Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Thanks to Archduke Heta, I knew that quite well.
“You’ll have weapons, yes. And we’ll train with them. The problem is, there will be times your weapons fail, or you run out of ammo and the enemy keeps coming. That is why we’ll start with the basics. Strengths and weaknesses.”
Wonderful. A new nightmare unlocked.
“Feeders are more powerful in the dark. The lack of daylight in Theirland makes an already complicated situation worse, especially while you’re dealing with reversal of vision metamorphopsia. RVM is a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree vertical inversion of your visual field. In other words, everything is upside down.” His gaze cut to me. “There’s no need to panic. The problem is rectified with special lenses.”
Miracle of miracles, he’d just uttered a reassurance without bursting into flames.
He waved at someone behind us. “These lenses correct RVM and allow you to see feeders in the dark whenever they enter a five-foot radius.”
I looked over my shoulder and spotted Mykal lugging a large box through the door. Strain etched every inch of her. The urge to rush over and help barraged me, but I didn’t dare “disrespect” my instructor or disrupt his class. Lesson learned.
She stopped near the HP, dropped her burden, and dug inside it, withdrawing a curved inch-thick metal band she then handed over. He secured the band around his forehead, just over his brows, and danced his fingers over one side. A green light flashed, and a clear screen unfolded over his eyes and molded itself into a type of half mask.
Still trying to catch her breath, Mykal passed a band to everyone else.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and she whimpered.
“To activate your lens, tap the button on your right with four swift strikes,” the high prince said. “Today, you’ll simply wear it while learning basic techniques for avoiding and causing injury to yourself during a battle with feeders.”
I donned the device and tapped the sides as told, and the screen lowered and reshaped. Very cool.
For the next hour, the HP demonstrated positions, gestures, tips, and tricks. I admit, I struggled to concentrate. His muscles. They rippled. Worse, he watched us as we copied his motions, offering critiques whenever necessary. With Juniper and me, it was often necessary.
“Do you enjoy harming yourself?” he asked as I beat at the air.
I’m not annoyed, I’m not annoyed. “I do not.”
He stalked over and righted the angle of my thumb, then guided my fist to his chest, mimicking a punch. After returning my thumb to its original position, he guided my fist to his chest a second time. “Feel the difference.”
“Oh! I really do.” But only after my brain switched back on. The warmth of his touch . . . the roughness of his calluses . . . help me. “My error puts too much pressure on my thumb.”
“Correct. Now let’s address the bigger problem. Fear is talking to you, and you’re coddling it rather than treating it like the enemy it is. Talk back. Tell it to leave, then hit me.”
What? “No!” This was a test. How did one talk to fear, anyway? “Even I know better than to strike a military officer.”
“But you haven’t yet learned to obey one, I see,” he quipped. “Hit me.”
“No,” I snapped.
He slitted his eyes. “I suggest you rethink your stance, Lady Pink.”
Fine! If he insisted on insisting, he left me with no choice. “I’ll do it. I’ll smack you.”
“In the face.”
That was even worse! I licked my lips and shifted from boot to boot. “I’ll do it. I’ll smack you. In the face. With my fist.”
“Now,” he barked.
Yelping, I squeaked, “Leave, fear?” Then I did it. I punched him. Kind of. Maybe tapped his cheek was a better description. Or I would’ve tapped his cheek if he hadn’t blocked me.
He swiped his tongue over straight white teeth. “Don’t ask a ridiculous question. Make a bold statement. Fear doesn’t listen if you don’t mean it. So mean it and hit me. Hard.”
“You’re acting as if fear is alive.” I tossed up my arms. “A living thing.”
“Isn’t it? It speaks to you, and you listen. It leads, and you follow. It commands, and you obey.”
Dang him. “Why would it be afraid of me and obey my command?”
“Because it’s fear. It can only give of itself, and it always backs down in the face of a stronger opponent. Hit me,” he repeated.
I didn’t want to, but I also did want to, but I didn’t, but I did. “Leave, fear.” Punch. I missed the HP completely.
“Lady Pink,” he growled.
“Leave, fear.” Swing.
Block. “Again.”
“Leave, fear.” Okay, yeah, I’d used a firmer tone and produced a surer swing that time. Not terrible. I swung with more force.
He blocked. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. Hit me hard enough to break through the mental barrier that’s telling you how weak and incapable you are.”
Anger stirred my pot of frustration. “Leave, fear.” I swung, putting a little thrust behind the blow.