“Of course,” I answer. In between bugging Gage to teach me more about the inner workings of the Starlight and bugging Max to give me more cooking lessons so I can help out with meals, I’ve been trying to get Ian to give me another fighting lesson for days. He’s held out until this morning, saying that I need to let the bullet wound heal up. But it’s fine—I’ve always been a fast healer, though admittedly my childhood scrapes weren’t anywhere near this. It still twinges, obviously, but compared to where it was a week ago, I’m in great shape.
Now that everyone—including Beckett—is staring at us, I’m thinking that maybe we should have gone somewhere more private for this lesson. But this is the biggest space on the ship.
“To win a fight,” Ian is saying, “you have to recognize your opponent’s weakness. You’re tall but still thinner than most people, and so you’re unlikely to ever win on strength alone. And skill takes time to develop. So, you need to use your brain. Find their weak spot. Piss them off. Do whatever it is you need to give yourself an advantage.”
“Cheat, you mean?” Merrick says. Looks like he’s still smarting from their fight—and the dirty trick Ian pulled to end it.
“There’s no such thing as cheating in real fighting,” Ian answers. But he doesn’t sound put out by the accusation. “There’s just winning and losing. Living and dying. Doing what you have to do to survive.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Beckett slide into the chair next to Rain. As that should keep her occupied for a little while, I relax a little and give Ian my full attention.
He’s frowning again. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Princess?”
“Of course.” I flex my leg, and it only hurts a little. “I think I’m even ready to get my stitches out.”
“Okay, then we’ll start with a few more basic defensive moves.”
That doesn’t sound like much fun. I’ve already mastered the groin kick, after all, so I was hoping for something more advanced. “Can I have a laser pistol?”
“Hell no.” He actually blanches.
I hadn’t actually expected him to say yes. “How about a knife?” I tease. After what happened on Glacea, I suspect the idea of me with any sort of weapon makes Ian extremely nervous.
“Maybe later.” He winces. “A lot later.”
“I’ll give you a weapon, Kali,” Max calls to me.
I shoot him a wide grin, which he responds to with a wink and a smile of his own.
“Spoilsport,” I tease Ian. “So how do I defend myself without a weapon?”
“You need to strategically pick where you hit.” I have a flashback to Ian sticking his thumbs in that man’s eyes on Askkandia. The horrible wet noise they made as they popped. Ugh. I’ll never forget it, but I’m not sure I could ever do that. Even if my life depended on it. Surely there are other places to try.
“Okay, so show me where you’re vulnerable,” I tell him.
He smirks. “No such place. But in general, throat, solar plexus, and eyes, in addition to your favorite, the crotch. A hard hit in any of those areas might give you the chance to run away.”
“I don’t want to run away. I want to be able to stop them.”
“You mean kill them?” He studies me for a moment, head cocked to one side. “I’m not sure you have it in you to be a killer, Princess.”
I hear a snort from the edge of the room. Beckett. I ignore her.
“Not necessarily kill,” I say, because I’m not sure I’ve got that in me, either. “But incapacitate, so they can’t chase after me or anyone who’s with me.”
“Let’s concentrate on keeping you alive first,” Ian answers. “Then we’ll worry about you ‘stopping’ people. So, if I come at you from the front—”
He moves toward me and grabs my shoulders. I twist away, and he lets me go, just like that.
“Good—” he starts, but I cut him off with a frown.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re not giving this all you’ve got?” I ask. “Come on, Ian. How can I learn if you don’t take it seriously?”
“If I give it all I’ve got, then you’re dead, Princess.”
He makes a fair point. “Okay, then. How about we start by you taking off the kid gloves? I’m not so fragile that you have to worry about breaking me.”
“Says the woman who just got shot,” he mutters to himself. But he must take my words to heart, because the next time he comes for me, he moves superfast.
He grabs my arm, pulling me toward him with a quick spin that ends with his arm around my throat. Panic crawls through me as his grip tightens and my air supply becomes a lot more restricted.
Part of me knows very well that he won’t hurt me—but it’s not the same part that has a vise around her throat. That part is freaking out, my hand coming up to claw at his arm in an effort to give myself just a little more space.
“Come on, Princess,” he taunts. “You’ve got maybe thirty seconds before you pass out. What are you going to do?”
I try to pull away, but he’s not budging. I stamp on his foot, and he laughs close to my ear.
“Ten seconds,” he murmurs. My vision is going dark.
I try to stab him in the solar plexus with my elbow, but it hardly even connects.
Finally, he releases me and steps back. “That’s the problem. You’ll never be a match for someone bigger and stronger who wants to hurt you.”
The smug look on his face makes me want to wipe it off.
“That’s not necessarily true,” Max tells him. “I’ve seen Milla take on guys nearly twice her size and beat the shit out of them.”
“Yeah, but Milla has been fighting all her life. The princess has never lifted a finger against anyone.”
“No, she just pays people to kill for her,” Beckett mutters.
Max ignores the interruption. “Kali just needs to start with someone smaller. She needs to get the feeling of what works and what doesn’t. She can’t get that sparring with you because there’s no give in you.”
Ian lifts a brow. “Are you volunteering?”
“I’m not that much smaller than you.” Max snorts. “And neither is Merrick. But maybe Gage—”
Gage squawks. “No, thank you. I’m a thinker, not a fighter.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Beckett rise to her feet. I have a bad feeling about this.
“You want to fight, Princess?” she queries, a malicious look in her eyes. “Because I’ll fight you.”
Oh, fuck, no. I turn slowly to face her. She has the temperament of a rabid faconal and the coiled energy of a rattlez. No way am I going near her or the insolent sneer on her face. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s also been fighting all her life. She didn’t get that scar by being nice and friendly.
“Sit down, Beckett,” Ian growls. He must feel the same way I do.
“Why not let the princess decide?” Beckett suggests.
My stomach drops. Beckett hates me again today, sure. But I have some of my own rage built up inside me. Because she isn’t the only one who lost a father. And while I’ve been telling myself for days now that it isn’t her fault, there’s a part of me that blames her anyway.