“It is. For you, at least.” Her eyes were lit with intention. “A fool will fall victim to the arena, but a cunning man will use it to his benefit. Antaeus knows only how to wield a weapon. He doesn’t know how to work the elements in his favor.”
“Though I’d argue the weapon-wielding is rather important,” Flynn scoffed.
“Which is our final order of business: we practice.” Leila rummaged through her pile, pulling out a waster and tossing it to Tobias. “A gladius for you…” she handed a wooden staff to Flynn, “…a bardiche for you…” she grabbed the last staff and held it at her side, “…and a bardiche for me.”
Flynn laughed. “She gets one too. Isn’t that precious?”
Leila raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”
“I’m just saying, it’s awfully kind of you to want to assist, but perhaps you should let a trained fighter do the honors.”
Glaring, Leila artfully spun her staff before whacking Flynn once in the gut and again on his back, collapsing him belly-first to the floor. She turned to Tobias, cocking her head Flynn’s way. “I’m getting tired of this one. I don’t know how you put up with him all day.”
Flynn moaned, pulling himself from the floor. “You can fight?”
“Of course I can fight! What do you think the slits in my dress are for?”
“To entice men with the subtle glimpse of your milky thighs.”
Tobias groaned. “God…”
“What? Am I wrong?”
“Ignore him. We haven’t time for this.” Leila nodded at Tobias. “Go on, take your stance.”
Tobias faltered. “What stance?”
“Your fighting stance.”
“There’s a stance?”
“Wait…” Flynn furrowed his brow. “You don’t know how to fight?”
“Of course not. I’m an artist. Why would I know how to fight?”
“Your tutors never covered the art of swordplay?” Leila said.
“Tutors?” Tobias’s gaze darted between the two. “I live in a village.”
“I don’t follow.” Flynn turned to Leila. “Do you follow?”
“Not really. I’ve never been to a village.”
“I had no tutors.” Tobias enunciated his words. “I live in a village. My entire home is smaller than the sanctuary.”
Flynn’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Never mind that, we must continue.” Leila tugged at Tobias’s wrists, pulling him into the center of the tunnel. “This is a fighting stance. Your feet…” she kicked his sandals, pushing them apart, “…the same width as your shoulders. Your knees—bent.” She watched as he did as instructed. “Your body—squarely facing your opponent.”
She grabbed his hips, working them into proper position, and Tobias’s throat went dry. She’s touching me. It shouldn’t have mattered, but now every look she gave him carried weight, each touch magnified. The next firm grip of his hips sent his back stiff, and Leila abruptly went still.
“Are you going to be able to concentrate?”
His face burned. “Of course I can concentrate. Why wouldn’t I be able to concentrate?”
Leila nodded. “Elbows bent.” She pulled his forearm forward. “Your sword—pointed at me.” She paused, reconsidering her words. “I suppose that’s incorrect. Your opponent is much, much taller than I am.” She slid her hands up his arm, directing the sword above her head. “Much better.”
Goose bumps—on every inch of flesh she had touched, standing at attention obnoxiously.
“You’ll wield your weapon with one hand. Leave the other free. You never know when you’ll need it—to disarm your opponent, or maybe to punch him in the cock.” She smirked. “I don’t know why you’d punch him in the cock, I just rather enjoy the thought of it.”
“Oh, she’s brutal,” Flynn muttered.
“The gladius holds a set function, but since it’s likely your sole aid in this fight, we’ll have to improvise—put it to use in a variety of ways.” Leila studied the wooden sword. “For this endeavor, your weapon will serve three purposes: to block, to cut, and to thrust.” She rested both hands on Tobias’s arm. “You block for protection. If you can deflect or counter, all the better. Dodging Antaeus’s moves will be your primary objective, but if you cannot dodge…” she rotated his wrist, angling the sword in front of his face, “…the gladius is your shield.”
Tobias listened intently, yet his attention felt divided, split between the impending battle and Leila’s piercing gaze, her soft touch.
“You cut to weaken. A good slash at the tendons goes a long way. And when you swing, you use your whole body.” She squeezed just above his knee. “Your legs will become tense”—she pressed her palm to his navel—“the movement will flow up into your gut”—her hand glided between his pecs—“you’ll feel it in your chest”—she slid her fingers down his shoulder—“and then