A Dawn of Onyx (The Sacred Stones, #1)(34)

This staircase led down to a grand lawn behind the castle—vast and emerald green. As I stood at the precipice of the expanse I took in the wide, open space and inhaled dewy pine and freshly cut grass. It reminded me of my morning runs in Abbington, though far greener and more damp. My feet squished in the cold lawn as I followed Dagan down through the clearing and noted the way the trees and wildflowers ringed the field walled in stone.

It was like an arena.

Lost in my appreciation for the textures and colors of the glade, I almost didn’t notice Dagan stopping short in the middle of it, as he dropped the wrapped parcel in front of me. It landed with a metallic clang. He gestured toward it, my pulse skittering at the invitation.

I knelt down slowly to inspect the parcel’s contents, and my mouth fell open like a book.

Inside were two massive, glittering silver swords. The blades glistened with the early sun which filtered through the burlap. The grip and pommel of one were covered in intricate metalwork that resembled the vines of a dense forest.

I bristled with horror.

“What are you going to do to me?”

Dagan’s brows furrowed. “When I was growing up, what nearly happened to you last night happened to more girls than not, and there weren’t any kings around to save them.”

My blood ran cold as I thought of the girls who had not been as lucky as I had. Was he going to finish where Bert had left off?

“I taught the few I could with that same blade.”

In an instant, fear melted into relief which gave way to confusion.

He walked toward me and lifted both swords, handing the smaller, less elaborate one to me.

“We’ll start with a basic strike from above. Evenly distribute your body weight between your feet, leading foot in front, and face your opponent.”

I nodded but still made no move to lift my sword.

“Any day now.”

He was going to teach me? To wield a sword?

I wasn’t even very good with a butcher knife.

But his eyes were shifting from stern to irritated, and with the metal weapon in his hand, I didn’t wish to make the old man angry. I tried the stance, and he lifted my elbow slightly.

“Hold your sword at shoulder level. Good. First, close the line between your opponent and yourself by bringing your sword forward, like this.” He demonstrated for me, his movement fluid like water flowing over a smooth rock. “Then, step toward your opponent and a little to your right, to avoid a counterattack. Then you can bring down your blade in a straight line to strike.”

I was mirroring his movements, watching my feet placement, and running through about a hundred ways to take the sword and race for the wall behind me that separated us from the woods, when he snapped, “Now, look alive.”

Before I could exhale, he charged me. The man had to be in his seventies, but he moved like a jungle cat. I must have screeched as I dropped my sword like a hotcake and sprinted in the opposite direction. I heard Dagan bark out a genuine laugh before I turned around and stared at him, stupefied.

“What in the Stones was that!” I gasped.

“Let’s try again.”

Dagan backed up and waited for me to pick up my sword. This time when he charged at me, I dodged to the left, still holding my sword but dragging it behind me like a dead weight. He really was… teaching me. And maybe messing with me, a little.

“Good. Hold your sword upright. It’s a weapon, not a broomstick.”

“You wouldn’t say that if I was a man,” I huffed, lifting the sword into the air. Its weight pulled at my wrists and forearms. I would be sore tomorrow.

Dagan repeated the move, but this time when I ducked, he swung the sword back in my direction. I bobbed and then backed up, but he stayed on me. I continued to skirt his blows, swinging the way he had instructed, but eventually his sword made contact with my shoulder. I braced for pain but found just a tap in its place. I assumed it took some skill to swing with such precision and vigor, but make sure the blow was slowed just in time.

“Good,” he breathed. “Again.”

We continued for the next forty minutes or so, moving into how to block and the basics of a parry. He corrected my stance, my elbows, the direction my feet pointed. By the end I was dripping sweat, my face hot and salty.

The familiar ache in my muscles, in my joints, was more welcome than I could have anticipated. I hadn’t gone this long without running in years, and expelling some of my pent-up energy was almost as calming as healing.

“Well done,” Dagan conceded as he wrapped up the swords in their parcel. “Again tomorrow, same place and time. We’ll do this each morning before the apothecary opens.”

“All right.” I wasn’t going to fight him when he was quite literally teaching me to defend myself from the very men that kept me in this castle. And the practice had brought me… joy. I was terrible at it, but there was something about holding the weapon and moving with it that was invigorating. I pictured ramming my sword into King Ravenwood’s arrogant face and a thrill thrummed in my veins.

I fought to catch my breath as we walked back to the castle in oddly comfortable silence. The dark sky above us promised a day of welcome rain, and my overheated body craved it.

“Dagan?” I asked eventually, “You’re a skilled swordsman. What are you doing running an apothecary?”

He squinted up at the heavy clouds above us. “I was in the Onyx army. Some years back.”