Scooting up to the top of the ladder, she sprinted across the quarterdeck. She leapt down again from the other side.
Ostap spun round, bounding across the deck. As a dancer, he could cover a lot of ground quickly, but maybe his strength and long limbs were a disadvantage.
She needed to anger him, to catch him off guard. She retreated again, winking at him. “Quite the sob fest you had on the plank the other night. Did someone hurt your feelings?”
His face whitened, and when Fiona feinted, he swung hard—right into the deck. The tip lodged in the wood, and as he moved to pull it out, she seized the chance to push in closer to him. With his long arms, he wouldn’t be able to hit her when she was up close.
Using the hilt like a set of brass knuckles, she punched him in the throat from below. Ostap stumbled back, dropping his sword as his hands flew to his neck. Fiona slashed at his gut, which blazed crimson, and the sight of blood stole her breath. If the sword hadn’t been charmed, that swing would have slaughtered him—and she hadn’t thought twice before thrusting it into his flesh.
For a moment she thought the fight was over, until Ostap hurled himself at her in a graceful twirl, slamming her in the temple with his powerful fist.
Fiona’s world tilted, and the sunlight dimmed.
* * *
It was dark by the time her head stopped throbbing, and she sat alone in the galley over a bowl of cold clam chowder. A single candle guttered in the wooden room, casting a wavering orange light around her. The quiet was a luxury.
She didn’t want to be around the other recruits after her disastrous fight. She’d gotten a few blows in, but overall Ostap had dominated, and he’d roundly beaten her at the end. He’d been declared the winner by default when she lost consciousness. She had only herself to blame for picking the fight in the first place. She should have just got on with her training instead of trying to show off.
In her brief time here, she’d puked over the side of the boat, thoroughly irritated her mentor, and lost a fight against another recruit. She wasn’t exactly proving Lir wrong.
When Rohan poked his head in the doorway, she quickly looked away, hoping he’d leave her to eat in peace.
“Mind if I join you?” He no longer wore his hat. Ostap had sliced it to ribbons during practice.
“I was eating alone.”
“I can see that.” Without waiting for her approval, he slunk into the galley and took a seat across from her. His voice was soft, and though he was from Bangladesh, he spoke with a British accent. “Brilliant performance today.”
“I don’t need your sarcasm.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”
She stared at him. “Ostap controlled the whole fight. He knocked me unconscious at the end. It was stupid of me to challenge him in the first place.”
Rohan’s brow furrowed. “So why did you?”
“Because Lir said I was soft, and…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too idiotic. Because my feelings were hurt, and I wanted to show off, and I was sick of training.
“You wanted to prove yourself.”
She had. She’d wanted to prove that she’d be able to slaughter all the witch hunters when the time came. “And I failed.” She threw her spoon into her empty bowl. One of the perks of this galley was that Valac had charmed the dishes to clean themselves.
Rohan ran a finger over his goatee. “I disagree entirely. Had it been a real fight—if those blades hadn’t been charmed—you would have killed him.” He shifted forward in his chair. His dark eyes, lined with kohl, grew intense. “How did you do it? He’s twice your size.”
Fiona let out a long breath. “I insulted him and feinted; got him to overextend his strike. When I was close enough to his body, he was exposed, and he couldn’t get a good hit.”
Rohan studied her, eyes gleaming with admiration. “I like the way you think.”
She somehow doubted Lir was equally impressed, but what difference did that make? The moment he’d met her, he’d already made up his mind that she was worthless.
Rohan leaned in confidentially. “I was watching everyone today. Berold is well trained, but distractible, and Ives is scared of coming near the sword. He’s intelligent, which means he’s been able to avoid fights in the past. Ostap and Berold are more impulsive.”
She tucked the information away for later. “I don’t get Ives. He’s no bigger than I am. How did he end up so chummy with giant thugs?”
“He’s calculating. Watch out for him.”
She cocked her head. “Why are you telling me all this?”
He straightened, and his long hair fell over his shoulders. “The other recruits will come after us. They have little in common with each other, and the only thing uniting them will be their hatred of the real outsiders. We’ll have a better chance at surviving if we work together.”