The Lightning-Struck Heart (Tales From Verania 1)

“Super. Good. We’re going to spar, aren’t we?”

“We are,” he said easily, unlocking the doors. “It’ll be good to measure each other’s strengths with weapons. Heavy, sharp weapons.”

“Remind me, what place did you finish in your sword-handling division at the last summer celebration?”

“Hmmm?” he said, pulling the doors opened. “I didn’t think you paid attention to such things. Oh, Sam. I don’t like to brag. It’s so unbecoming.” He reached in and pulled out an estoc longsword. He spun it easily in his hand with a ridiculous flourish. “First place. Four years running.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m going to have to take a rain check. I just remembered that I made plans with someone to not be here and be wherever they are.”

“Nonsense,” Justin said. “Gary’s with Tiggy in town picking up supplies for your trip that no one is supposed to know about. Your parents are at work. My father is meeting with certain heads of state to discuss new trade routes, Morgan by his side. And Ryan is overseeing the knights’ exercises. Who else could you possibly know? Pick a sword, Sam. Your training is about to begin.”

“Training,” I said stupidly.

“Indeed. After the disaster at Antonella’s where you proved you are not in control as you’d like everyone to think, you really believe I’d let you go out into the world without knowing how to use a sword? Come, Sam. That would just be irresponsible.”

A low-level fury rolled through me, and I did my best to push it away. “That’s very kind of you, sire. I’m sure your tutelage will prove to be enlightening.”

He smiled. It was all teeth. “Undoubtedly.” He tossed me the estoc without warning. I fumbled gracelessly, narrowly avoiding grabbing the blade. It was heavier than I thought it would be.

I never understood the point of sword fighting. It felt too visceral. Too barbaric. It usually always resulted in bloodshed in close proximity. Magic wasn’t like that. There was no need to incapacitate by injury when it could be avoided.

Of course, that little dark voice inside that spoke through the magic reminded me just how close I’d come to encasing the Darks completely in rock. How I could have burst their hearts or set them on fire.

I did my best to ignore that voice. No good would come of it.

Except for setting Justin on fire.

That’d probably be good.

Just his shirt.

I’d put it out.

Eventually.

He reached back in and took out another sword, similar to the estoc he’d given me. He handled it easily. My body and arms weren’t conditioned like his and Ryan’s. I wasn’t dashing and immaculate. Yet another reason they were obviously perfect for each other.

Wow. That sounded bitter.

He left the shed doors opened and turned toward the sparring field. There were wooden dummies shaped in the approximation of a man at one end, covered in nicks and cuts from sword practice. I thought we’d start there (wondering why we were really starting at all), but Justin didn’t even glance at them. He led me to the far end of the sparring field, the grass bright and green under our feet, the sky clear and blue above. There was a breeze, and I could smell the trees and the flowers and maybe even a hint of salt from the sea at the ports ten miles away. On a hill in the distance, a large flock of sheep grazed, white among the green.

It was almost nice.

Company excluded, of course.

Because he said, “No magic.”

I said, “What?”

He stretched his neck from side to side. “No magic. It isn’t fair.”

I snorted. “I’ve never used a sword. Let’s talk about fair—”

“We could always use our fists,” he said, and there was a sour tang to the air now. His jaw had tightened and there was a flash of something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“What is this?” I asked him quietly.

“A lesson,” he said, brandishing the sword again