“Your sword is bigger than mine,” I say, and stab at the leaves.

“You’re ten. Of course my sword is bigger,” he says matter-of-factly.

“And they’re not even real. They’re wood,” I say, furthering my nonexplanation for why I’m doing so badly.

“Well, that you can be grateful for. You’re not ready for a real sword,” he says, and my hand tightens around the wooden hilt in frustration.

“I am ready,” I say defiantly.

“No, you’re really not. And from the way you’re acting right now, I don’t think you’re ready for any sword. Even a wooden one.”

I roll my eyes and he hits my blade with his, sending it flying again. I open my mouth to protest, but before I can get a word out, he picks up my practice sword and starts walking toward our house.

“Hey!” I call after him, running to catch up. “Give that back!”

“When you’re ready,” he says in the calm voice that drives me nuts.

“How will I ever be ready if you won’t give me my sword?” I say.

He stops and turns to face me. “I’m not referring to your skill. You could have the best fencing skills in the world and your attitude would sink you.”

I frown.

“Do you remember two weeks ago when you got into an argument with Emily at school and came home in a rotten mood?” he asks. “You marched off into the woods with your knives. And what happened?”

I eye him warily, not sure where he’s going with this. “I threw badly and wound up crying.”

“Right,” he says, his voice easing a bit. “Not because your skill suddenly changed, but because your emotions did. You hate to be bad at anything, Nova. And even more so, you hate to lose. But being bad at something and losing aren’t awful the way you think they are and they don’t mean what you think they mean. They’re human. They’re how you learn. And most importantly, they give you freedom from always being a perfect winner.”

I stare at him, unconvinced. “And being a perfect winner is a bad thing?”

“Actually, it is if you can’t not be a perfect winner. It’s a trap where you set yourself up to be constantly disappointed. The bravest people I know, the most skilled people I know, all lose and are bad at things. But they own it. And because they can own it, people trust them.” He gives me a pointed look. “It’s a form of power to be able to embrace yourself in all the ways you are and all the ways you’re not.”

I strain against the urge to tell her who my dad is. I can’t imagine this will end well for me if she finds out he’s a Lion.