Ignoring that bit of lunacy, I turn back to the target, a silver birch with a knot in the trunk six feet up. I take aim and hit the knot. “Vasili has a knife-throwing act. There’s no one faster with a blade. He throws ten knives at his wife in ten seconds. He’s never hit her once.”
Flynn grunts, eyeing the birch. “Sounds like a lethal son of a Cyclops. He taught you?”
For the last three evenings, we’ve been attached at the hip—literally—and Flynn hasn’t gotten much better. It must have been sheer luck that he helped blind the Giant. Or an intervention from the Gods.
That thought raises too many questions, so I shut it down. “I was good with a knife before, but Vasili made me better. It’s about balance and anticipation. Feel where your target is. Figure out how it’s moving.”
“Trees don’t move,” Flynn grumbles.
“They do if there’s wind.”
He gives me a cross look, throws, and misses, cursing when his knife scrapes a chunk of bark off the side of the tree and then crashes to the ground.
“Only let go when the tip points directly at the target. And don’t rush,” I say for the fifteenth time.
“It’s hard not to rush when a Giant is swinging a ten-foot-long spiked club at you.”
I roll my eyes. “You got too close.”
“I couldn’t hit it otherwise!” He rakes his hand through his hair, spiking it into an even wilder mess.
I bat Flynn’s hand down. “You’re going to turn yourself bald. ‘Don’t rush’ doesn’t mean you can’t move, or fight. Just relax, and don’t rush the release. Wait until it feels right.”
His mouth flattening, he concentrates and throws again. The knife sticks a good two feet below the knot and a little to the right. Flynn shouts in triumph.
“Good!” I say. “You got him in the stomach. Belly wounds are the worst.”
He glances at me. “Speaking from experience?”
I arch a brow. “As if I’d let some idiot impale me.”
Flynn makes a strangled sound.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re right, Cat.” Coming up next to me, Kato seems terribly serious all of a sudden. “Don’t let just anyone impale you. Only someone special.”
My mouth falls open. It’s possible to turn kalaberry red, and if the heat in my face is any indication, I do. They’re ridiculously pleased with themselves, grinning like sirens with sailors on the horizon. I shake my head, but the corners of my mouth jump up in an involuntary response that has nothing to do with my having fun. Because I’m not. At. All.
“Concentrate!” I snap, turning back to the target. If I had a whip, I’d crack it. Or maybe not. They’d have too much to say about that.
Chuckling, Kato picks up a knife, draws back, and then throws. The hilt bounces off the base of the tree, and his lips purse in annoyance. “This is harder than it looks.”
“That’s one of the lighter knives, a floater. It’s not as stable, and the target is too far for it. Try this one.” I hand him a heavier blade and then guide his hand around the hilt as if he were holding a hammer. “Remember, stiff wrist or you can’t control the rotations.”
His blue eyes narrowing on the target, Kato takes a deep breath, getting a feel for the knife in his hand. When he throws, he hits the bottom of the knot and lets out an ear-shattering whoop. I can’t help smiling—a huge, idiotic, smeared-across-my-entire-face smile. Three days ago, neither of them could hit a tree.
Beta Sinta wanders over, ruining my mood. “It’s good that you’re teaching them, Cat. You’re good at that.”
“At teaching or at throwing?” Instead of looking at him, I release one of my daggers, burying it to the hilt in the center of the knot. It’s so close to my other knife that the two vibrate against each other in a metallic song.
“Both,” he answers.
“And I’m supposed to care what you think?”
His jaw works like he’s grinding his teeth—or chewing up an irritated response. “I’m glad you’re working with them,” he says evenly. “It was a compliment.”
I put my hand over my heart, inhaling dramatically. “That makes abducting me and threatening my friends so much better.”
A frustrated sound rasps in Beta Sinta’s throat. “You never let up, do you?”
I glare at him, my voice cold enough to sprout icicles. “Why would I? I’m neither a guest nor a friend.”