Midnight Moon (The Bleeding Crown Book 1)

Chapter 24 - Swords

Veanna rubbed her arms, huddling beside the remnants of the fire. She had woken with the feeling of cold chains closing around her wrists, and though the sensation faded as her eyes adjusted to daylight, their chill clung to her skin. The scars on her palms stung like they were ready to weep blood again.

The nightmares were getting worse. Every evening she fell asleep clutching a dead man's sword, wishing for warm arms to wrap around her. Yet when she slipped under, she was greeted not with memories of love, but with imprisonment in the endless dark and daggers flashing in firelight.

Veanna raised her head as Tia approached. The shadows cast by the thin sunlight hollowed her eye sockets and caved in her cheeks, turning her strong cheekbones deathly.

"Good morning." Veanna stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders. She still wasn't used to sleeping on the ground and wasn't sure she ever would be. Another luxury to add to the long list she was realising she depended on.

"The others are scouting the route for today's journey," Tia said, "Neyerith will guide us to the temple ruins when Calu establishes its location. The boy assures us it will give us the answers we need about the Order's next moves." She pursed her lips, her body taut with displeasure.

"If we can find Ren's body, we might manage to get a step ahead of the Order for once," Veanna said, trying to hide her own unease with cheer.

Tia made a noncommittal noise and gestured for her to stand. "We should do today's training before they return. Use your sword today."

Veanna rose, but hesitated. She hadn't unsheathed the sword since taking it, insisting she needed to learn the new skills of unarmed and dagger fighting instead. In reality, she was unwilling to truly claim it as her spoil of the fight, and afraid of the blade reflecting the face that stared at its master moments before his death.

You're being childish, a voice in her mind chided her. What good would this guilt be when she was dead? She was no help to her friends or her kingdom if she couldn't defend herself, if she was cut down simply out of reluctance to draw a weapon for some misplaced morals. She could use a sword, and she would not stand helpless in another fight.

Veanna drew the weapon, testing the balance in her hand. It was slightly heavier than she was used to, the grip not made to fit her hand, but it would do. It was better than being defenceless.

Beginning slowly to warm her muscles up, Tia walked her through a handful of drills. Some were familiar movements that she had practised with tutors; some were at the Outlander's instruction.

"Faster," Tia ordered, circling and inspecting Veanna. "Lift your feet higher so they cannot be swept."

Sweat beaded at Veanna's hairline despite the chill of the air. Her breath fogged as it left her lips. She began to feel how to balance this sword, how to twist its momentum and follow its swing.

"Good start." Tia drew her own sword. "Now try against me."

Veanna rarely got anywhere close to striking Tia, and only when the Outlander allowed it as a demonstration of correct technique. She enjoyed the rhythm of their practices, however; the Outlander style of fighting was lighter, swifter, more like a dance. It was about feeling your body and understanding your opponent's; art rather than regulation. Until now, she had only really learned to defend herself: Tia taught her how to attack.

"You have a longer reach than with your dagger," Tia pointed out, not bothering to block Veanna's strike as she dodged back from it. "Use it."

Veanna complied, pressing forward, noting the shift in Tia's shoulders and parrying her next swing. She replied with a slash of her own, which neared Tia's neck, but was stopped short by a block that made their blades ring.