He followed my gaze. “I don’t practice.” His voice was cool. “Not since it became my choice.”

Frost prickled my skin. Razel had forced him. Had soldiers held him down while his mother sliced his skin, offering his blood to her brutal god in exchange for his favor?

“She seemed to think she was saving my soul.” The emptiness in Ericen’s tone only made me feel sicker. He turned his arm to hide the scars, clenching his fist. The muscles in his arm flexed as he said, “It felt more like I was losing it.” He snorted derisively. “Oh well. What’s another disappointment in a sea of failures?”

“I wouldn’t call that a failure,” I replied.

His silver-blue gaze lifted to meet mine, and the intensity behind it pinned me.

“It’s difficult to walk against the wind.” Another Trendellan proverb from Caliza’s husband. “It takes strength.”

“Funny, my mother called it weakness. I don’t suppose you’d consider having this talk with her?” Despite his flippancy, some of the tightness ebbed from his face.

I gave him a flat look, and he chuckled as he approached a corner of the ring where a sheath hung on the post. He slid the sword in, then returned to face me in the center of the ring.

“First one to concede loses?” he asked.

“I don’t concede.”

He grinned. “So I’m learning.”

I shifted my stance, and he did the same. “On one,” he said. “Three, two, one.”

Ericen shot forward, releasing a volley of strikes. I dodged with room to spare, then slipped around him and backed toward the other side of the ring. Those had been test shots; he was feeling me out.

He came at me again, faster this time, his movements stronger and quicker. I dodged and blocked, turned and swirled, and with each blow of his that missed or I knocked askew, his expression grew tighter, and I nearly grinned. He couldn’t hit me.

The problem was my strength had always been in my speed and reflexes. I could avoid an opponent all day, but I hesitated to end a fight. Estrel always told me to tire them out, but two weeks of training wasn’t enough to compete with the stamina of a fully trained Vykryn.

Ericen had clearly realized the same thing, as he seemed content to continue until I couldn’t any longer. Already, my breathing started to labor, my movements to lag. He nearly clipped me twice in a row.

Then, in what I mistook for another punch, he tackled me to the ground.

The ring floor gave only slightly, compressing just enough to spare my back, the air gushing out of my lungs in a loud gasp. Ericen was easily twice my size, his heavy body pinning me with little effort. My chest heaved. He felt like a miniature sun, his skin burning with expended energy and slick with sweat.