of Aron’s tunic and press it under my cheek as a pillow, lying back down.
The hard thing nudges me again. I turn over and glare. Aron stands over me, his boot nudging my backside. I swear, this man. “What the hell is your problem, Aron?”
“You wanted to learn how to fight. I have decided to show you.” He flicks his wrist, making an entreating gesture. “Get up.”
“Right now?”
“Was there a time you had more in mind? When we are surrounded by another mob? Perhaps when the dead finish crawling out of their graves and arrive?” He pulls a sword from its sheath and admires the blade, running his thumb along a sharp edge.
“God, you are such an ass,” I mutter as I manage to get to my feet. I’m covered in dirt and leaves from my sleep under the trees, and I ache all over. Last night, I wasn’t keen on the thought of stealing horses but today? Today I am all for it if it means I don’t have to walk any longer. “Fine. I’m up. Show me how to use weapons.”
His lip curls as if I’ve said the dumbest thing imaginable. “You cannot learn it all in one day.”
Like I’m stupid. I put my hands on my hips, my irritated pose nullified by the leaf that chooses that moment to flop from my hair onto my forehead. “I know that. Just show me what you can today.”
“First, show me your hands.” He flips the sword casually in one hand and then stabs it into the dirt, then approaches me.
I stick both hands out, palms up, and wait for the next round of insults. This is Aron, after all.
He takes one of my hands in his and lifts it closer to his eyes, studying it. His thumb skates over my palm, sending ticklish sensations all through me. I want to jerk away, but I don’t. I just go very still. “What are you looking for?”
“Callus. You have none.” His mouth quirks in a half-smile as he meets my gaze. “I don’t know why it surprises me.”
“My world’s really, really different. No one works with their hands if they don’t have to. We have desk jobs. Like…clerks and scribes and stuff.” It’s a huge generalization, and I don’t want to get into an argument about farmers and laborers, who really do still work with their hands. Even they wouldn’t have the callus built up that he does, I think. Even now, where his hand brushes against mine, I can feel the hard pads of his hand where he’s used to gripping weapons. Instead of feeling disgusting, though, I’m oddly aroused by how weathered his grip is.
And that makes me look around suspiciously, just in case Tadekha’s waiting in the trees. But she’s not, and Aron only gives me a curious stare. “Something wrong?”
“Nope.” I slip my hand out of his. “So do I get to use your sword?”
He shakes his head, and I notice that despite an evening of roughing it under a tree, Aron looks as glorious as ever, his smooth black hair pulled back in a loose tail. His clothes aren’t even wrinkled, the bastard. “No sword for you. Your wrists are far too delicate. We’ll start with daggers.”
We try his knives, and it soon becomes apparent to both of us that you require skill and aim, neither of which I have when it comes to weapons. I can't throw them and hit a target. I have to be in extra close to use one to stab, and even then, Aron isn't happy with my technique. He picks through the daggers—I don't know how he acquired so many of the damn things, but I swear he has a half-dozen of them—and finds none that he thinks are fitting for me. "You are terrible with all of these."
"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Do you want lies or the truth?"
I sigh heavily, because we both know I want the truth. I need to be able to defend myself, and compliments won't get me anywhere if they aren't sincere. "So what do we do? The sword is out. The daggers are out. Unless you're carrying a can of mace somewhere under your cloak, I'm screwed."
"A mace would be difficult for you. They are very heavy."
"Not what I meant, but good to know."
Aron scratches his chin thoughtfully. "A bow, perhaps?"
"Because my aim's so good with knives you want to give me a bow and arrows?" I retort, defeated. I sit on