35. Talon

CHAPTER 35

Talon

Sawyer clutched his side and scurried out of the fighting ring, his eyes downcast making me want to punch Rider. The boy had put up an incredible fight and should have gotten more than a "move it."

He'd actually scored a point on Rider something none of us expected and while Rider had been holding back, it hadn't been by as much as I would have expected for someone so young and small. The boy had known before stepping into the ring his best chance at getting a point was at the beginning of the fight before Rider had fully assessed his abilities, and if Rider hadn't been as quick and skilled as he was, Sawyer would have gotten that first point right at the start.

As it was, the boy knew he wasn't strong enough to face Rider head on and had used his speed to dodge Rider's attacks until he saw an opening.

His skill was a pleasant surprise and something we could definitely build on. Out of all the novices, he probably had the most potential because he was so young and hadn't had nearly the same amount of training as the three men trained from birth to become guardsmen or the soldiers. Perhaps killing that hound hadn't been dumb luck like Rider had said.

That said, Rider's strike hadn't been that hard. He'd pulled it at the last second like he always did when he was sparring. It shouldn't have brought the boy to his knees with his face twisted in agony. But I didn't think it was because he was a weak nobleman who couldn't take a hit. The way he flinched from Rider's sharp command to leave the circle suggested he was well used to taking hits, which meant he was foolishly trying to hide an injury.

Rider scored a point, tapping the thigh of the next novice — an inexperienced farmer — and shouldered the man making him lose his balance and fall over.

"Next," he growled, his expression hard and angry. His gaze leaped to Sawyer — who was looking at the ground, not making eye contact with anyone — then back to the group of novices as Quill called out the final novice's name.

It was clear Rider was pissed at himself for hurting the boy… and pissed at the boy for hiding his injury. If he'd known Sawyer was hurt, he might not have made the boy spend all morning in the stables and he certainly would have been more careful about where and how he scored his point.

That and hiding an injury wasn't a good way to start a career in the Guard. Just like going through the ring after dark, keeping an injury a secret meant you weren't at your best and that could get a fellow guardsman killed.

The next novice was a fae with average skill that was obvious in how he reacted to Rider's first attack, but Rider didn't pull back. He went at the fae full force as if he needed an outlet for his frustration with Sawyer and scored three quick points leaving a stunned fae standing in the circle probably wondering what the hell had just happened.

"The rest of this rotation you'll have chores in the morning and more assessment in the afternoon, then the real training begins," Rider said, his voice gruff. "In a few rotations I'll be starting the competition for elite positions and if you can prove to me that you can hold your own like any other guardsman, I'll let you, a novice, try for a spot."

That perked up all the humans who knew how to fight except Sawyer.

"How many fae spots are there?" one of the fae asked. A few of them looked hopeful that they'd be able to qualify for an elite position so soon, but the rest were skeptical and rightly so since we usually needed to replace more humans than fae.

"Seven. Five hunters and two for the Gold Tower," Rider replied. "Which means there's a spot for two humans in the Gold Tower, two in the White Tower, and seven in hunting teams."

"That's ten spots," one of the experience humans whispered to another.

"And you're competing against the other experienced guardsmen who want a place," I added, which was a good number of men, although not everyone. Some of the men, both human and fae, were content with their regular duties. There were fewer privileges but there was also less responsibility and less danger.

"But until then you're on the novices' rotation," Quill said, bringing us back on topic like he always did. "Don't forget to check your assignment outside the quartermaster's rooms and be ready to work at the second bell."

The seventh bell rang.

"Everyone pick up a practice weapon and take it to the indoor practice hall then you're dismissed for the evening," Rider said.

He shot me a look, one that I knew after years of working together meant, "find out how badly the boy is injured," then he picked up a battle axe and led the way back to the castle.

The men each grabbed a weapon and followed him and Quill back to the castle. Sawyer hung back, and from the whispered comments from the other novices, I didn't blame him. The humans had decided he didn't fit in while it looked like the fae thought mucking out the stables wasn't punishment enough for foolishly using the ring after dark. And as much as I wanted to tell everyone to stop being assholes, it was better if it came from Sawyer.

That said, I was going to make sure Ash kept an eye on the boy. There'd been a spark in his eyes when he'd stepped into the ring to fight Rider and I doubted a few mean words, even if they came from Rider, were enough to extinguish it, but we'd had human novices commit suicide before for less.

The apprentice chef — who really didn't belong in the guard but would be a good addition to the two main cooks in charge of the kitchens — shot Sawyer a quick, sad look.

"I can't believe you scored a point," he said, grabbing a pair of long daggers and hurrying after the rest of the group before Sawyer could answer.

"I didn't score a point," Sawyer said to himself.

"Pretty sure I saw a point and called it." I grabbed the three remaining practice swords and held out the lightest one, hilt first, for Sawyer to take.

"The Lord Commander gave it to me." Sawyer's gaze slipped up to mine then jerked away and he took the offered sword. He still held his side like it hurt but just like when he'd first stumbled into my bathing room and I'd climbed out naked and exposed him being fae-touched, I got the impression that one wrong move would scare him away.

"Rider picks one skill level above the one he thinks you're at," I said, heading after the others, my pace slow hoping Sawyer would walk with me. "Just enough to see how far you can stretch then slowly builds depending on how you respond. That point was all yours and it shocked the hell out of him. Everyone, actually."

"But that doesn't make the point mine. I'd never had scored if it had been a real fight, and he ended it after he scored his like with the other inexperienced novices." He ran a hand through his red hair, mussing the already wild locks. "I don't know why it bothers me. There's no way I'd win a fight against him." He snorted. "Unless I was fifty yards away with a bow." Then his expression turned sour. "And he gave me the time to line up my shot."

"The point was yours. With the exception of most of the fae novices, Mikel, Ambrose, and Durand, you'd have scored a point on any of the other novices. That includes Bramwell and Hamelin." One of whom had been raised to be a guardsman and the other had been a professional soldier before his name had been drawn in the lottery.

"Bramwell and Hamelin are slow, but one hit from them and I'd be seeing stars for days," Sawyer said.

"And that one hit from Rider could have seriously hurt you," I replied, trying to broach the topic of his injury without making him clam up or run away. "He pulled it, but if you have broken ribs, he could have done more damage."

Thankfully, from the way he'd stopped holding his side and was breathing normally, it didn't look like the injury was that bad… although I was getting the impression Sawyer was too stubborn for his own good. If Rider hadn't ended the fight, he would have kept going, and I suspected from the looks a bunch of the novices had shot each other when I'd asked Sawyer about it, his trip on the running trail wasn't because he was clumsy, either.

I grabbed Sawyer's arm and stopped him before we passed through the pasture gate. "If you're injured, you report to the infirmary."

Sawyer froze, his gaze locked on mine, and his lips parted on a sharp, soft breath. Then red, brighter than his hair, raced over his pale cheeks and down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his too-big shirt and jerkin.

"It's just a bruise," he breathed.

"You should go to the infirmary and have Flint check you out," I pressed.

"It's fine. It's just fresh." His voice trembled along with his body and panic filled his eyes as he tried to look away from me and couldn't.

I hadn't expected his reaction to my unwanted allure to be so powerful. I wasn't even naked. But he was so ensnared, I could see his pulse fluttering in the large vein in his neck. And while I should have let him go and broken eye contact, I knew if I did, he'd continue to lie about his injury.

"Prove it," I forced out, my insides twisting with shame. "Show me."