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"We've only got until the Hawthorn Moon."

Taru shook her head. "Less than that. You must reach Principality City before the snows set in, when the best armies are to be bought. And we are still too close to the Margolan border for you to stay here."

"Could Jared really reach us here in the Library? Isn't it spelled?"

Taru nodded. "You are safe from his armies within these walls. But we cannot allow him to cut you off from Principality City, and every day that passes makes that possibility greater. Our time is short."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Kiara was the first to reach the salle the next morning. Morning light was just beginning to fill the large room. Jae found a perch on one of the equipment racks. Kiara began to stretch, slowly at first, then with long strides and high kicks.

It feels good to do something familiar, she thought. She whirled and arched into first-level kada, then on through the progression, each level growing increasingly more complex and potentially more lethal. She saw Vahanian standing silently along one wall, watching.

"You're good," he said sincerely. "Want to try-that with a real opponent?"

"Swords or small blades only?"

Vahanian raised an eyebrow as if he had not expected such a challenge. "Small blades, if you think you're up to it. Street rules."

"You're on," she said. Taking a fighting knife in each hand, she straightened and faced Vahanian as the rising sun beyond the windows cast a game board of light and shadow on the wooden salle floor. They circled warily. She watched Vahanian's footwork and the way he held himself. Eastmark trained, she thought, like Derry, and mother. This should be good.

Kiara lunged first, and Vahanian parried, catching her blade on his own and pushing her back. He wheeled, coming close with his blade, but she bent away from him, gracefully eluding his thrust and using the momentum to come up behind him, scoring a nick to his shoulder.

"Quit it!" she snapped as he circled.

"Quit what?"

"Quit taking it easy on me." In response, Vahanian lunged, and this time, his blade sliced the cloth on her sleeve, raising a small cut. Jae screeched from his perch but did not intervene as the two circled and parried. The scrape and clang of their steel blades echoed in the empty salle as they exchanged blows and Kiara sensed the change in Vahanian's manner, the force of his strikes, which told her he judged her worthy of an all-out press.

He swung into a high Eastmark kick. She blocked him, although the force nearly knocked the air from her. It was worth it, she thought, to see the surprise on his face. She used the momentum of his strike to wheel into a kick of her own, and grazed his ear with her boot. At that, she saw the glint in his eye that said the fight was on. She was barely aware of the others who made their way into the salle, watching the combat silently from along the walls. Vahanian kicked again and she caught his leg, using his momentum against him. He went down, but scythed his legs to take her with him. In a heartbeat, the point of his knife was at her throat.

"Yield?"

She saw it register in his eyes as her own knife came up below his breastbone. "Draw."

A grudging smile hinted at the corner of his lips, and he helped her to her feet. Both looked a little chagrined at the applause that greeted them from Tris and the others, who awaited their morning training.

Vahanian leaned forward with his hands on his thighs to catch his breath, and Kiara noted with satisfaction that he was sweating.

"You're good," the mercenary acknowledged. "Damn good. Where'd you learn that?"

Winded, Kiara used her forearm to clear a stray lock of hair from her face and realized she was bleeding. "My armsmaster came from Eastmark. He left there during the Troubles. My mother was also Eastmark born and raised. In Isencroft, two years of military service is required of everyone—even the king's own."

Vahanian noted the shallow cut on her forearm and went to fetch a strip of cloth and a bit of salve. The cut she had scored on him was bleeding through his shirt, but he did not seem to notice. "I imagine you can get Carina to heal that if you want," he said, with a cynical smile. "You likely won't get the lecture that comes with the healing I get."

The others crowded around them with appreciative comments, until Vahanian raised a hand for silence.

"Now that we've got a salle and not some Goddess-forsaken clearing in the woods," he said, "it's time to get down to real training. We'll also train with a bow and crossbow. It might not be a bad thing for our bard there," he said with a nod to Carroway, "to enlighten us about throwing knives. I'll keep working you on swords. And since there's been interest in footwork," he said, with a glance toward Kiara, "perhaps Kiara would help me work with anyone who thinks he's up to it." He straightened his tunic. "To fit that in means double practices," he said and Kiara chuckled at the reaction. "If you're going to start a war, you're going to need all the practice you can get."

A candlemark later, Kiara dipped a cup from the bucket by the window when Tris approached. "I'm impressed," he said.

She searched his expression for any hint of sarcasm and found none. To her chagrin, she could feel the color rise in her face.

"Thanks," she murmured. "I guess that's one of the good things about my Journey," she said, meeting his eyes and looking away. "I can actually use my training out here. There wasn't much call for it with the ladies at court."

"The ladies at court are overrated," Tris replied evenly. "At least, I always thought so."

Kiara turned to look at him. His eyes were absolutely serious, and she saw nothing in his manner to suggest that he felt any distaste for her skill. She offered him the water cup. "I thought I was the only one who didn't care for court."

"If you two are done at the water barrel—" Vahanian interrupted, calling them back to the group. Tris flashed a mischievous grin and sauntered back to the group, and she followed a step behind, lost in thought.

After arms practice, Tris found Sister Taru waiting for him. With her was Keeper Devin, a man of middle years with a close-shaved tonsure of white hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. His dark brown eyes were uncomfortably perceptive, and he had a swarthy complexion that suggested blood-lines from Nargi or Trevath. Tris followed them to a study room and was grateful to see a mid-morning snack of bread, cheese and dried fruit set out on a table. Taru handed him a warm cup of tea from a kettle on the hearth. The fire barely drove back the autumn chill.

"I have shared with Devin what we learned yesterday," Taru said. "He has many questions for you."

Tris took a seat near the hearth. "I want to understand this... gift. And I'd like to stop being knocked flat on my back every time I do a major working."

Devin chuckled. "Such is the price of magic, I fear. But with practice and skill come resilience. Now, tell me about the spirits of Shekerishet and your experiences on the journey north."

It took a candlemark for Tris to answer Devin. The Keeper made him go back over the encounters with the spirits on the way from Margolan, quizzing him on how it felt when he used his power, and what—specifically—he did in each situation. Devin was most interested in the encounter with the evil spirit who possessed Carina and with the spirits of the Ruune Videya. Finally, when Tris could tell him no more, Devin closed his eyes.

After a moment, he looked at Taru. "He is indeed the heir of Bava K'aa. A spirit mage with less power would not have survived these tests."