“Good. Your draw, then, is your bluff. If you do it with enough skill, you can trick your opponent into believing you have the hand to back it up.” He waited for her to nod again before continuing. “If your opponent has a bad hand and believes your bluff, they fold and you win.”
“And if they have a good hand?” she asked, sticking with his stupid analogy. “What if they call my bluff? What do you propose I do then?”
“We’ll get to that part. Now why don’t you give it a go.”
Lydia took hold of the sword and heaved. Instead of the cruel snick of metal Killian’s blade made when he drew it, hers made a grinding noise, then stuck, the bottom of her scabbard flipping up. “Blast it,” she muttered, her belt riding high. She adjusted it, trying to regain her composure and hoping he’d mistake the flush on her cheeks for exertion. When she finally looked up, all the humor was gone from his expression, and for the first time she saw a hint of doubt in his eyes.
He shook his head once, then nudged her into the center of the room. “Try it again.”
She managed to get the blade out this time, but the sound of the metal grinding against the scabbard set her already-frazzled nerves on edge.
“Again.”
The results were the same. “I think the scabbard is too snug—” Before she could finish, he reached over and tugged her sword out with the same ease as his own. He lifted one eyebrow, then shoved the blade back in. “Again.”
“Perhaps rather than mocking me, you might provide some semblance of instruction,” Lydia said between clenched teeth.
“Widen your stance. Bend your knees. Hold it like this.” He held out his own sword to demonstrate but shook his head when Lydia tried to replicate the position. “That’s not right. And quit squeezing so hard; your knuckles are whiter than a corpse’s. It will give you away to anyone who knows their business.”
Frustrated, Lydia snapped, “Just fix my hand for me then.”
“Fine.” Gripping her by the shoulders, he spun her in a circle so that her back was to him. Prying her clenched fingers off the hilt of the sword, he adjusted her grip, his breath warm on the nape of her neck. “Relax.”
As if such a thing were possible.
“May I adjust the rest of you?”
Lydia nodded, her heart a thundering drum in her chest.
His hands moved over her body, gently but firmly, adjusting her posture, the toe of his boot knocking at her ankles until she widened her stance. “Like so,” he said. Then he closed his hand over hers, warm fingers concealing hers entirely. “Breathe.”
She sucked in a breath.
“Once more.”
She inhaled and he moved, guiding her arm and the blade with a speed and grace she hadn’t believed her body possessed. The steel glinted in the lamplight, and as she stared down the empty room she felt like she could fight anyone or anything that came at her. She was powerful. Capable. Fearless.
Then Killian let go of her hand and the tip of her blade wavered, the feeling vanishing. He came around in front of her, for once his expression unreadable. “Now do it again.”
She shook her head. “What was that?”
He looked away, jaw working back and forth. “It’s the reason I’m not a very good teacher.”
“Because you’re marked.” She eyed him, wondering what it would be like to walk through life with such a sense of invincibility. It certainly explained his penchant for risk taking. And his ego. She’d read a great deal on god marks in Treatise of the Seven, but the god of war’s mark was an elusive thing, much of it impossible to distinguish from natural talent. Those marked were stronger, faster, able to sense what their enemy or opponent intended. They easily mastered all forms of fighting, had a mind for strategy, a gift for leadership. Above all, they were brave.
“Do you ever wonder how much of it is the mark and how much of it is you?” she asked.
The way his shoulders stiffened told her that he had. “The mark gives me aptitude,” he said. “But I still had to study and learn and train every day for years to master these skills. And I decide what to do with them.”
“Still—”
“Never mind my mark,” he interrupted. “I’m not going to spend my days holding your hand to lend you competence, so best you start