I slogged to the pond and searched until I saw metal shining under the surface of the shallow edge. As I touched the hilt, something brushed my hand. I jumped back, and the sword slipped from my fingers.
“What now?” Arcus asked tightly.
I shuddered. “Something cold and slimy.”
“You’re afraid of fish?” he asked in disbelief.
“I’m not afraid. I just… hate them. So cold.” I looked at him meaningfully. “It’s like touching a Frostblood.”
“Indeed,” he murmured. “Now, stop being ridiculous and get your sword.”
I reached in again and grasped the hilt, gritting my teeth in case I felt another slimy caress. Knees wet, I returned to our training area.
He demonstrated the various attacks and how to block them. He showed me how to protect my stomach, my flank, my thigh, my shoulder, my head. Some positions twisted my wrist at an awkward angle. My head spun trying to remember it all. If I parried too high or too low, he corrected me, making me repeat the moves until my arm ached.
As I was unlikely to overcome an enemy with power and size, he focused on teaching me to be light on my feet, using quick evasive moves to get out of the way, and how to block when I couldn’t.
For a while, we went through the motions slowly; then the blows came faster. I panted as I tried to match his pace.
“Keep your sword up,” he said.
“I’m trying, but we’ve been at this for hours. I’m tired.”
“Watch your surroundings,” he warned.
“Then slow down.”
“This is slow.”
I leaped backward, looking for a break from his constant advance. The earth was spongy under my feet. I stumbled.
“You’re giving up solid ground,” he shouted. “Watch your—”
My foot hit mud. Arcus threw down his practice sword and reached toward me, but my own sword slashed the air in front of me as I flailed. I fell backward into the pond. The water wasn’t deep, but it was shockingly cold.
Arcus stood at the edge, shaking his head.
“You meant to do that,” I gasped, breathless with cold.
“I didn’t, but it’s a good lesson.” A smile tugged at his lips. “You look like a cat in a rain barrel.”
I scrambled toward the bank, grabbing pond plants and water lilies to pull myself forward. My foot slipped and I dipped under and bobbed back up.
When I could see again, Arcus was shaking. It took a second to realize he was gripped by a fit of laughter.
“Shut up or I’ll—” I slipped again, and my mouth filled with water.
“You’ll what?” Arcus gasped. “Attack me with a fish?”
Recovering himself, but still smiling, he offered his hand. I grabbed it and yanked him toward the pond. He shot out his free hand and froze a section of the water around me, just in time to slide nimbly across its surface. He used my arm as a pivot point and swung back to the grassy bank. It was a controlled move and he’d been careful not to hurt my arm. A part of me admired the way he used his gift to alter his environment. The rest of me just seethed.
He offered his hand again, but I slapped it away.
“Always remain aware of your surroundings,” he said, his voice low and serious, his grin fading. “Especially in battle. If you’re quick-witted, you can use them to your own advantage. It may save your life.”
“Let’s see how quick-witted you are,” I muttered.
I grabbed a handful of pond plants and mud and hurled it at him. It caught him square in the chest, a long, slimy root wrapping itself around his neck.
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” I countered. “That could have been my sword.”
He brushed off the slimy green tendrils, the grin returning. If I hadn’t been so angry, I might have enjoyed the way his eyes sparkled at me.
“Point taken, Lady Firebrand. Now, as you don’t want my help, I’ll let you get yourself out. We’ll have our next lesson soon. Don’t forget your sword.”
ELEVEN
AS SISTER CLOVE’S TRUST IN ME grew, she sometimes let me ride Butter all over the abbey grounds. Together, the mare and I explored the gardens, orchards, fields, paddocks, and the fragrant copses of trees used for firewood. On the northern edge of the land near the river, I found myself singing a song my mother had taught me, about enjoying the summer while it lasted, because winter would surely come and cover the world with snow once again.
Heading east, we rounded a cluster of apple trees and would have passed the orchard when I noticed a solitary figure leaning against a trunk. Although he was dressed in monk’s robes, I knew from his broad shoulders and height that it was Arcus. I stopped singing and turned Butter away. I still hadn’t forgiven him for my fall in the pond and had found excuses not to repeat our lesson, which was made easier by the fact that Arcus had left for a couple of days and only just returned. Apparently, he often left the abbey for a day or two at a time, though no one seemed to know where he went. If they did, they certainly weren’t telling me.
“Ruby,” he called. “Wait a moment.”