Izra left before breakfast.
I chose an empty table and picked at the food absently — a slab of salted fish, a bread roll, and a few boiled carrots. Though I knew I needed to focus on the training that would begin shortly, my mind continued to summon unsettling images of a child Izra paying for Denavin's protection — and of the adult Izra paying for Denavin's silence. When a plate thumped the table beside me, I jumped a few inches from my chair.
"Morning, Epsa," said Zander. "The bread roll offended you, is it?"
I glanced down at the decimated bread. "I... didn't realize..."
He waved the stump wrist in dismissal. "Daresay I have something of a vendetta against bread myself. Was straightening bread loaves in the market when the Royal Guard thought I was stealing. They cut off my hand and didn't give me a chance to finish straightening the loaves."
My lips parted audibly as I stared at him. "Really? Is that actually how you lost your hand?"
His mustache twitched with his frown. "You think I'm inventing stories, is it?"
I sighed. "No... I'm starting to realize stories are much nicer than reality."
He tilted his head. "But sometimes, we can write our own stories."
Thinking of my mother, Izkar, and Pim, I shook my head. "It doesn't feel that way. It feels like everything is already written."
Zander lifted a forkful of food to his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. After he swallowed, he tapped his fork against his plate beside the carrots, "Do you think a carrot seed knows it is being planted? Or does it only curse the cold, hard dirt blocking out the sun?"
I blinked at him. "I'm... not sure I'm following."
"Do you know the story behind Darkday?"
"It's the day the gods who once roamed Najila abandoned humanity."
"Ep, ep, ep. Not abandoned." He stabbed a carrot and lifted it before him as if to provide evidence. "Gave us time to grow."
Zander leaned toward me and lowered his voice. "I know Izra's with Denavin. I know you feel angry and helpless. I do too. I have for a long time."
I furrowed my brow. "You mean... how much do you know?"
He grimaced, glancing around us. "I don't know anything. Izra always acts like nothing is wrong, and everyone else believes her. But I've always suspected."
"Then help me help her. What can I do?"
Zander set down his fork and patted my hand. "First, you can eat. Then you can train this group. Izra will be free when everyone else is — when the King is dead."
His earnest words eased the tension over my chest. I released a breath and nodded. "You're right. Thank you, Zander."
He shrugged and picked up his fork once more. "Thank you for leading us. Daresay we need you, Epsa."
* * *
An hour later, sweat drenched tunics all around me, and sour body odor and hot humidity filled the room. Energized by Zander's words and my own need to keep my mind off of Izra, I worked the group even harder than the day before. The group responded by matching my energy, teeth gritting and nostrils flaring with the intensity of their focus.
Plu fought harder than on previous days, though she still retreated the moment her opponent gained the upper hand. Jek continued to ignore my direction. After he barely beat a huffing Navi, I grabbed a wooden sword from the rack and approached him.
"If you don't want my advice, show me what you can do without me. Beat me."
His lips hooked in a sneer, but a trace of nerves flickered across his eyes. "Fine. Let's see if you're really as good as you think you are."
As we squared off, the rest of the room quieted, eyes drawn to us. My own gaze fastened to Jek, anticipating his first move.
Jek's biceps bulged as he slashed at me once, twice, a third time. I batted his attacks aside with easy waves of the sword. When his blade swung askew, I tapped mine to his chest.
He growled and rolled his eyes. "One lucky win doesn't mean anything."
"Again," I said, raising my sword.
Moments later, I caught him out of position and touched my sword to his neck before he could recover. As he began to snort another derisive response, I cut him off by lifting my sword once more.
"Again."
In the third fight, I took advantage of his awkward sword grip to disarm him, sending the sword clattering to the floor. By now, most of the room watched us. Ru, Plu, and several others grinned, but Janafir's black eyebrows pulled together, scrunching the space above his broad nose.
Jek folded his arms over his puffed chest and glared down at me.
I crouched to scoop up his sword and extended the hilt toward him. "Again."
He eyed the sword without moving his arms. "I think you've made your point. How many times must we repeat this pointless exercise?"
"Until you beat me," I said. "Once you beat me, Rashika's Resistance can beat the Royal Guard."
Jek's arms slipped down to his sides, and his expression twisted into something resembling confusion rather than anger. He licked his lips and shot a glance at Janafir, who nodded at him.
