The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [68]
She gathered her energy and drove forward with a low, crouching sweep. It did not catch him unawares. He leapt over her blade as she cut through the air, projecting energy from her centre, up her arms and down the wooden blade. The weapon was a sluggish conductor, yet she managed to knock him back as she blocked his next thrust. Pressing her minute advantage, she cracked her blade into his ribs, energy and all. First strike.
No good. His blade was there to meet hers before she touched his flesh. Inches from each other, they locked eyes. She felt the rise and fall of his chest, dusky scents mingling as her breath matched his. All her might was pressed against him, and he blocked it with ease, and something else as well.
He drank the energy in. He drank her in. She could feel it! Her heart pounded and her breath tore the air with ragged gasps. He pulled her to him before she could boost again and her wooden sword fell to the ground. His hands tightened around her wrists.
Pressed against his neck, she could taste his salty skin. She didn’t know whose sweat dripped down her cheek, his or hers. The grip tightened further. She winced as her bangles dug into her flesh.
‘You’re not to boost with magic, Rosette,’ he whispered into the dampness of her hair. His lips moved slowly as the words formed against the curve of her ear. ‘This is not practised in the arena. Not yet.’
‘You used it first!’ she said, tempted to bite. She let her teeth rest against his pulsing jugular. ‘I felt it.’
‘Did you?’
Beneath the bravado, Rosette sensed the tiniest hint of surprise. Then she knew. He was shielding his mind, holding something from her. He had not expected her to feel his magic. This could give her an advantage.
Too late. While she speculated, the Sword Master arched his back, lifted his arms and flipped her to the ground. As she hit, the air in her lungs rushed out and his knee came down hard on her hip. He pinned her arms above her head.
‘Would you say that I have you now, Rosette de Santo, for the fourth time?’ An’ Lawrence dropped his face to her cheek, the roughness of his stubble brushing away the dust and sweat as he spoke.
No, I would not! Rosette went for one last move. She let her entire body go limp as her lungs silently filled with air. He shifted the weight off her hip and she twisted like a cat inside its skin. Calling on a colossal boost of magic centred in her spine, she sent energy to her legs, tucking them to her belly, flipping over and pulling the Sword Master with her. Now his head was between her legs, his arms—for a millisecond—pressed into the powdery ground on either side of her thighs. Not exactly the position she had in mind, but a small point none the less. She had him flat on his back.
‘Not quite yet.’ She could sense the stunned aura of the gathering. It would have been better if she had sensed his next move.
His energy came from nowhere, no sign of a build-up, just total release. She was on her back in an instant with the Sword Master astride her hips, the weight of his pelvis against hers. He had her arms bound across her breasts and sweat fell from his forehead onto her throat.
‘You win, of course,’ she said as she shielded her mind. She started to gather energy like a tornado draws in the sky.
A quizzical look came over his face for such a brief moment she wasn’t sure if it had been there at all. Suddenly he was on his feet, pulling her up from the ground.
‘That’ll do, Rosette. And well done. My imagination has been whetted, I’ll admit. Where did you learn those moves?’ he asked.
‘From…my brothers,’ she answered, catching herself before she talked of Maka’ra or Jarrod.
‘Brothers? Did they train at Bangeesh Temple?’
Rosette stumbled. ‘They work on their own, mostly.’
She shielded her mind tighter. Not every sword master had formal training in a temple or even belonged to a coven larger than one or two. It was