Denber climbed to his feet. "Of course. Sleep." He paused, hand on the door. "Nothing is going to take you away from the Hawks, Ilanna. Nothing."
Ilanna turned her face away, not wanting him to see her tears. She didn't move until she heard the door shut behind him.
"Damn you, Sabat!"
Ilanna shouted her throat raw. It felt good to hurl curses into the empty room until her strength gave out. She lay back, exhausted and panting, her fingers curled into fists. Her arms ached from the effort, but not as much as they had before. A gentle tingling spread through her numb fingers. Though it was slow, she was healing.
How long has it been? Three weeks? Four? Journeyman Tyman had told her to stay in bed. But she couldn't afford to. She'd dedicated herself to House Hawk. I can't let them send me away. I can't…I won't let all my hard work go to waste.
She shuddered, thinking back to the Grubbers she'd encountered on the street. Wisp-thin creatures wearing filthy, reeking clothes, one and all. But what choice did she have? She was useless to the Hawks in her bed.
So I'll get up. I won't lie in bed a moment longer, not if my fate in House Hawk hangs in the balance.
She tried to sit up, grunting with the effort. The splints held her arms and legs immobile, and her torso was too weak to lift her. It took long minutes of struggle to finally rise. Lowering her feet to the floor, she slowly placed her weight onto her legs. They ached, but she ignored the pain. Her muscles quivered from the effort. Weeks of disuse had left her legs—once strong enough to run miles without tiring—drained and exhausted.
I-I can't! Agony raced up and down her legs, and her vision wavered. She slumped back onto the bed, too weak to stand. Despair slammed into her like a physical blow. She lay there, sobbing, half her body hanging off the bed. All her hard work of the last years, gone.
The Journeymen were right. I am useless as a Hawk!
Chapter Thirty-One
"Ilanna, you've been at this for days. You have to stop pushing yourself!"
Ilanna ignored Prynn. He means well. She clenched her fists and took another unsteady step.
Tyman had removed the splints two weeks earlier, but the pain hadn't faded. Two months of confinement to her bed left her leg muscles weak from inactivity. She could walk no more than a few paces before needing rest. Still, she forced herself to move as much as she could.
I can't afford to stop. Not if I want to remain a Hawk.
A flash of pain raced up and down her legs. Her knees sagged and she hit the ground hard.
"Ilanna!" Prynn rushed to help her.
She waved him away. The pity in his eyes twisted a dagger in her gut. "I can do it, Prynn. You have to let me…do it." She refused to cry out. I won't be weak
She was still a long way from climbing the Perch, running the Hawk's Dozen, or returning to the rooftops of Praamis. But she would not quit. She would not be sent away from House Hawk. The mud of the streets belonged to the Grubbers; the skies belonged to the Hawks.
They belong to me. She levered herself upright, leaning on the wall for support. Gritting her teeth, she continued her shambling, stuttering walk. I will see them once more.
* * *
The needle dipped into the thick fabric of the pants. Ilanna grimaced at the pain in her forearms. Her fingers felt numb, clumsy. Her stitches, once so neat and orderly, now ran along the tear in a disordered mess. But she didn't stop, despite the cramps. The movement helped to strengthen her fingers and hands, and the stitching grew easier. Slowly, one day at a time, she recovered.
Too slowly. She ached to race across the rooftops of Praamis with the others. Anything to get out of this horrible, stuffy room.
She hadn't seen daylight in almost three months. She hadn't the strength to walk the short distance to the Perch—she could hardly make the trek from her bed to the chair and back. She craved the warmth of sunshine, the chill of a cool breeze wafting across her face. More than anything, she wished she could trade the stale air of the bunk room for the fresh scents of her garden.
Her thoughts strayed to Denber. She hadn't seen the older Hawk in more than a month, not since his last visit to her bedside. A stab of sorrow flashed through her. Why hasn't he come? His Undertaking—whatever that is—consumed his time and attention completely.
The door opened and closed. "Ilanna?"
She raised her head. "What is it, Werrin?" A tingle ran through her neck and she twisted her head to sooth the ache.
