Frey (The Frey Saga, #1)(43)

“Frey?” Ruby asked.

I grappled for breath. “Just a dream.” They laughed.

“What about?” Ruby was more interested.

I glanced at Chevelle, a few paces away, the same concerned expression as they waited for my answer. I only shook my head.

My chest still hurt from the fear. I sat up and took a drink from the flagon. Wine. Didn’t anyone drink water anymore? Grey sat beside me. I tried not to seem shocked.

“Ruby a little hard on you?” he teased. I smiled. “She’s only trying to help, you know.” He spoke with tenderness and I recalled their touch nights ago.

I made an effort not to be too obvious about my real curiosity. “You’ve known her long?”

“Forever.”

The way he was gazing at her when he spoke left no doubt.

She noticed us watching her. “Ready to get back to it, then?” Ugh. I struggled to my feet.

“Ruby, how long do the effects of the dust last?”

“Depends.”

Was I so ignorant or did everyone think it was funny to make me drag answers from them? “On?"

She laughed. “Don’t worry. The dreams will get better.”

“They will get better or they will go away?”

She laughed again. “Depends.”





We were facing each other once more, ready to begin another round. “Want to try a weapon?”

I wasn’t sure. It could work against me, literally. I tried procrastinating. “Why use arrows if you have magic?”

She had that “Frey, you’re an idiot” look again. “Magic uses more energy the farther away you try to focus it. And it is less accurate. And you are more visible. And…”

“Okay.”

She smiled. “Any more questions or can we begin?”

“Fine. What sort of weapon did you have in mind?”

That was another question and her smile widened. Her hand stretched out to the side and a long silver sword landed in her palm. She righted it, twisting the blade for me to see. Hot apple pie, this was going to hurt.

“There are a few things you need to remember when using a blade,” she instructed. “First of all, always go for the fatal attack. If you merely wound someone, well, someone with magic, they will use the last of their power to stop you. Cut off their head or puncture the lung and heart. Never mess around.”

I imagined myself decapitating someone. I laughed as I realized my mind placed Fannie there.

Ruby didn’t look like she could think of anything funny about what she’d said, but she continued. “Secondly,” she smiled, “don’t cut yourself. These things are sharp.”

She started to toss the sword to me but then reconsidered and handed it over, making sure I had a good grip on the handle. There were intricate designs carved on the handle and runes etched in the blade. It wasn’t as heavy as it appeared. I moved it around a bit; it seemed to be weighted, balancing nicely in my hand. It was pleasant, I swung it tip first in a figure eight, slashing at the air. I didn’t know if I could actually cut through someone’s neck, though. “Ruby, how do you intend to teach me with this? I mean if there’s no messing around, just lop your head off and all?”

She laughed. “Don’t worry, Frey. I think I can handle it.”

“I’ll do it.” Chevelle’s voice startled me. I was absorbed in our conversation, unaware anyone was listening. I glanced around and realized everyone had been listening. It dawned on me what Chevelle had said as they all circled around to watch.

Ruby smiled at him and I became suspicious she had set this up. A long sword was already in his hand. He approached and raised it, expertly gripping the handle with both hands. Uh oh.

Fear rushed through me and I wrapped my fists around the handle, praying I could protect myself. A smile was the only warning Chevelle gave me before his blade was cutting through the air. Instinct took over and I flung my arms up to block his swing with my own. The metal clashed and I felt the shock vibrate through me even as the peal pulsed through my ears. I pulled the sword back just as he was striking again and I twisted to block another shot. I straightened and raised it back, it felt powerful to hold it, just before release. I smiled as I swung at him, sure he would stop me but still enjoying being the attacker instead of victim.

He twisted his blade around mine; a metallic screech filled my ears as he knocked my strike aside before he came back at me. We continued, blow after blow, the repetitive clank forming a pattern in my head. Chevelle seemed to be enjoying himself as the exercise increased in intensity. I found I was as well, I’d taken no direct beatings like my other training and I wasn’t getting as tired. No magic. I could see why they used weapons.

Chevelle pushed harder, assaulting me with faster and stronger swings. I was able to defend myself if I focused. I could hear murmurs of approval from our audience. I enjoyed that. I concentrated hard and began throwing a few hits of my own in with the blocks. Our swords clashed repeatedly, neither of us hitting the mark. I was certain he could have, but confident I was blocking well.

We continued until I became winded, then Chevelle lowered his blade, smiling with approval. I heard our audience commenting on the show and glanced around to see it was evening already, the sun was setting. How long had we sparred? I could feel the ache in my arms now. The sword hung limp at my side.