Jek accepted the hilt of his sword and hesitantly met my gaze. "Fine. Show me what I'm doing wrong."
I began the redirection tentatively, starting with the easier changes. Gradually, his shoulders and facial muscles relaxed. And as he relaxed, so did I.
The team continued to spar and practice moves independently while I focused on Jek. However, once I resumed observing the rest of the group, they each vied for my attention.
"Epsa, am I doing this right?"
"Epsa, is this the correct form?"
And even the occasional, "Epsa, watch this!"
Despite my worry about Izra still festering in the back of my mind, pride swelled in my chest. Engrossed in training, I didn't notice the newcomer slip into the room. In the middle of demonstrating a parrying technique for Ru, my eyes caught on her. Izra leaned back against the wall with one foot crossed over the other. Her arms folded over her chest, and her lips twitched in a smile.
My heart skipped a beat, and I fumbled the sword. When I recovered, I instructed Ru to practice what I had just shown her and excused myself. I jogged toward Izra, stopping five feet away to examine her. Her hair slipped over her shoulders in a glossy black curtain, and her clothing swept over her frame in easy, neat lines. A light danced in her dark eyes.
Relief and apprehension warred in my chest. I licked my lips and drew in a breath, unsure how to ask what I wanted to know.
"Are you... how was...?"
"It was fine." Her brow ticked together, although her eyes remained light. "Denavin has been gathering information from her contacts to continue assisting the Resistance. She learned the Royal Guard will be arresting anyone out celebrating the Day of Acrador next Darkday, so she is spreading word for Lesser God worshippers to stay home."
"If she still wants to help, that seems good," I said slowly.
"True," she said. "She also apologized for what she did to you. She said she was just scared of seeing you hurt me again."
Disbelief wormed through my gut, but I forced a neutral tone. "Do you believe her?"
She shrugged one shoulder and pushed off the wall to step toward me. "I know she's wrong about you."
Before I could ask another question, Izra sauntered past me toward one of the sword racks. She drew out a blade, tipped her head toward the group, and raised an eyebrow at me.
"I'm ready, Captain. Put me to work."
The next couple of hours passed to the beat of scuffling feet, clacking swords, and panting breaths. When I called the end to the training session, bodies drooped with exhaustion, but energy buzzed through the room. The group shoved the tables back into place on one side of the room, leaving the other side empty.
I turned a questioning gaze to Izra.
"Everyone who doesn't attend the Coupling celebrates Darkday here each week," said Izra. She nodded at the open space in the cafeteria. "That's the dance floor."
I had little experience or interest in dancing, but the idea of dancing with Izra stirred warmth in my chest. Around us, the rest of the group filtered out of the room, leaving only the two of us.
Voice just a bit too pinched to masquerade as casual, I said, "Do you dance?"
She shook her head. "I'm never here on Darkday. I always attend the Coupling."
"Oh." I squeezed the fingers of one hand with the other, locking my gaze on the empty dance floor. "So when will you leave?"
"I don't think I'll go to the Coupling tonight."
My breath caught in my chest, and I raised my eyebrows at Izra. "No? Why not?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "The only person I am interested in is already here."
I bit my lip over a smile. "Really?"
Izra grabbed my hand. "Come — we'll need to bathe and change into something nicer before the dance begins."
I furrowed my brow. "I only have tunics and trousers."
"You can wear one of my dresses," said Izra.
I huffed a laugh and shook my head. "None of your dresses will fit me."
"Any of them will fit you. I just won't be able to wear it after."
"After I stretch it out?"
She flashed me a heated gaze, the kind that sizzled over my skin and then shot straight to my core. "After I see how amazing it looks on you."
Then she started toward the door, dragging me along with her.
After we both bathed, Izra slipped on a moss-green gown that complimented her deep olive skin beautifully. Then she laid out three different options for me to try on. I started with a shimmering aqua dress which slit up to mid-thigh. The slouching neckline revealed my shoulders and an unexpected expanse of cleavage.
I started to grab the second dress, which I hoped would provide better coverage, but Izra snatched the other two dresses behind her back. Her gaze slid down my body and back up, and her voice left in a breathless rasp.
"Wear that one."
I trapped my lip between my teeth, eyes flitting down to the exposed cleavage. "I don't know. It's a bit..."
"Wear it." That helpless, adoring smile graced her lips. "Please?"
