Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(71)

That piqued my curiosity. I stood and joined him on the other side of the garden.

“With swords?”

The leather flaps fell away to reveal a gleaming sword. Swirls of ivy patterns that reminded me of Letum Wood ran the length of the silver blade, which was about as long as my arm. A deep blue snaked through the ivy leaves and down the hilt.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A sword,” he replied in a wry tone. “Your sword. Pick it up. It won’t bite.”

Hesitant, I reached out and wrapped my hand around the hilt. The moment it touched my palm I felt a thrill rush from the tips of my fingers through my shoulder. A sapphire blue light zipped through the leaves on the blade, disappearing so fast I thought I’d imagined it.

“Where did you get it?” I asked.

“I didn’t,” he said, running his narrowed gaze over it. “Your father had it made for you. He told me to give it to you when you were ready.”

“When did he have it made?”

Merrick shrugged. “Must have been a while ago. Swords like that can take years to finish. See the letter A carved into the metal near the hilt? It’s a distinct signature from the swordmaker Andrei. I’ve seen his work before. He lives in the Southern Network and uses a special kind of metal that’s only mined in a few places in the South and West. It’s known for making exceptional swords that are never brittle.”

“What?” My head jerked up. “The South? We aren’t allowed to trade with the South.”

“That’s a Southern blade, all right. Your father must be a friend of Andrei’s. If Andrei gave it as a gift then it wouldn’t violate the prohibition on trade. Turn it over. See the writing on the back?”

Instead of asking how Papa had even met Andrei—a pointless question, given the travels he’d been on in his job as a Protector—I did as Merrick said, flipping the sword around and resting it on my palm. The twisting vines near the top of the hilt spelled out a tiny word.

Viveet.

“That’s the name of the sword,” Merrick said. “Every good swordmaker names each sword based on their experience in creating the weapon. Since every sword is forged differently, they all have their own personality.”

“Viveet,” I whispered, my eyes narrowing on the word. I looked up to Merrick. “That’s the language of the Ancients.”

Merrick nodded, an expectant look on his face.

“It means protector,” I said.

“It’ll be interesting to see what kind of personality Viveet has, then.”

I ran my hand along the smooth edge. It lit up in the same shade of sapphire blue it had before and faded again when I pulled my hand away. The metal felt chilly, like it had been submerged in a bucket of ice. Merrick sheathed his sword, which was longer than mine and etched with a purple filigree. He reached for Viveet, and when I reluctantly gave her up, inspected her with a deft ease that could only come with years of experience.

“A good sword is like a shield,” he explained, testing the weight with his firm grip. “The more you train with it, the more it responds to you. The magic that comes with using a sword will become stronger as well, so keep that in mind.”

He stepped back and ran through a few routines, swinging it in wide arcs. The blade sliced through the air like a song.

“Am I going to use Viveet now?” I asked, hoping to get rid of the cumbersome wooden sword he’d been making me practice with every day. I had so many splinters in my hands that my palm was starting to scar.

“Yes. Now that you know how to keep yourself under control, I’ll trust you with a real blade.”

Merrick, all business now, pulled his own sword from the sheath and handed Viveet back.

“We’re going to go through the sword positions again, but this time with Viveet. The weight and balance is different, so we’ll keep it slow for now. The last thing I need is the wrath of your father if you get hurt. Here’s Viveet’s sheath; put it on. You’ll need to practice drawing your sword and sheathing her in one smooth motion. Until you build that muscle memory, it’s not as easy as it looks.”

He tossed me the hard leather sheath, complete with a belt to buckle around my hips. I obeyed his directions, then inspected Viveet’s light metal frame and easy grip. I swung her through a few positions, enjoying her light, nimble movements. Compared to the clunky wooden sword I’d learned with, she felt like fighting with a puff of air. Perhaps Merrick did know what he was doing. But of course that was an admission I wasn’t likely to concede to yet.

“Are you ready to learn how to put magic and sword fighting together?” Merrick asked, one eyebrow lifted. His face had returned to its usual focused, brow-pulled expression.

“Yes,” I said, feeling like I’d been handed a key to my own life. It was empowering and terrifying at the same time. Miss Mabel would be back on my birthday. I might not be perfect, but I could be strong. “I think I’m ready.”

“You are.”

I met his eyes.

“Then let’s get started.”





A Bracelet and a Shop

The days faded into weeks and then months. Every hour blurred into the next. Training, running, aching muscles, calloused hands. Viveet sang under my hand, guided by Merrick’s persistence and talent. I learned from him every morning, and practiced alone every evening, sometimes far into the night.