“Good. You should also be able tell their proximity, their size and strength, and their general intent, whether they plan to tear you to bits that instant or generically just want to kill you. Can you do that?”
Behind her, Naelin heard Erian gasp-yelp at the word “kill” and saw the champion wince. He clearly wasn’t used to watching his words. She wondered if that had gotten him into trouble before. Not everyone appreciated honesty. She did, though. Minutely, she relaxed—he didn’t seem like he was trying to trick her into anything. “I don’t think so. Or at least, I’ve never tried.” I’m not stupid, or reckless. She’d spent so much time pretending she didn’t have power, acting as if she were normal. She’d never wanted to jeopardize what she had by experimenting.
“Then that’s where we’ll start.” He held up his hand to stop her question before she asked it. “Don’t worry. We won’t summon anything. This exercise won’t endanger anyone.” He looked at her, sincerity clear in his eyes. And also respect—that was a look she hadn’t seen in Renet’s eyes in a long time. Ven was treating her as if he valued what she thought and felt. “If this is going to work, you’re going to have to trust my word.”
Reaching behind her, Naelin squeezed Erian’s shoulder, as much to reassure the young girl as herself. She kept her eyes on Ven, particularly watching his hands to be sure he didn’t stab the trees again. She knew she shouldn’t trust him after last night . . . yet she wanted to, especially when he looked at her like that. “I’m listening.”
“When you are with your children, your awareness grows, doesn’t it?” He pointed to Erian and Llor with his knife, and then appeared to think better of it and tossed and caught the knife so that he was pointing at them with the hilt instead of the tip. Llor whistled, obviously impressed. If Naelin weren’t careful, the boy was going to develop a serious case of hero worship. Ven seemed oblivious to it, which was another point in his favor. He was confident without being arrogant. She’d met plenty of people who were the reverse, as well plenty who were far less worthy of adoration. “You expand your sense of what’s ‘you’ to envelop them, the same way you’re aware of a knife in your hand as an extension of you.”
“Yes, precisely.” She was surprised to hear him describe it so exactly.
“I’ve been a bodyguard. It’s similar to parenthood. Except with moderately more bloodshed.” He actually smiled at that, and it was all she could do to not smile back. She wanted to be angry at him, but there was something about him that made that impossible. Maybe his earnestness. Or his determination. He was just so blasted sincere. He radiated heroism, even when he wasn’t doing or saying anything particularly heroic. If I’m not careful, she thought, I’ll be the one with the case of hero worship. Shaking herself, she tried to focus on his words. He continued. “What I want you to do is expand your awareness as far as you can. Consider the forest around you as part of your body and reach your mind out to touch your new ‘limbs.’” He sheathed his knife.
Erian crawled up beside her. “Can I try?”
Champion Ven looked at her sharply. “Does your daughter have any affinity for spirits?”
“No,” Naelin began, and then stopped. “We don’t know.” They’d never experimented with it, and she wasn’t about to start. “Erian, I need to work with Champion Ven for a while. Why don’t you . . .” She trailed off, unsure what to suggest she do. She didn’t want Erian to stray far, but she couldn’t expect her to huddle in the roots for however long this took.
The guardswoman dropped from a branch onto one of the roots. She wore no sign of last night’s battle—her face was scrubbed clean, her hair tied slickly back, her leather armor stiff and spotless. She twirled a knife in one hand and then tucked it into a sheath. Crouching, she studied Erian. “I can teach her a few things. Defensive moves. How to break a hold.”
That sounded . . .
“Yes!” Erian sprang to her feet.
. . . perfect.
As Captain Alet guided Erian to a patch of soft moss and demonstrated a defensive stance, Naelin began to revise her opinion of her. She was a kinder teacher than Naelin would have expected, not barking at Erian or scolding her for her lack of knowledge. She positioned the girl’s limbs, even gave her an encouraging smile.
Both Naelin and Ven watched them for a moment.
“Mama, may I play with the doggie?” Llor asked. He’d crawled closer to the wolf and was holding his hand out, palm up, for the wolf to sniff. The wolf declined to sniff.
“Only if he wants,” Naelin said, damping down her natural instinct, which was to scoop up Llor and run as far and fast away from the predator as she could. So far, the wolf had done nothing but protect them. “His name is Bayn. Don’t pull his tail.”
“I wouldn’t!” Llor cried with all the dignity of an insulted six-year-old.
A ghost of a smile crossed the champion’s face. “There, your children have babysitters, at least for the next few minutes. Now will you focus on your training?”
Unusual babysitters, she thought, but he was right. Erian and Llor were both nearby and as safe as she could hope them to be, given the circumstances. She didn’t have any more excuses. “Sensing the spirits won’t summon them?”
“Not in my experience, which is considerable.”
He was trying hard to sound soothing, she could tell, and that impressed her. She didn’t know why he wanted her as his student so badly, especially when she refused to become an heir, but sensing spirits did sound both harmless and useful. “All right, I’ll try it.”
Crossing her legs, she sat on one of the roots. She felt the bark dig into her thighs, through the fabric of her skirts. She felt the damp morning chill in the air and breathed in the heavy, wet, mossy taste of the forest floor. Birds were chirping in the trees above, and a few bushes rustled nearby, most likely squirrels. Concentrating, she tried to do as he said—imagine that she was part of the woods around her, that her arms extended into the trees, that her thighs poured into the earth, that her lungs expanded to breathe in all the air.
Half of her kept listening for Erian and Llor—she heard the captain giving Erian instructions, and Erian answering with questions about how to hold her arms and her shoulders, adjusting her foot position in the crumbled old leaves and pine needles. In between the roots, Llor was babbling happily to the wolf, telling him all about his collections back home: he liked to collect rocks, feathers, and interesting sticks, but Mama didn’t let him bring the best sticks into the house because they were too pointy, which was endlessly disappointing. Mama was fine with rocks, he confided, as long as they weren’t too big, and fine with feathers, as long as he found them himself and didn’t try to pluck them from any birds. He even had an eagle feather that was as long as his arm, but he’d had to leave it behind when they left. He promised to show the wolf when they went back sometime.