She sighed. “What would you have me do then?” she asked.
“You mean, in terms of archery?” He smiled.
Lian gave him a cold stare.
His grin faded and he cleared his throat. “I’d have you take the same shot while walking.” He picked up the quiver and held it out to her. There were only three arrows left.
“While walking?” Lian asked.
Gansukh nodded.
Lian took the arrow and nocked it without looking. She started to her right, but quickly realized she’d lose sight of the target in a few steps as she passed behind a row of manicured hedges. She switched directly and raised the bow, front knuckle pointed at the tree. Even at a slow walk, her front knuckle refused to stay on target—bouncing not only up and down, but also side to side. She tried to predict when she would be on target and let the arrow loose. It hit the ground barely a horse-length in front of her and skipped across the grass.
Gansukh offered her another arrow. “Don’t look at your knuckle this time; look at the target.”
Lian grabbed the arrow from him and nocked it quickly in the bow. He knew what he was talking about and she should listen to him, but his calm was getting under her skin. She pulled the bowstring back, and as she walked to her right, she released the arrow almost immediately. She had been shooting blindly, just trying to use up the arrows so that this lesson could be over. The arrow flipped end over end and rattled into the tree’s lower branches.
“Not bad!” Gansukh said, much to her surprise.
“You are laughing at me,” she said.
He shook his head. “You stopped thinking about what you were doing. That is a large part of shooting well. It’s also the hardest thing to teach.” Gansukh grinned again. Lian couldn’t decide if this near-constant grin of his was getting annoying or endearing. Perhaps both.
“You lied to me,” she said, holding the bow in both hands.
“When?” he asked.
“When I said you weren’t a very good teacher.”
Gansukh shrugged. “I didn’t correct you,” he said. “But you didn’t tell me you’d handled a bow before either.” He took the last arrow out of the quiver and held out his other hand for the bow. The grin was gone and his face had become unreadable.
Lian handed him the bow. “Not that tree,” she said, swallowing hard. She couldn’t tell what his intention was and thought it best to try to redirect him. Had she gone too far? Trust had to be mutual. “That’s too easy for you.”
“Pick a tree, then,” he said and swept his left hand wide to indicate she had the entire courtyard to choose from.
Lian looked about and spied a sapling some ten horse lengths away. “The young birch, by the wall there,” she pointed.
Gansukh turned abruptly and walked away from her at a brisk pace. For several moments, she was sure she had made a terrible mistake, and when he turned and began sprinting toward her, she was certain she had. As he closed the distance between them, he showed no sign of stopping; in fact, he was increasing his pace.
“Gansukh!” She threw herself to the grass. He jumped over her, bow raised and arrow drawn back. She heard the bowstring twang. Where she had fallen clumsily, breaking her fall with her hip, he tucked his head and rolled in the grass three paces in front of her.
“Are you okay?” He walked over to her as if nothing had happened.
Wanting to get off the grass as quickly as possible, she accepted his hand. His grip was firm, and she flew off the ground as he pulled her up. Their bodies pressed together, their faces but a few fingers’ width apart.
“Did you hit your target?” she asked in an attempt to make him turn around and look. Even though she didn’t want him to move.
He didn’t. “I don’t know, did I?”
Lian rolled her eyes and failed to stifle a laugh. His grin came back, larger than before. She pushed him roughly away.
“The tree, Gansukh. Did you hit the birch?”
Gansukh feigned surprise. “I was supposed to shoot a tree?”
She looked. The sun had gone beyond the palace now, and the entire wall was covered with shadows. She could still see the thin sapling, but she couldn’t tell if his arrow had found its mark. She started walking toward it, and Gansukh fell in beside her.
“Nice fall,” he said. “But you’ll need more practice.”
Lian shot him a look.
“I’m serious!” he protested. “Falling is an important skill in hand-to-hand combat. You’ll see.”
“I can’t wait,” Lian replied sarcastically, but couldn’t help but notice how her body thrilled at the thought of being so engaged with this man.
Preoccupied, she came to a full stop in front of the birch before focusing on the arrow buried a quarter of the way up its shaft. Without comment, Gansukh began gradually working the arrow loose.
“Gansukh, you should have…” she faltered.
Gansukh continued to loosen the arrow from the tree but looked at her.