Thief of Lies - Brenda Drake Page 0,60

butt to the bathroom. After tying my hair back, I washed my face and brushed my teeth.

When I glanced in the mirror, I looked the same, but I didn’t recognize myself. Dark circles strangled my eyes. My hair was knotted and wild. I’m not the same. Who am I? I choked on the lump forming in my throat. There was no going back to not knowing about this place. The nightmares would always find me, and I had to learn to deal with it. Who am I? Continued to play in my head. Who am I?

“Come in,” Faith told someone, interrupting my pity party. “Put it over there.”

Faith?

I grabbed a towel off the hook attached to the wall. It was still dark outside the bathroom window. Wondering who would visit us this early, I tightened my robe and charged into the bedroom.

Two men wheeled in a wardrobe.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“I’m not sure.” Faith’s predator stare intimidated the two nervous men. When they had settled the new wardrobe beside the one already against the wall, they rushed off, slamming the door behind them without saying a word.

“When did you get back?”

“While you were in the shower.” Faith pulled open the doors to the wardrobe, acting like nothing happened the night before. “It’s your battle gear.”

Leather pants, metal breastplates with a slight girly curve to them, and light blue blouses hung neatly on hangers across the rod. On the top shelf sat three silver helmets, each shaped like a cat’s head. Five scabbards bedazzled with blue stones hung on one door, while two shields with tiger heads on them dangled on the other. The hilts of the swords were silver tiger heads with sapphire eyes. My heart hammering, I pulled the door wide, metal clanking against metal. Three pairs of calf-high leather boots were in the bottom of the wardrobe. All of this was real—I could no longer deny I was training to become a warrior.

I grabbed a pair of pants and wiggled into them. I squatted to see if they’d bind or bust apart.

“They’re tight but flexible, and the pockets—Love. Them.” I tossed the blouse Faith handed me onto the bed and grabbed my black, long-sleeved T-shirt instead. “I’m not wearing that. It’s not my style.”

“But it’s a uniform,” Faith protested.

“Don’t worry. It still is, just my version.” I slipped the breastplate over my head, and Faith helped me fasten the straps on the sides. Then I finished putting on the rest of the biker-knight gear. “Fits perfect. How’d they know my size?”

“Someone must’ve scanned your body with a measuring charm.” Faith examined me. “You look lethal.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“And—” Faith looked away then back at me “—thank you for saving my life, especially because you are still scared of me.” She shook her head. “That was very powerful magic, breaking a charm spell no one else could. I’d heard you need lots of training. And you don’t know how to conjure, but—”

“They’re right.” I looked at my new gear then out the window. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m not sure I could do that again.” From the corner of my eye, I could see her still studying my face, and I focused on her. “But I’m glad whatever I did worked.” I offered a small smile, and she returned it. The silence continued on for several moments, but it no longer felt awkward between us.

“You better go to breakfast, or you won’t get to eat before practice,” Faith finally said and headed for the bathroom. “Don’t kill anyone with that sword—yet.”

The practice field was empty. Carrig was late, so I stretched and did some jumping jacks to warm up. When he finally bounded onto the grass, his face was all twisted and sinister. He spotted me staring at him and shook away the bull-that-just-saw-red look.

A feeling of doom rushed over me. Crap. He was pissed off about something, which was not good when sparring, especially for me.

“Good to see you warming up.” He dropped a long, narrow duffle bag, and his gaze traveled over me. “Jaysus, you’re a regular warrior in that gear.” He kneeled beside the bag, pulled out two wooden swords and two small balls, and placed them on the ground. He reached his empty hand out to me. “Give me your sword.”

I handed him my scabbard and sword, and he slid them carefully into the bag. “We’ll be using practice swords and globes,” he said. “We wouldn’t want to be killing each other on the

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