Fires of Ruin (War and Deceit #3) - Erin O'Kane Page 0,39

and me, no matter how he tried to cover it. His expression shifts as he watches me warily at the change of subject. He’s silent for a time, and I get the impression he’s remembering the events of yesterday. Not just in the hallway when he protected me from his queen, getting hit in the process, but when he showed up at the ball last night.

I can’t tell if his outburst was because he was truly worried about why Vaeril left the ball with a sour face, or if it’s for some other reason. At this point, I don’t think he’ll tell me, so I push those questions aside as I wait for his reaction to my statement.

Humming low in his throat, he begrudgingly agrees. “I also made you a target for the queen,” he counters, not answering my silent question. It’s true, he made a scene last night. It was embarrassing, and I thought Tor was going to tear into him. However, the queen had already been watching me dance with the tribesman, she was just looking for an excuse to come over, and Eldrin gave her the perfect in.

“I was already a target for the queen,” I reply lightly, shrugging. “She hates me.”

He laughs, but it’s rueful and without humour. “Ha. Something else we have in common.” His statement makes me chuckle, a short, surprised bark of laughter that brings a small, surprised smile to his face.

We both fall silent again, watching each other with wary smiles. What is this between us? Could this be the start of a friendship between us? Just as I think it, his expression changes into his seemingly permanent frown as he moves back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Right, you’ve rested long enough,” he barks, and gestures to a machine that looks more like a torture device than an exercise machine. “Back to work, princess.”

Nope, I was wrong, definitely not a friendship.

“What the hell is that thing?” I grumble, as we start walking over to the equipment against the far wall. I eye it with a distrustful glare. I don’t trust anything that looks like it could be used to hurt me, and Eldrin can jump off a cliff if he thinks I’m strapping myself to that thing.

Glancing over at me, he grins briefly as he snorts. “No, we’re not using that, it would break you.”

I’m so relieved that I don’t bother to comment on his insult. Stopping as we reach the equipment, I wrap my arms across my chest as I wait for him to explain what he has planned. If I’ve learned anything, it will probably be something that makes me want to strangle him, either from the task itself or his constant insults when I don’t do it how he thinks I should. Eldrin walks over to the bench next to the terrifying machinery and ducks down, rummaging in a box I assumed was a wooden bench. It’s long and stretches about half the length of the wall, the lid lifting to expose a storage area. When he stands up, his arms are laden with black pads.

“Catch,” he calls out before throwing something towards me. Yelping in surprise, I automatically reach out and catch the items, which I now see is a padded helmet and odd padded gloves. I look down at them in confusion as a trickle of dread tries to work its way into my thoughts. “We’re going to spar,” Eldrin explains, picking up more pads which are much larger than what I hold. He slings them over his shoulder and starts walking towards the sparring area in the center of the training yard.

Not moving an inch, I stare at him as he strides away, waiting for him to turn around and tell me he’s just pulling my leg. “You’re joking, right?” I demand, shouting at his back as he places the pads down and wraps some white tape around his knuckles. “Me and you?” The dread is back now, and I feel a little sick at the prospect of fighting with him. Turning, Eldrin raises an eyebrow at my protests and gestures for me to join him. “You’re going to break me!” My complaints fall on deaf ears, and my shoulders droop as I realise I’m not going to get out of this.

“Clarissa.” It’s a demand, not a request.

Groaning, I make my way over to his side. The gloves and helmet I’m holding suddenly feel heavy, like a dragging weight in my hands, making my