Ashes of Retribution (The Awakened Book 1) by LJ Andrews

Author:LJ Andrews [Andrews, LJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 4Arrows
Published: 2018-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

Her time on the rod left her stance unbalanced and her movements unnatural. Adira held onto a spear, the handle made of polished wood, with the symbol of a gull flying over purple peaks burned into the center. It was a weapon made in Prim—her uncle’s work. The spear had been taken from the provinces. Who had died so the assassins could take hold of the sleek weapon? Adira tried not to think of the details and only focus on Nerick leaping about the platforms like a deer prancing in the meadows.

The upper platforms were suspended near one another, but still a pace apart from one another, some set at least two paces if a natural curve of the wall was in place. Some upper platforms zagging about the ceiling of the front entry swayed, loosely hung by ropes. Others were bolted steady into the stone. Adira gripped one of the ropes holding her platform as it rocked back and forth. Nauseous heat flushed into her cheeks as her knees trembled, the deep bruise releasing sparks of pain into her lower half.

The space Nerick had leapt from was a two pace distance from a moving platform to a bolted one. Adira was ill. The training was too much. It was slipping into the realm of torture—and she couldn’t help wondering if it was intentional.

“You must keep your focus always ahead,” Nerick shouted. “Don’t look down, always keep your mind two paces ahead of your body and you will move swiftly.”

“I won’t be moving swiftly tonight,” Adira grumbled.

Nerick watched her. His shaven head tilted, his thick arms tensing around his weapon. Nerick pressed his thumb inside a divot in the blade. The edges snapped to life with red heat. A rim of pulsing color lined his weapon.

“You will move, unless you want a burn to match your palm,” he responded coolly.

Adira narrowed her brow. “You wouldn’t,” she tested.

Nerick pointed to his chest, pulling away the leather vest. Deep pitted scars trailed beneath his collarbone, into his chest and ribs. “We aren’t afraid to touch in training.”

Adira backed along her platform, sweaty palms making it hard to hold onto the spear. Her eyes couldn’t leave Nerick’s scars. Every day she saw more evidence of how the assassins had become the deadliest fighters in the province, but the extremes were sickening.

“Now, go.” Nerick bent at his waist, crouching like a pouncing cat, and ran across his scaffold toward her.

Adira turned, her legs snapping and cracking as she forced them into motion. Her swollen knees tugged against the taut skin surrounding the joints, making each rapid step seem like lightning was jolting through her body. Adira stumbled, but kept her eyes ahead. The next platform was only a half pace away, and at the end was a rope she could get onto solid ground, unless Nerick caught her first. She was grateful to be dressed in trousers, compared to the silky gowns she’d once worn. She’d forgone boots during the climb, using the strength of her bare feet to push against the scaffold.

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