Sisters of the Snake by Sasha Nanua & Sarena Nanua

Author:Sasha Nanua & Sarena Nanua [Nanua, Sasha & Nanua, Sarena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780062985613
Google: 5ej8DwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B08HZ5BF8M
Publisher: HarperTeen
Published: 2021-06-14T23:00:00+00:00

24

Rani

Pain, hot and flashing, lances through my skull as I slam against the rough stone beneath me, vision blurring. I groan.

Another point to Irfan.

Fresh, purpling bruises mark my body from the spar; I have yet to determine if those marks are badges of courage or foolishness.

“Up,” Irfan calls again. The world is dizzying as I rise and spot Amir on the side, face tight at the sight of my fall. Tonight’s training session is far from formal; we spar on empty grounds on the outskirts of the Foothills with Irfan’s strange assortment of weaponry. Last night’s practice involved a bow and arrow, a princess’s game I was familiar with. I’d grown up with archery lessons from Father’s noblemen, but physical combat appears to be Irfan’s specialty.

Never has a fencing session at the palace ended up with me like this.

I rub a sore spot on my back as Irfan’s instructions knife through me: fighting is about instinct, not knowledge. In the palace, I was taught that to spar is a dance: a choreographed movement of your foot and parry of your sword. Fencing was never about survival, merely intellect and grace.

No matter. I lunge again, aiming my practice sword at Irfan’s leg. I’ve trained in fencing for over four years; I know how to attack.

Yet with a nimble movement Irfan dodges my attack and hooks a leg under mine. I fall face-first this time, the world canting sideways.

“Irfan, is this really necessary?” Amir asks again. Irfan ignores the comment.

“I said to keep your mind clear. Only get up if you’re ready to fall back down again.”

I spit dirt from my mouth, rise to my knees, and find my footing. When Sanya said we would begin training, she certainly meant it.

“Let’s try again.” Irfan cracks his knuckles and then leans down to retrieve his sword. Before he can stand, I charge. Irfan ducks and I tumble over his back and catch myself on my elbows and knees. Abai’s sun, I think, get up. I spring for him just as Irfan sidesteps me, and my arms whirl, circling for balance.

“Ria!” Amir rushes over and steadies my arms, his hands oddly warm, but there’s a smirk on his face. “I’ve seen you jump onto the roof of a hut. Lost your balance?”

Though his voice is teasing, I reply, “I know how to stand my ground.”

“Well, maybe you forgot one of my thieving lessons: always keep an eye on your enemy.”

But my memory holds no nights of thieving lessons, of bruised knuckles or alleyway run-ins. Who I am has nothing to do with scraping out an existence on Abai’s streets.

“I’m training you so that you’re prepared. The Charts will take one look at you, and they’ll snap you in half,” Irfan says.

A Chart wouldn’t dare hurt a princess. Still, I glance down at my commoner’s clothing; perhaps Irfan’s trouncing is justified. That doesn’t mean I like hearing myself dismissed so easily.

Another match, then. A lifetime’s worth of survival instinct siphoned into one afternoon. Tomorrow is our departure; I must be ready.

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