Change of Darkness (The Change Series Book 3) by Jacinta Jade (best new books to read txt) 📕

with mild interest at his chief archon as he straightened one handguard.

But Siraay thought there was some other emotion layered beneath the question.

Pyron didn’t reply for the space of a breath, maybe also sensing something, but he gathered himself swiftly. ‘No, I’m ready to go.’ He shot a quick glare at Siraay.

Chezran nodded and, pivoting, strode away to the other end of the training hall without engaging anyone further.

An instant later, Pyron passed by Siraay to follow his lord, close enough that she could feel the air from him as he breezed by, not quite touching her.

A subtle, but certain, threat. Siraay looked after the pair as they moved away, not sure what to make of their exchange.

Loce noted her glance. ‘Lord Chezran takes his training very seriously. He has to—being lord and all.’

Siraay nodded, then forced herself to turn away from the now distant pair and meet Loce’s eyes. ‘Shall we continue?’

***

Siraay lost awareness of the room around herself for what seemed like a long time as she reengaged with Loce in hand-to-hand combat, her perception of her surroundings shrinking to a total focus on Loce’s body—especially his shoulders, torso, and feet.

It was something her former self had learned from Wexner. While most people automatically stared at the face of their opponent, skilled fighters focused on the shoulders and chest area. While a knowledgeable fighter might be able to divine clues about another fighter’s intentions from their face, an experienced fighter’s face was usually the last part of the body to convey what their intent might be.

And when you had a sliver of an instant to react to an attack, being able to know what was coming—from watching what the shoulders of a person could reveal—could mean the difference between survival or death.

And Loce was a skilled fighter. Although he appeared to be looking at her face, Siraay could tell that his focus was on the line of her shoulders, given the way he moved in sync with her.

This time, they started sparring at a more gradual pace, trading blows for a number of rounds and breaking apart before they would leap in again once more.

Slowly, the pace of their fight began to increase, the necklace at Siraay’s throat bouncing with her more sudden movements.

Siraay was doing better this time around, now that she knew of Loce’s skill and what to expect. Yet she could feel that her body, in comparison to his, was still slower, and far more clumsy. Not that she was unskilled—she wasn’t, and had proved this against the Xarcon soldiers in the arena the day before.

But when compared to this demonstration of speed and power, hidden so well within a slight frame … Siraay gritted her teeth and pushed her body harder and faster, promising herself that she would work hard at her training until she could best Loce.

Anything less would be unacceptable to her.

In the meantime, she used her agility and flexibility to dodge what attacks she could, making sure she never stayed still long enough for him to be able to get the drop on her.

This meant she had to work her body twice as hard, but after a number of long rounds that left her gear soaked in sweat and her limbs shaky, Loce still had not managed to pin her down again. Not that she was without bruises from the number of times his quick hands had found their mark on her body, or from the heavy blows he had landed with his legs. But each was a lesson in combat that she could learn from.

As they separated a final time, both breathing hard, the rest of the training area came back into Siraay’s awareness, and as she brushed a few wet, dangling strands of her hair away from her face, she heard the sounds of other heavy breathing and thumps coming from behind her.

She turned.

Her own sweaty condition and state of exhaustion was forgotten in an instant as she took in the view before her, her eyes widening.

Chezran and Pyron were sparring, but it was at such an intensity and with such aggression that she could only watch, breathless, as they both attacked, defended, and countered over and over.

Bare-chested once more, fresh sweat shining on the muscles in his chest and stomach, Pyron’s hands were a blur as they whipped through the air for Chezran’s head, each strike accurate and deadly, his approach heated and angry.

Siraay gasped quietly as one particular blow was thrown with such speed and power that anyone standing before it would have had their head crushed.

Yet the chief archon’s blow never hit its target.

His own hands and long arms a blur, Chezran swept aside each blow with deft but powerful flicks of his hands, arms, and legs, exerting himself just enough to deflect or move slightly so that Pyron’s blows would whisper past their target.

Not that he deflected everything—Siraay actually saw him ignore some blows so that he could instead deliver his own devastating attacks.

And if Pyron fought with heat and purposeful aggression, Chezran fought with a cold, calm intent that set the hair rising on Siraay’s arms. If she had had any previous doubts as to the lord’s fighting ability, and his entitlement to his position, they were wiped away as she watched the fight unfold before her.

The two males were highly skilled and evenly matched, but even to her eyes, there was something that she couldn’t quite define that seemed to give Chezran a slight edge.

Loce helped her to piece it together as he moved up beside her. ‘It’s something, isn’t it?’

Siraay nodded, unable to look away from the two males. ‘They do this every morning?’

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loce bob his head. ‘Almost. Unless Lord Chezran is called away on urgent business. But otherwise, as the two most skilled fighters we have, and, of course, owing to their positions here, they fight often.’

Siraay absorbed his words, then shook her head in wonderment. ‘They’re so evenly matched.’

‘Yes,