Coach believed in fencers staying fully suited up for practice so we were as comfortable as possible with the equipment we’d wear in competition, so they walked off to get Darton prepared. I felt his movements through the room with a faint tickling over my skin. My sparring partner disarmed me twice. I’d just paused to take a breath and regroup when Coach headed back our way, Darton in tow.
“Emma is one of our most experienced members,” Coach was saying. “Since you two have already ‘met,’ I’ll have her lead you through the basic warm-up.”
My back stiffened. He often asked senior members to teach the junior ones, but it hadn’t occurred to me he’d come to me, now, with this. Sodding hell. Darton was already eyeing me. If I acted cagey for no obvious reason, I’d draw his attention even more.
If I was careful, the risk of skin-to-skin physical contact was minimal. The other risks, which had to do with the heart pounding away in my chest, I’d just have to deal with.
I drew myself up straighter and tucked my one bare hand deeper into my sleeve. “Sure, I can take him through the paces.”
Darton raised his eyebrow at me. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep up.”
He did, which was a relief because it meant I didn’t need to get close to adjust his position. It was also an annoyance, because I could hear him getting smugger with each comment he tossed out. He’d been a master with a broadsword way back when. It wasn’t surprising he’d pick up fencing quickly. But that didn’t mean I had to like how this unaware incarnation talked about it.
“So why do people get into this as a hobby anyway?” he asked when we paused after the first set of exercises.
“You mean if they’re not just using it to make them better at some other sport?” I said. “Fencing is a sport too, FYI.”
He’d pulled his mask up, so I saw the disbelieving face he made. “You can’t say it’s the same. And it’s not as if you’re likely to end up in a sword fight outside this room.”
I restrained myself from asking how often he got into tackling fights with people off the football field and motioned for him to turn so we could start a two-person drill. “Some of us find the practice enjoyable regardless of how ‘useful’ it is. If you commit, you’ll find it’s intensive training for the body and the mind. You’re not going to feel the full effect if you come at it like a tourist.”
To give the guy credit, he took that critique in stride. He followed my instructions through several parrying sequences in silent concentration.
“Maybe I will get more into the training for its own sake,” he remarked. “Now that we’re on to the actual fighting, I can see the fun factor.”
He chuckled and picked up his pace. Did he really think ten minutes of practice was enough to justify pushing a senior student’s limits? My king might have always been talented, but he’d also had some humility.
I matched Darton beat for beat. Back and forth, back and forth—
He broke the pattern. His saber swiped at my padded shoulder.
My pulse stuttered, but I kept my footing as I sidestepped. I whipped my blade around his and flicked it up. His saber slipped from his grasp. It clanged to the floor at his feet much as mine had half an hour ago.
“Hey,” he protested. I lowered my blade, leaving my mask on. Coach was already sending some of the other members off to the change room. We were done here.
“You never start sparring without getting your training partner’s okay first,” I said. “And if you don’t want to make a fool of yourself, get the basics down before you start escalating.”
I stalked away before Darton could say anything in response. My legs had gone shaky.
How was I going to keep enough distance with him hanging around fencing practice three days a week? I’d found my king all right, and he was already proving more trouble than glooms and visions combined.
*
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