He wanted to lash out at her. To scream.
Instead he knelt and picked up his sword, and said, “Again.”
* * *
FIVE YEARS AGO
The sun bled into the sea, turning the world around them red.
The Barron had dropped anchor off a Faroan port. The air held on to the day’s heat like a clay oven after the fire’s gone out. Kell’s lungs burned, his limbs ached.
“You’re too quick,” he said, gasping for breath.
“So catch up,” said Lila as she ducked, and dodged, and danced out of reach.
They sparred until the sun vanished and the red dusk gave way to night, until Stross went about lighting the lanterns across the deck. By the light, Kell could see the rest of the crew, perched like birds around the Barron, watching the match. Even the newest member, Raya, the woman from the south that Vasry had brought back to the ship. She sat up in the netting, pale eyes burning the dark.
Kell ignored them. He had to. Staying alive took all of his focus.
“You’re too good,” he said, narrowly dodging Lila’s latest cut.
“So get better,” she answered. There was a ruthless focus to her movements, a precision he couldn’t seem to crack. No wonder she had made it here, he thought. Delilah Bard was a force of nature. The world hadn’t simply opened for her. It had been cleaved, parted like skin beneath her knife.
She was incredible.
“Has anyone told you,” he said, “that you’re gorgeous when you fight?”
The words knocked her off-balance, like a boot catching on uneven ground. She stumbled, for just a second, and in that second, he swung. Her dagger came up at the last moment, but it was close, beautifully close, the two blades shivering against her throat.
For once, Lila scowled.
For once, Kell smiled.
And then she kicked him in the chest.
He hadn’t seen it coming, and he went down hard on the deck, gasping for breath.
Rhy would feel that one, he thought, imagining his brother, leagues away, in the middle of some gala or feast, wincing at the force of Lila’s boot against his brother’s ribs. Kell said a silent apology as he lay there, exhausted, staring up at the sky. It was a moonless night, black and full of stars.
And then Lila was there, holding out her hand, and helping him back onto his feet.
He fell into bed that night, limbs aching and leaden.
Everything hurt, but for the first time in months, he welcomed the pain.
* * *
FOUR YEARS AGO
Kell’s coat lay cast aside, his shirt soaked through with sweat and rain.
As Lila circled, he ran a hand through his damp hair, slicking it back—he’d cut it shorter, but somehow it still ended up in his face. A storm had swept through in the middle of the last match. It had passed, replaced by a scorching summer sun, but the deck was still damp beneath his feet, water dripping from the sails as Kell twisted out of the way of Lila’s blade.
He dodged another blow, and a cheer went up.
They were no longer alone on the deck. The Barron’s crew watched with giddy interest, whooping and hollering and making bets, though Kell doubted they ever bet on him. Even though he did win.
Sometimes.
Rarely.
More often than not, it was only a question of how long he could hold her off, his victories measured in minutes. He’d gotten better in the last few months. He’d had to. But Lila always found a way to keep him on his toes. Dragging him out to spar at dawn, at midday, in the middle of the night, so he could learn how to see a weapon’s movement in sun and shade, noon glare and moonlight and full dark.
Now and then, he still slipped, found himself reaching for his magic, and every time, he paid for the mistake. But his sword hand was getting stronger, and the steel began to feel, if not a part of him, then at least like something he could wield, not just competently, but well.
As soon as he grew comfortable with the short sword, Lila gave Kell two, and by the time he could hold his own with those, the crew had stopped feigning indifference and gotten involved in the fights. The first mate, Stross, was the one who’d suggested the lottery.
“A way to make things interesting,” he’d said, presenting the box in the galley one night as Raya spooned out helpings of stew. Kell suspected they were just tired of him losing, and were hoping to spice things up. Inside the box, scribbled out on scraps of paper, was the name of every weapon they had on board the ship.
Lila had always possessed a fondness for sharp things, and since becoming captain of the Barron, her collection had only grown, expanding in impressive ways beyond the usual steel.