Alteration

Chapter 1

I ducked as the rapier whistled through the air past my shoulder, nearly catching skin. I jumped up, whipping out my own weapon—only to find my father's already at my stomach.

"Dead," he informed.

I stepped back, swiping wet hair from my face with an exasperated huff. A light rainfall had begun around our cabin, thick purple clouds moving in from the Northernlands. Lighting flashed at the edges of the sky. I let out a heavy sigh and reset my form.

"Again!" he lunged forward, rapier swatting mine aside, flinging it out into the air. I dive-rolled across the muddy field, scooping it from the ground as a new wave of attacks whipped their way toward me. There was no pattern to them, no sense, just wild aggression as a real battle would have. He was quick, testing my reactions, unpredictably switching his pace to catch me in a weak spot.

I struggled to block everything, breathing hard as lightning caught the corner of my eye—and a thwack of pain stung my side. I'd broken focus. Only for a second, but a second was enough.

"An ending wound," he warned, shaking his head. The disappointment in his voice was nearly worse than the physical pain. Though he was a warm parent, he was a cold, unforgiving teacher.

Thunder rumbled around us, a temporary distraction while I caught my breath. We might train all night if he thought it just. I strained my fingers against the cold metal of my sword's knuckle guard, angry at myself. No matter how hard I tried, how fast I jabbed, he was one step ahead. Would always be one step ahead. It was exhausting.

"Other hand," he said.

"No."

"Other hand!" he commanded, whacking my dominant arm with the flat side of his blade.

I growled, the pain forcing me to drop the handle into my left hand. I smacked his rapier away... and again, and again. I blundered toward him, our metal clinking, speed increasing. I felt unwieldy, holding my dead arm behind me, but frustration fueled me further.

"Emotions control you, Emery," he said, jabbing at the bruise on my side arm in between blocks, feeding my anger. "Battle is physical," he swatted again, "second nature," he stuck my leg, tripping me amid footwork, "take the feeling out of it."

I broke, rushing him as fast as I could. I fiercely slashed, sweat forming on my brow, rebuffed again and again by his effortless wrist-work. With a final deep gasp, I whirled around to the other side and lunged—

Bang. A cup of hog wine slammed on the table before me, splashing onto my hand. I startled and looked up.

"Pay attention, my girl! Always in your head..." Hilda released the wooden cup handle and headed back toward the pub counter, wiping her hands on her apron. Her thick accent got worse when she was scolding. "Give that to table in corner. Brown fur."

I turned around, the world flooding back to me: music, dancing, laughter, red fabric draping strung through the wooden rafters. It was the Festival of the Merchant and travelers had come from all over to celebrate the holiday with a roof over their head. Almost the whole town had been in the tavern all day drinking and yelling, and while it was good for commerce, I was exhausted.

It was also the largest crowd we'd ever had—markedly so—and I wondered for a moment what might've brought so many foreigners this year over others. My eyes glazed over as I scanned the room, unnerved at how many faces I didn't recognize.

"Hup-hup! Before he eat you." Hilda flashed me a quick smile, before disappearing to the back room to grab plates of food. I gave an embarrassed nod and took the cup, making my way across the floor.