The Broken Halo

Chapter 978 - 977: Little Monster

Adrian took Rowan to a private training ground the next morning.

The yard was larger than Martin’s, enclosed by high walls with metal pillars at each corner. Fine inscriptions divided the smooth floor into practice areas. Weapon racks stood beneath an awning, and a transparent barrier separated the entrance from the training space.

A gunshot made Rowan turn.

Bang!

Celeste was inside the barrier, wearing trousers and a fitted training coat with her hair braided out of the way. A short sword occupied her right hand. In her left was the silver pistol he remembered from the battlefield.

Targets flew around her.

She ducked beneath one, cut through another, and fired over her shoulder while turning. A third target broke apart before she faced it.

Rowan forgot to move.

He followed her feet, lost track of the sword, then hurried to catch the next movement. She moved too quickly for him to react to, but he could just about follow her. When she repeated a turn, he found details he had missed before.

The gunshots hardly registered anymore.

A few moments later, a hand settled on his shoulder.

Rowan flinched and spun around.

Sir Luke stood behind him, looking as stern as ever.

”I’ve been standing here for a while,” he said. ”Do you always concentrate that hard?”

”Sorry, sir. I didn’t notice.”

”Clearly.” Luke looked past him. ”She’s worth watching, though.”

Rowan turned back as Celeste cut through two targets.

”I knew she could fight. I saw her kill that demon. But I thought she was mostly a healer.”

Luke laughed.

”Most people do. They see her tending wounds and decide she needs protecting from everything. Some demons have made that mistake too.”

”She’s very good,” Rowan murmured.

”She is among the ten most talented people in the kingdom. Within the royal family, she’s the most gifted.”

Rowan looked at him again.

”The royal family?”

”She’s Aurelia’s third princess.”

”The Saintess is a princess?”

”Yes.”

Rowan glanced from Luke to Celeste.

”A Saintess, a princess, and she fights like that...”

Luke chuckled at his expression.

”You’ll learn more about her in time, if you prove yourself to be someone she can trust. For now, stop worrying about her titles.”

The last target shattered.

”She’s finished. Come along.”

Celeste lowered her weapons as they approached.

”I’m sorry for taking up your time, Sir Luke. I meant to finish earlier.”

”It’s fine. Your turn after the second shot has improved.”

”I’ve been practising it,” she replied, pleased that he had noticed.

Rowan was looking at the floor.

Broken targets and spent bullets sank into it. The scattered fragments disappeared, and the cuts left by Celeste’s sword closed behind a travelling line of light.

A light kick caught him on his ass.

”Onto the training ground, Rowan,” Luke said. ”You can admire it later.”

Rowan hurried forward, rubbing his left bum. Celeste covered a smile and took a seat beneath the awning. Adrian remained beside her.

Luke joined Rowan in the cleared practice area.

”Let’s see what you’ve learned. Come at me with everything you have.”

Rowan’s hand settled on his sword.

Sir Luke hadn’t drawn a weapon. He stood comfortably, waiting, yet Rowan felt as though he had been asked to move a mountain. His chest tightened before the lesson had even begun.

”Yes, sir.”

He drew his blunted practice sword and attacked with a thrust.

However, Luke touched the side of the blade with two fingers, guiding the thrust past him.

Rowan recovered with a cut toward the waist. Luke turned enough to let it pass, then pressed one finger against Rowan’s shoulder.

The boy staggered sideways.

He regained his footing and tried again.

Martin’s diagonal sequence failed. So did the low feint that had worked against Leon. Whenever Rowan tried to draw a response, Luke gave him nothing he could use.

Once, Rowan cut back toward Luke’s wrist while his sword was being pushed aside. Luke caught the flat blade between two fingers and waited until Rowan stopped pulling.

Then he let go.

Rowan backed away, breathing hard.

Luke hadn’t struck him. His shirt wasn’t even disturbed.

”Again,” Rowan said before the man could speak.

He tried shorter steps, changed the height of his attacks, and delayed a thrust until Luke’s hand began to move.

A palm redirected it.

Rowan stumbled past, sweat dripping from his chin.

