Eyes of Ember (Imdalind Series #2)(16)

“Sparring, Ilyan, really? This is how you make it up to me?” I hated sparring. I hated holding weapons that were only meant to kill. I hated hitting him with power and magical attacks, but most of all I hated being hit with them. This was punishment, not a reward. Ilyan seemed to find my response humorous; he laughed and slid his hands down in front of him, a large sword appearing from nothing.

I groaned. The use of swords was so archaic, but when battling ancients I guess it was necessary, even though they were rarely used anymore. Magic alone was more effective to use fatally against another magic user and guns were of no use, bullets being easily disintegrated by a simple shield.

“Oh trust me, this is half reward and half punishment for throwing me into the shower.” His eyes twinkled as I moved to stand. I could stubbornly sit on the floor and refuse to participate, but he would attack anyway. I had tried it before and the results were not positive.

“I am sorry, about that,” I pleaded, even though I knew it was no good. “Can you at least tell me the reward portion of this?”

I slid my hand through the air to produce my own sword for the battle I was about to endure. My weapon was nowhere near the caliber of Ilyan’s. His was engraved with jewels, the metal twisting beautifully. Mine was a boring, solid metal t-shape, the kind I had used in theatre class for years. I needed to work on creating something a bit better, but I wasn’t sure I cared enough. I could attack Edmund with magic after all, if I ever became strong enough to fight him, right? I groaned and swung the sword, the metal feeling awkward in my hands.

“Well, you have decided that Ryland’s mind might still be intact.”

“We,” I corrected him, rolling my eyes.

“Yes, well if he is in fact ‘there’ I know someone who can help us, but he is a bit too far away at the moment. Which means, we will have to go to him.” Ilyan began swinging his sword around in preparation while mine clattered to the floor.

“We’re leaving the apartment?” I said.

“Yes, but....”

I didn’t let him finish, I squealed and ran to him, wrapping my arms around his neck tightly.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I sang as I danced around on his toes.

“You’re welcome, but you do need to let me finish.” He pried me away from him. I stepped away, suddenly very uncomfortable for having rushed at him.

“We will leave the apartment, once you can beat me in a sparring match.” Ilyan said.

My energy dropped, my jaw falling agape.

“Not fair! I’m never getting out of this hell hole.” I kicked my sword in frustration, the heavy metal popping my toe out of joint. My magic quickly repaired it and I stomped around a bit, cursing the tiny apartment and its lack of hiding options. I gave up after a minute and pulled my hood down lower over my head.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Ilyan said from behind me. I rounded on him.

“If it’s anything like your last deal, I don’t think I am interested.” I folded my arms and glared at him. Ilyan took two steps forward and tugged on some of my hair that stuck out of my hood.

“If you can mark me once, right now, I will take you out on a date tonight.”

“A date,” I scoffed, grossed out a bit. I stepped away from him, and he laughed darkly.

“Alright, well not a date. A non-committal dinner and movie outing with a friend.” He winked and I felt my insides shift.

“I just have to mark you once?” I was very skeptical. Marking Ilyan once was usually still the equivalent of winning a match against him, only slightly more attainable.

“Just once,” he assured me. I nodded and reached my hand out, the sword flying into my grasp.

“Just once,” I repeated. “Right, I can do this.”

I moved my sword in front of me as Ilyan had taught, the point looking him right in the eye. Ilyan did the same, but his face held a curious little smirk, not the terrified expression I am sure I displayed. I held still, clenching my jaw and silently begging him to make the first move. When it became obvious he wouldn’t, I lunged at him. He smoothly moved from one position to another, his sword clanging loudly as it hit mine. The impact of the swords sent me off balance and I stumbled off to the side, ramming my shoulder into the wall.

“My point.” Ilyan announced. I scowled and turned around to see him shifting his sword from side to side, spinning the blade. I didn’t wait. I lunged again. Ilyan moved quickly and our blades hit together loudly as we fought.

I continued to try to mark him, to hit him, or throw him off balance with no success.

“Ugh!” I yelled. I had to be able to do something. Ilyan smiled at me and continued his attacks.

While I wasn’t bad at this by any means, Ilyan was that much better. I swung wide and aimed for his blind side only to be pushed away by his swift movements. He swung wide for another attack, but he wasn’t counting on me stumbling again and I flailed around as I tripped in an attempt to block him, my sword barely meeting his.

“Come on, Siln?!” he yelled, his accent deep and rumbling. “Play hard, fight hard.”

“I hate swords,” I growled under my breath.

“I heard that,” he smiled.

“Why do we even have to use them? You told me no one does anymore.” I said, letting a little whine escape into my voice. Ilyan smiled at me.