The boy held up a shirt. "It's ripped. I…I can take it to Bert, if you—"
"Leave it," Ilanna snapped. "I'll get to it."
Werrin reddened. "I…uh…"
"I said leave it." Fire burned in her chest. "Or do you think I'm useless, too?"
Werrin dropped the shirt and fled.
Ilanna ground her teeth. She wanted to apologize, but anger held her back. I hate how they all look at me. Pity, that's what it is. They think I'm weak. My body may be, but I'm stronger than they can imagine.
The needle dipped and tugged, and Ilanna ignored the pain in her hands and fingers.
Soon enough, they'll see just how strong I am. Once I'm healed, I'll show them all what it means to be strong.
* * *
"Easy, Ilanna." Ethen held out a warning hand, his brow furrowed. "That dust is incredibly poisonous. Even a small amount can be fatal."
A bead of sweat rolled down Ilanna's forehead. She resisted the urge to wipe it away, wincing as it dripped in her eye. The cloth covering her face stifled her. The thick leather gloves made her hands slick.
"How's this?" She flexed her hands. Her forearms ached from grinding the dried beans into a fine dust.
Ethen inspected the contents of her mortar. "Keep at it."
"What?" Ilanna wanted to club him over the head with the stone pestle. "I've been doing this forever!"
"Keep grinding, Ilanna."
"Why?" She glared. "What difference does it make how fine the stupid dust is?"
Ethen raised an eyebrow. "Are you questioning the Journeymen of House Scorpion?"
Ilanna snarled. "No, I'm questioning the infuriating apprentice who's making me grind castor beans until my hands bleed."
Ethen grinned. "Good to see your temper is returning. Means you're healing nicely."
Ilanna rolled her eyes and flipped him a rude gesture.
Ethen broke into laughter. "Ah, Ilanna. What fun we are having!" His face grew serious. "Now keep grinding."
"Not until you tell me why." She folded her arms across her chest.
Ethen held up two fingers. "Two reasons. First, the finer the poison, the harder it will be for your victim to detect it. You can mix this fine dust into any drink, add it into dough, or even blow it into your target's face."
"And what's the second reason?"
"Simple: it'll strengthen your hands. Before your…injuries, you'd have gone for hours without tiring. I'm just doing my part." He grinned. "Which leads me back to my original point: Keep. Grinding."
With a growl of frustration, Ilanna seized her pestle and returned to work. He means well, but does he have to be so damned smug about it?
* * *
Ilanna ran fingers over the unfamiliar face looking back at her from the mirror. The eyes were hers, but the protruding cheekbones, the fine line of her mouth, and the scar above her right eyebrow all belonged to a stranger.
Will the scars ever fade? Six months had passed since Sabat's assault. Her body had healed, on the outside at least. But the grim, wary interloper in the mirror looked nothing like the frightened tyro or the Hawk who'd laughed her first time on the rooftops of Praamis. Her eyes had a hard, cold edge. Everything about her had changed.
She tucked the sliver of mirror beneath her blanket and shuffled from the bunk room.
Her eleventh nameday had come and gone...how long ago? A week? A month? She'd hardly noticed. She noticed very little beyond her training. Every muscle ached from weeks of hard training. The bones had healed, but they were still weak. The
pain served as a constant reminder of what she'd lost, of how far she'd fallen.
Conversation died as she entered the common room. Filling her plate, she took her place at the table. Tense silence filled the room. Prynn avoided her eyes and the twins shared a glance. Only Bert remained unaffected; he continued his assault on a mountain of potatoes.
Ilanna's stomach twisted. She wanted to talk to them, to restore the camaraderie they'd shared. But what can I say? In her anger and frustration, she'd snarled and shouted at them more times than she could count. A nagging worry settled in the back of her mind. Had she severed their bond forever?
The common room door banged open. "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."
Ilanna's eyes widened. "Denber?" She dropped her bowl and whirled around.
The older Hawk no longer wore the muted browns of an apprentice. Instead, he wore dark robes hemmed with a deep chestnut. He adopted an expression of mock severity. "That's Journeyman Denber to you, apprentice."
Ilanna rolled her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"Coming to check up on you all. I wanted to see just how terrible things have gotten in my absence."
