Morrigan's Cross (Circle Trilogy 1)

The bulk of King filled her vision, and she looked up, up, until she met his eyes. “Me, too,” he told her.

She wen

t with instinct, a movement of her hands, a rapid chant. When he smiled blankly, she touched his arm. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“Sure.”

When he obeyed, she glanced over, saw Cian watching her. And flushed a little. “That was probably against the rules—and it’s unlikely I’d be able to pull it off in the heat of battle, but I think it should count.”

“There are no rules. She’s not the strongest,” he called out. “She’s not the fastest. But she’s the most clever of the lot of you. She uses wile and she uses wit as much as muscle and speed. Get stronger,” he said to Glenna. “Get faster.”

For the first time he smiled. “And get a sword. We’ll start on weapons.”

By the end of the next hour, Glenna was dripping sweat. Her sword arm ached like a bad tooth from shoulder to wrist. The thrill of the work, of actually doing something tangible had long since faded into a bitter exhaustion.

“I thought I was in good shape,” she complained to Moira. “All those hours of pilates, of yoga, of weights—and I might as well be speaking to you in tongues.”

“You’re doing well.” And Moira herself felt weak and clumsy.

“I’m barely standing. I do regular exercise, hard physical training, and this is turning me into a wimp. And you look beat.”

“It’s been a very long, very hard day.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Ladies? If I could trouble you to join us. Or would you rather have a seat and discuss fashion?”

Glenna set down her water bottle. “It’s nearly three in the morning,” she said to Cian. “A dangerous time for sarcasm.”

“And prime time for your enemy.”

“That may be, but not all of us are on that same clock just yet. And Moira and Larkin have traveled a hell of a long way today and dealt with a very nasty welcome. We need to train, you’re absolutely right. But if we don’t rest we’re not going to get strong, and we’re sure as hell not going to get fast. Look at her,” Glenna demanded. “She can barely stay upright.”

“I’m fine,” Moira said quickly.

Cian gave her a long look. “Then we can blame fatigue for your sloppy swordsmanship and poor form.”

“I do well enough with a sword.” When she reached for it, blood in her eye, Larkin stepped up. He slapped a hand on her shoulder, and squeezed.

“Well enough she does, so she proved earlier tonight. But the blade wouldn’t be my cousin’s weapon of choice.”

“Oh?” A wealth of boredom was contained in the single syllable.

“She’s a decent hand with a bow.”

“She can give us a demonstration tomorrow, but for now—”

“I can do it tonight. Open the doors.”

The tone of command had Cian’s brow winging up. “You don’t rule here, little queen.”

“Nor do you.” She strode over, picked up bow and quiver. “Will you open the doors, or will I?”

“You’re not to go out.”

“He’s right, Moira,” Glenna began.

“I won’t have to. Larkin, if you would.”