His eyes flashed with unwillingness and desire.

He had to give Luke a reason to keep teaching him. Celeste had arranged this chance and he could not return to his room knowing he had wasted it.

And somewhere in the demon realm, Blackmoon was growing stronger.

Rowan forced himself back into position.

”Is that everything?” Luke asked.

There was no approval in his voice. No disappointment either. Rowan couldn’t tell whether anything he had done mattered.

He tightened his grip.

There had to be more.

But he had used Martin’s exercises, the students’ movements, and every variation he had worked out alone.

His eyes found Celeste. She sat forward, concern showing in the crease between her brows.

Rowan blinked.

Then he drew a deep breath.

”I’m not finished, sir.”

Luke waited as the boy closed his eyes.

In Rowan’s memory, Celeste moved again.

Dozens of remembered versions surrounded him, each frozen in time in a different part of her practice. One turned beneath a target. Another brought her sword back across her body while the pistol fired.

’Forget the gun.’

He followed the sword through each movement, setting aside the raised pistol and the shots. The empty hand became something to balance with.

The steps remained.

Three seconds passed.

Rowan opened his eyes and lowered his sword beside his right leg. His weight shifted forward, one heel lifting from the floor.

Luke’s eyes narrowed.

Celeste made a startled sound.

”Isn’t that my...?”

Rowan moved before she finished.

She stood so abruptly that her chair scraped backward.

”Sir Luke. That’s my technique.”

He had recognised it already.

Rowan approached on a slant, then folded around Luke’s reaching hand with a tight turn. His sword followed the turn, cutting back from a direction he hadn’t attacked from before.

Luke brushed it aside.

Rowan’s next step carried him across the man’s front rather than straight back. He dipped beneath another touch and brought his point up toward Luke’s ribs.

His speed hadn’t increased. He was changing direction with the quick, angled movements of a bird darting between branches. Each step left him ready for a different cut.

Celeste gripped the armrests of her chair.

Those were the turns she had practised that morning. Even the way he brought his shoulder around nearly matched hers.

”Adrian, has he watched me train before?”

”Not with me, Saintess,” the guard answered. His eyes followed Rowan. ”Today was the first time.”

Luke turned another thrust away.

Rowan no longer looked for his reaction. His black eyes stayed on the man’s hands and shoulders, searching for the next place to put his sword.

He turned again.

His chest pulled painfully. He forced the breath out and followed through.

Luke stopped the blade with his palm.

A small smile appeared on the man’s face.

”Enough.”

Rowan tried to stand straight, but his knees hit the floor instead. The sword slipped from his fingers, clattering beside him.

He stared at his hands. They shook too badly for him to close them.

Sir Luke’s smile disappeared.

”Saintess. Come here.”

Celeste was already leaving her chair.

”What is it?”

Rowan suddenly coughed.

Cough! Cough!

Blood splashed across the floor.

Rowan made a frightened sound and clutched his shirt over his heart. Another cough bent him forward. Blood ran from his nose, dripping over his fingers, and his widened pupils struggled to settle on anything.

”Rowan!”

Celeste reached him as Luke caught his shoulders.

”Don’t try to stand,” Luke ordered, supporting him.

White light spread from Celeste’s palms as she pressed them against his chest and back. Rowan convulsed with another cough, staining her sleeve.

”Look at me,” she said urgently. ”I’m here. Let me help.”

Adrian knelt nearby, his face tight with concern.

”Sir Luke, what happened? You barely touched him.”

”The technique,” Luke replied. ”It’s a high-level martial art. His body couldn’t bear the strain.”

Celeste’s light brightened.

”He copied it that far?” Adrian asked.

”Far enough to injure himself. Those turns require conditioning he hasn’t had. He forced his muscles and breathing to follow hers.”

Luke adjusted his hold on Rowan’s shoulders while Celeste worked. The bleeding began to slow down, though Rowan’s hands kept trembling against his shirt.

Adrian looked toward the training ground.

”He only watched her this morning.”

”I know.”

Sir Luke studied the pale boy in his arms.

”We might have brought a little monster with us to the kingdom.”