Prynn snorted and spoke through a mouthful of oats. "Much better, thank you."
Denber grinned and clapped him on the back. "You're keeping the twins in line, Prynn?"
"Not possible." Prynn shook his head." Kept them alive thus far, though."
"I'd call that good enough." He scanned the common room. "Jarl?"
"Undertaking. Not been around much these days."
Denber nodded. "So it's just the four of you, then."
Ilanna's face flushed. "Five."
"Of course. I just meant…" Denber trailed off lamely.
Ilanna knew full well what he meant. She didn't need anyone's help to feel useless. "So what brings you here, Journeyman Denber?" She added extra bite to the word.
"You lot, actually."
Ilanna raised an eyebrow.
Denber waved at her. "Your…injuries got me thinking. We Hawks are many things. Courageous. Strong. Clever."
"Foolhardy," Werrin piped up.
"Idiots," Willem added. "Or at least some of us." He dug an elbow into Werrin's ribs.
Denber nodded. "Yes, all those things. But the one thing we are not is fighters."
Ilanna reached for her knife, but her fingers found an empty scabbard. Sabat had taken her knife that day.
"Which is why I've asked Journeyman Ullard here to come."
For the first time, Ilanna noticed the man behind Denber. He wore the same rich robes as Denber, but trimmed with emerald green.
Prynn raised an eyebrow. "A Serpent?"
Denber nodded. "Who better to teach you to fight—and kill, if necessary—than those who do it for a living?"
Journeyman Ullard looked about Denber's age. He stood a handspan taller than the Hawk, with broader shoulders and scarred hands. He carried himself with quiet assurance. His hands never strayed far from his belt, where a pair of serpent-headed daggers hung in leather sheaths.
"So what do you say?" Denber eyed the apprentices in turn. "Did my friend waste his time in coming here?"
Ilanna pondered the offer. She knew how to kill with a dagger, but her fighting skills ended there. Could she really turn down the chance to learn more? Ethen had taught her many of the secrets of the Scorpions. His lessons had done more than just teach her poisons and potions; they'd instilled in her an eagerness to learn. Knowledge, she'd realized, held power.
She climbed to her feet and nodded. "I'm in."
The lines in Denber's forehead smoothed and his shoulders relaxed.
"Me, too," Werrin and Willem said at the same time.
Prynn nodded.
Bert put down his fork and swallowed his food. "I guess I don't have much of a choice."
Denber smiled. "Good. Training begins immediately."
Chapter Thirty-Two
The ring of steel on steel echoed off the walls of the Aerie. Ilanna watched, spellbound, as Denber and Ullard moved back and forth in an intricate dance of clashing blades. Their long swords dipped, darted, and thrust, bright metal reflecting in the sunlight. They moved with confidence, exchanging a flurry of blows in the space of a few heartbeats.
I had no idea Denber knew how to fight. No one could question his skill on the Perch or the rooftops of Praamis, but to handle a blade like this? What other talents did he keep hidden?
The two separated with a flourish, dripping sweat, panting with the effort. They bowed to each other and turned to face the open-mouthed Hawks.
"That, my friends, is what it means to be a fighter." Denber handed the sword to Ullard. "If you learn these skills, you will never find yourself helpless."
His eyes flashed to Ilanna and she winced.
Werrin eyed the heavy sword with a dubious expression. "And you expect us to lift those bloody things?"
Ullard shook his head. "No." He threw the boys wooden staves. "You get to start with these first. Get used to the feel of them. You don't get to touch steel for a long while yet."
Ilanna raised her hand. "What about me?"
He nodded. "I have just the thing for you." He held out a long, slim stick.
She eyed it with distaste. "This thing? It's as thin as my pinky." She pointed to the thick, arm-length sticks the other Hawks had. "Why don't I get one of those swords?"
Ullard's frown deepened. "Tell me, do you think you're as strong as any of your fellows?"
Ilanna eyed the other Hawks. None, save Prynn, matched her skill with a dagger, but in terms of strength, they all outclassed her. Before her injuries, she might have had a chance against Werrin or Willem. Now, however…
She shook her head.