I rolled my eyes, though a giddy flutter strummed my gut. Especially when Izra ambled toward me and pressed a kiss to my lips. The affectionate, almost chaste peck sparked a not nearly as chaste warmth in my core.
Then she snagged my hand and pulled me back toward the cafeteria.
When we reached the room, a few of Alira's archers already tuned make-shift string instruments to the breathy murmur of Alira's pan flute. Other archers, sword fighters, cooks, and consultants mingled in small groups around the room. Gowns replaced the sweat-soaked tunics, hair weaved in loose braids, and trimmed beards framed faces.
Izra filled two mugs with prak from a metal drink dispenser and handed one to me. As I gulped down the spicy, bitter liquid, the pan flute fluttered over twangy strings. A few couples sashayed toward the open space in front of the musicians. When shoulders shimmied and hips swayed, a bout of nerves sprouted inside me. This was nothing like the quiet, organized shuffle of feet I had seen in the palace back when the ballroom was still used.
Izra contemplated the dance floor with equal consternation. "I don't actually know how to dance."
"Neither do I," I said.
"Maybe we should just watch."
"Maybe."
Ru and Janafir entered the dance floor and circled each other with snapping fingers. Zander dragged Plu onto the dance floor, his elbows and knees jerking in time to the music.
I thought I saw Izra's eyes dart my way, but when I side-glanced her, she watched the dance. Her fingers strummed her thighs.
Pale skin and flaming red hair appeared in front of me, and Jek proffered a meaty hand. I raised an eyebrow. His eyes shone from the drink, but his words were steady.
"Dance with me."
I hesitated. "I never dance."
"I never take instruction from wild boars," said Jek.
I set down my drink and laid my palm over his.
The moment we reached the dance floor, Jek's usual stiff posture loosened. His hips rolled in an easy circle. When I shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, he slapped a palm to his forehead and shook his head.
"You dance exactly the way I expected a wild boar to dance," he said, but his voice carried a smile.
"Then show me what I'm doing wrong?"
"Gladly. First, loosen up. You can't dance without letting go a little."
His hands found the flare of my hips and drew them back and forth to the beat. Though the touch was brusque and efficient, I darted a glance at Izra.
Jek chuckled. "Relax. Izra and Janafir both know you and I have no interest in each other."
I craned my neck to look over my shoulder. Janafir chatted with Ru, but his eyes fastened to Jek. I turned back toward Jek and raised my eyebrows.
"You and Janafir are... together?"
"Going on five years now. Married for three." He removed one hand to show the bracelet of woven string wrapping his thick wrist, a Fooja wedding tradition.
"Didn't you grow up together at Rashika's Refuge and in the Resistance?"
"Right. We punched and yelled at each other for ten years, and then overnight he became sexy. Very alarming."
A laugh escaped me, startling both of us. "I can imagine."
Jek grinned at me. "Not as alarming as Izra falling for a wild boar, though."
My laugh caught in my throat. "I can imagine that, too."
"Wild boars killed my parents and enslaved the rest of my family," said Jek, tone surprisingly even. "I hate wild boars too much to trust you fully. But I have to admit that since you've been around, Izra's been... happier."
Before I could respond, he tugged my hand, leading me away from the dance floor. He stopped in front of Izra, grabbed Izra's hand, and placed it on mine. Then, without another word, he cut across the floor toward Janafir.
I stared at the place where our hands connected for a moment before lifting my gaze to meet Izra's. A smile played across her lips, but the tilt of her head and fluttering dark eyelashes made her look the same way I felt — like a schoolgirl suddenly left alone with her crush.
Finally, Izra said, "Well, maybe we should dance, after all?"
"Maybe," I said.
We paced several feet onto the dance floor, and then Izra faced me and slid her hands over my hips. Her fingers swept over my dress, barely touching, but my skin tingled with the memory of her hands on my naked flesh.
We began to sway to the music, and our eyes connected. The lanterns lining the wall brought out the contrast in her black hair and eyes, tan skin, and moss-green dress. My hand found the place where her collarbone met her dress. At the graze of my fingertips, lust heated her gaze.
Then I stepped on her foot.
I jerked back a step as she winced. "I'm sorry!"
"My fault," she said with a laugh. "I wasn't following your lead."
"I thought you were leading."
Her smile remained, but her eyes on mine grew serious. "No. I think you should."