“Dead,” Marai stated.

Leif grumbled as Aresti came up behind Marai, who whirled and fan-kicked both short swords from Aresti’s hands.

Marai’s own blade came to rest at Aresti’s stomach. “Dead.”

Raife wasn’t as sly in his approach, nor was he direct. He circled Marai, neither of them making a move. Finally, she attacked, and Raife blocked two strikes before his knife spun from his hand and lodged into the red dirt.

“Dead, I know,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Try again, this time all at once,” said Marai.

Leif snapped, “I don’t take orders from you.”

“You do in training,” Keshel said, resolute.

Leif clamped his lips shut, appearing as if he had plenty more to say.

Keshel raised his own sword, stood by Raife, and said, “Marai has skills and experiences we don’t. If we want to survive, we need to let her teach us. The carnage I saw in the vision . . . I won’t let that happen to us. Not again.”

Marai and Keshel’s eyes locked. She knew it wasn’t easy for him to relinquish leadership, to admit that there were things he didn’t know. His words had an effect on Leif, however. Leif’s face slackened, going distant as he stared at the dirt. Marai knew that Leif, deep down, didn’t want to be reminded of the fae massacre where his parents and older sister had died.

Thora and Kadiatu came forward, shifting awkwardly on their feet. Raife had taught them how to wield a weapon years ago in case of emergencies, but Marai doubted either females had ever had the occasion.

“Six against one seems hardly fair,” Thora said.

“You think Rayghast’s soldiers will play fair?” Marai asked dryly.

Thora swallowed down her response.

Aresti struck first, then Leif, then the rest were upon her. Marai dodged and twirled, light as a spring breeze. She blocked and parried each attack, and knocked weapons from hands as she went. Soon, all of the faeries were unarmed.

“That was incredible, Marai,” Kadiatu said, as she wiped the beads of sweat from her brow. “Who taught you how to fight like that?”

“The blackest worm of a pirate captain,” Marai replied, voice trailing off as she remembered those days on the deck of The Nightmare. Slate was a monster, but he and the crew had taught her well. “Again.”

The six attacked, and once again, Marai incapacitated them all. She’d struck Leif across the face for good measure, to remove his arrogant expression. Blood dribbled from his nose; he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“You’re all too slow, too fearful,” Marai said.

Thora, Kadiatu, and Keshel slumped forward, ready to quit, but Raife, Leif and Aresti shifted into position to go again. If there was one thing Marai knew, it was the fae’s inherent desire for perfection. She felt that about her own skills when she was learning. Faeries were adept at overcoming their weaknesses. They practiced until their flaws became strengths.

“I’m not good at this,” Thora said, dropping her sword into the dirt and tossing up her hands. “I’m not a fighter.”

“You’ll think differently when a man comes at you with a dagger and you know how to disarm him,” Marai said. “It’s not about being a great fighter. It’s about defending yourself when necessary.”

Thora pondered that for a moment, and then bent to pick up her blade.

The rest of the morning went by quickly. Raife, Leif and Aresti showed substantial progress by the end of the training session. Even Keshel improved. Thora and Kadiatu, however, were far too hesitant to hurt anyone.

“Thora, you have healing skills,” Aresti pointed out. “If anyone gets hurt, you can fix them up.”

“I don’t want to be the cause of anyone’s injuries,” muttered Thora, putting her hands on her hips.

Marai had never seen Thora so untidy. Her hair curled in the humidity, her body dripped with sweat, and she puffed out heavy, uncomfortable breaths.

“Kadi and I are in dresses. It’s not easy to move when you’re worried about accidentally revealing your undergarments,” Thora continued.

“Then wear something more appropriate tomorrow,” Raife said, handing Thora his waterskin.

She shot him a look and he smiled. Thora’s tension eased.

“Let’s go in for lunch,” said Kadiatu with a skip inside. “I’m starving.”

As the others made their way into the tunnel, Keshel stopped Marai at the entrance. “After we eat, you and I will begin our own separate training.”

True to his word, that afternoon, Marai and Keshel stood by the riverbank. The others had returned to their usual duties, although Leif and Raife were using their patrol time to practice their swordsmanship. Their movements were graceful and smooth. They’d repeat the same exercises over and over until they were perfected. Marai felt an uncanny gush of pride as she watched them spar and give each other adjustments.

She focused back on Keshel, who remained as impassive as always.

“How does your magic feel today?” he asked.

A flutter of power skittered down Marai’s back as she tried to tap into her magic. “More than yesterday, but not close to recovered.”

Marai hated feeling powerless. It was one of her greatest fears. Without magic, a part of her was missing. She could still defend herself physically, but a magical being without the use of its magic often felt lost. Not so long ago, she’d hated her magic, hated being fae.

But more than that, it would be impossible for Marai to defeat Rayghast and his dark magic without her own powers. Her lightning might be the only thing that could take him down.

“I want to learn how to make a shield,” Marai said. She could create small bubbles, protective pockets, but nothing as substantial as Keshel’s force fields. It would be a useful skill to add to her arsenal.

“Shields require a fair amount of magic, especially the kind I create around our borders.”

“I should be able to do it.”

“As you said, your magic hasn’t yet recovered enough. Today, all you may be able to do is create one the size of your hand.”

Marai grimaced. It was better than nothing.

“Have you ever focused on your life energy before?” Keshel asked.

“Is life energy different from elemental magic?”

“It’s the root of all magic within you. You cannot fully master your own power until you understand it, feel it. Hold your hands together.”

Marai cupped her hands together, feeling stupid. She showed Keshel as much in her expression.

“Now, close your eyes. Dig deep within, search for it.”

She did as she was told, and searched around inside herself. All Marai sensed was the usual flicker of elemental magic, and the dismal well of drained power. What if she couldn’t find it?