"Good." He nodded. "That's the first lesson you must learn."
Ilanna narrowed her eyes.
A shrewd smile played at the corners of Ullard's mouth. "The first thing Serpent apprentices learn is that all men are created different." He flexed his arms. "Some are stronger than others. Some are quicker. And some are smarter. Many are fortunate enough to combine two of those attributes. It is rare to find a fighter with all three." He pointed at Ilanna. "What would you say is your greatest strength?"
Ilanna shrugged. "I...don't know."
Ullard nodded. "Good. That's the second lesson. When it comes to skill at arms, you know nothing." He studied her, stroking his chin. "Do you know what I see?"
Ilanna shook her head.
"I see intelligence. If you can learn to outthink your opponent, you will survive. You will never be stronger, but there is potential for speed. To be a truly great fighter, you must combine the two." He pointed to the stick he had given her. "That weapon is meant for quick, intelligent fighters. The others can develop strength, but you must learn to think and move with speed. Do that, and you stand a chance of survival." He eyed her askance. "Slim though it may be."
* * *
Face burning, Ilanna picked herself up from the ground. That's the fifth time in the last hour!
I hate this! She loved the lessons of swordplay—fencing, Ullard calls it. She loved the sensation of sweat rolling down her back and dripping from her forehead. But she despised her slow, clumsy movements. Her legs refused to keep up with the rest of her body. Minutes into her training, pain raced through her hands and fingers. Her shoulders burned from the effort of holding the blade level. When she tried to match Ullard's rapid shuffle-steps, her feet dragged.
"Don't worry, Ilanna. It takes time to learn the saber." Denber clapped her on the back. "You're doing better, you know. Your form is much tighter and you're moving more easily."
She stifled a retort. What he meant as encouragement felt patronizing. The pity in his eyes sent a fire of rage racing through her gut. Even after all this time, he still sees me as weak.
She fell into the defensive stance Ullard had taught her. She cut, thrust, and parried in time with his barked orders. This time, despite a few stumbles, she completed the form without fal
ling.
Ullard nodded. "Good. Rest, get some water, then back to it. First form, high-low strikes." Grudging approval replaced the disdain in his eyes.
Tucking the wooden saber into her belt, Ilanna stumbled to the bench. She emptied a cup of watered wine in a single draught, refilled it, and emptied it again. Exhausted, she collapsed onto the bench, shoulders slumped, elbows on her knees.
Ullard's quiet words floated toward her. "You weren't lying when you called her strong-willed, Denber."
"You haven't seen the half of it," Denber replied in a low voice. "Once she recovers fully, she'll be whipping the others into shape in no time."
Shock coursed through Ilanna. Ullard always seemed so dismissive of her, more so than with the others. But to hear him say that…
She raised her head. Ullard stood watching her, hands clasped behind his back. Beside him, Denber grinned and nodded. She dropped her head into her hands, but not out of shame. She did it to hide the flush of red and the smile on her lips.
* * *
"Remember, Ilanna, learn to outthink your opponent. Find his weaknesses."
Ilanna cut and thrust in time with Ullard's words. The wooden blade darted through the air like the tongue of a viper.
"Let him strike at you at will." Ullard thrust with his heavy wooden blade, a strike meant to bury his sword in her gut.
She interposed her lighter stick, tapping his sword and sending it wide.
"Good. Do not block, deflect. Do not parry, turn aside." He struck an overhead blow and Ilanna twisted aside. "Be where he least expects you. Go for the kill."
He brought his wooden sword around in an exaggerated strike for her head. Ducking, Ilanna stepped inside his guard. Her off-hand tapped his throat, gut, and inner thigh, simulating dagger strikes.
She grinned up at him. "You're dead."
Ullard grunted. "You're learning." He retreated, bowed, and tucked the wooden blade into his belt. "I'll be off, then. Same time tomorrow."
Ilanna returned the bow, hiding a smile. Finally! After two months of hard training, she finally saw progress. She flexed her hands; her grip had grown stronger, better able to hold the wooden sword without tiring. The ache in her arms and legs had faded. Her muscles kept up with the demands of training more easily.
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