze. “You’re quite amusing when you’re not lashing me with that sharp tongue. Although”—his eyes turned sultry—“I might not mind the violence of your tongue in the right circumstances.”
I shook my head reprovingly, my lips twitching. “You’re incorrigible.”
He adopted a confused expression. “Is that a compliment or insult? I confess I don’t understand your Tempesian values.”
I finally let myself smile, noticing how his pupils flared in response. “Definitely an insult.”
It seemed to take effort for him to pull his gaze away. “Very good. I see you’ve recovered. Come.” He tugged on my hand. “You can knock me into the dirt. That should restore you completely.”
We sparred for another two hours, but when the sun turned pink with exertion from a long day of warming the earth, the students returned to the training yard, effectively ending our lessons.
Kai grinned as we trudged, dusty and exhausted, toward the waiting carriage.
“What are you looking so happy about?” I darted a suspicious glance at him.
“As I expected, I’m an excellent teacher.” He turned his head to bestow his smile on me like a stray band of sunshine.
I blinked. “I suppose there’s a compliment to me in there somewhere.”
He punched my shoulder lightly. “You stopped fighting yourself and used your emotions to your advantage. Surely you felt the difference?”
I had. My attacks had been faster, more confident. I’d let myself enjoy the sensation of turning my anger and determination into flame. “I admit you’re not a terrible teacher.”
He stopped and grabbed both my hands, bowing over them extravagantly and brushing his warm lips over my knuckles. Before I could chastise him, he was helping me into the carriage. Moments before, I’d been his opponent, struggling to keep my feet as he hit me with attack after attack. In the space of a breath, he was treating me like I was a lady he was courting.
I shook my head as Kai settled into the carriage across from me, his long legs stretching indolently like a satisfied cat. Would I ever get used to his changeability? As much as he talked about feelings, it was hard to tell if he felt anything seriously at all. I had to remind myself that he was only training me so that he could have his second chance. I doubt he cared whether I passed or failed, aside from how it affected his own outcome.
If I died during the trials, would anyone here care?
I stared at the passing scenery: glimpses of the ocean between clusters of homes and vegetation and the wharf. A storm cloud hovered in the sky to the northeast. My thoughts turned to Arcus—the only person that I knew beyond doubt would protect me at his own expense.
Well, that had been the problem, hadn’t it? He’d been risking his court’s wrath to keep me near. And I’d cared enough about him to leave.
My chest tightened sharply. Would I ever see him again?
“You look sad,” said Kai, his eyes glinting. “Chin up, little bird. You did well today.”
“So you think I’ll be ready?”
He didn’t reply right away. I waited, wondering whether he would offer a platitude or an honest reply. Wondering which one I wanted.
His expression became uncharacteristically somber. “No one is ever ready for the trials.”
“Even you?”
He hesitated. “Unlike the naive boy I was, I now know what to expect.”
“I thought that was forbidden. Knowing what to expect.”
His generous lips curved, his handsome face losing all traces of seriousness. “I’m the exception to all rules, Ruby. You’d best remember that.”
TWELVE
DAYS PASSED IN A BLUR OF MUSCLE aches, frustration, and bruises, interspersed by glimmers of hope. I couldn’t say Kai was patient, but he was determined and unwavering. He showed that he was capable of serious dedication. I knew that every time he attacked or blocked or surprised me, he was doing so because he wanted me to succeed. He wanted me to be ready. If I failed, so would he.
He’d taught me several new moves, he’d tested the strength of my fire by having me melt or burn myriad objects, and he’d made me meditate for hours to hone my mental control, not allowing me to move until I was frantic with the need to stretch or fidget. I didn’t complain. I didn’t argue. I learned quickly because I had to. I knew I was improving by the admiration I occasionally saw in his eyes.
One unexpected benefit of the long hours of training with Kai: We developed an easy harmony, the kind of meshing of gifts that the masters seemed to prize so highly. I started anticipating his moves before he made them, and he often predicted mine. It meant that neither of us won easily, although I sometimes wondered if Kai was still going easy on me to build my confidence. We became well-matched sparring partners, pushing each other to new extremes of skill and creativity. It made for a few spectacular fights, drawing the students and masters into appreciative crowds on more than one occasion.