Sweetblade by Carol A. Park

Author:Carol A. Park [Park, Carol A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shattered Soul Books
Published: 2018-12-28T05:00:00+00:00

Two months later, when Lavena finally sent her back to Elidor’s for good, Ivana bought a jewelry box with some of the money she had earned at Lavena’s, laid her sister’s necklace in it, and shoved it as far under her bed as she could.

Far enough that by the time she stumbled on it again, she had high hopes that the Ivana who cared would no longer exist.

Chapter Fourteen

“No,” Elidor snapped, his dagger pointed toward Ivana’s chest. “You are still too hesitant. If I had actually been a threat, you would already be dead.”

Ivana sheathed her own dagger with a snap. “If you had been a threat, I would surely be dead because your decades of experience trump my, what, less than a year?”

Elidor lowered his blade and glared at her. “That,” he said, “is beside the point.”

“In fact, it is very much within the point,” Ivana said, folding her arms across her chest. “If I were attempting to assassinate you, I would not succeed by engaging in a face-to-face confrontation.”

Elidor grunted, which was likely as much as she would get by way of a concession to her point. “But this is not as much about training you to fight your targets head on as it is about training you to react confidently and without hesitation. Which you cannot seem to do!”

Ivana sighed. She was tired. Since she had returned from her temporary stay at the brothel three months back, Elidor had been relentless. In addition to Lavena still occasionally calling on her to handle a particular client in order to teach her some nuance or other of manipulation, Elidor had her making him poisons, studying languages, continuing her combat training with him, and—the last was new—planning her course of action in response to hypothetical jobs or scenarios that Elidor invented.

The challenge with the last was whether she could produce a plan that Elidor would approve of and then field any supplemental questions that he had to his satisfaction.

The former had happened, once or twice, but even if he didn’t find an obvious flaw in her initial plan, he usually managed to invent a follow-up scenario that could stump her.

It was almost entertaining—like a puzzle to be solved—as long as she didn’t ruminate over much on the intended outcome of the non-hypothetical puzzles these were preparing her for.

But it all amounted to the same result: she was exhausted, mentally and physically. The only positive was that she hardly had time to feel emotionally exhausted. The knife hidden in her room saw less and less use as she fell into bed each night utterly drained.

Still, less use was not the same as no use.

“Again,” he said, jerking his head toward her sheathed dagger.

Ivana drew her dagger back out. There was no use in arguing with him. He was deaf to all complaints of any and all physical ailments, whether it be fatigue, hunger, thirst, or illness. The fastest way to get him to let her go was to comply.

As tired as she was, it was no surprise that she lasted less than a minute.

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