The Singer - Hunter Elizabeth - Страница 28

“Again?”

 “Yes.” Brooke didn’t look any more pleased than Ava. The days of training were even taking a toll on the child’s natural optimism.

Ava pushed to her feet and grabbed her staff, then walked with her partner to the center of the ring. Mala stared at them from the edge of the barn, making a clicking noise with her tongue to get Brooke’s attention. Once she had it, her hands formed a flurry of signs that Brooke took in, nodding while Mala spoke.

“Okay.” Brooke turned to her. “Mala says you need to practice your approaches. Focus on keeping your shoulders more…” She  looked back toward Mala, who repeated herself with a sigh. “Oh. You’re kind of… showing me what you’re doing before you do it. Does that make sense?”

Ava glanced at Mala, who was rolling her eyes. “I think so.” She tried not to smile. “You want me to keep my shoulders looser?” she asked her trainer, and Mala nodded. “So I don’t let Brooke know what my attack is going to be?”

Mala gave her a thumbs-up and sat back down to watch them, clapping for them to start.

She tried to do what Mala had asked, but it was difficult. Her instinct was to lean into an attack, not keep her shoulders loose and fluid. Brooke seemed to take to the practice more easily, getting in more than one good strike to Ava’s side or knee. More than once, Ava was convinced that Brooke was going easy on her.

“Sorry,” the girl said with wince after she’d struck another blow, this time to the back of Ava’s thigh.

“No, don’t apologize.” She grunted, straightening up. “But seriously? How did you get so good?”

Brooke smiled. “When I was young, I played with sticks as often as dolls. I remember watching my mom and dad spar with staffs when I was little. Mom always had one around. Humans don’t even notice them. They think it’s a broom handle or a walking stick. Mom says it’s the best weapon in the world.”

There was a whistle and they turned their heads toward Mala, who shot off a few signs.

Brooke smiled again. “Mala agrees. She said that throughout history, Irina have used the short staff as a primary weapon because we could take one everywhere. They’re very easy to overlook.”

“And very effective.”

“Yep.” Brooke went back to her ready stance. “Don’t worry! You’ll get the hang of it.”

Ava took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, trying to remember to keep them loose. Ready. She was an Irina, after all. She’d get this. It was probably genetic or something. She lifted her staff in both hands and angled forward at her right shoulder like Mala had shown her. Brooke stood across from her in the same stance. Her face showed nothing. Ava shifted to the right, and Brooke leaned forward, just a little. Ava leaned with her right shoulder, deliberately hinting that she would strike from the right, only to have Brooke shift with lightning reflexes to the left, and then her staff circled down, hitting just below Ava’s left knee.

“Shit!” Ava hopped back, her previous plan of attack forgotten as the pain radiated down to her ankle and up her thigh. “Damn—oww! How did you—”

“Sorry, sorry! Your shoulders looked great, but then you did this thing with your leg and you shifted back, so I knew you were going to attack from the left, so I—”

“Yeah. Okay. Got it,” Ava groused, ignoring Mala, who was smiling wide and clutching her stomach. If the woman had been able to laugh, it would have filled the barn. “I know, all right? I’m completely transparent.”

“But your shoulders looked better!”

Great. A twelve-year-old was kicking her ass and trying to make her feel better about it.

“It’s fine, Brooke.” Ava glared at Mala. “Can we take a break now? I think I need to ice this leg.”

An unfamiliar voice sang from the door. “You’re never going to get better if you keep taking breaks.”

Ava turned to stare. The woman was tall and dark with olive skin and black hair that streamed down her back. Everything about her—from the black clothes to the wary expression—screamed “Danger!” Ava stepped in front of Brooke, but the girl shot out from behind her and rushed forward.

“Renata!”

“Ciao, bella mia,” the woman named Renata murmured, holding out her arms to the girl and enclosing her in an embrace. She looked up at Mala. “Who’s the new girl?”

Mala signed quickly, and Renata lifted one hand, signing back while still holding Brooke with her other arm.

“No,” Brooke said, clearly understanding the silent conversation. “She’s from Los Angeles. She was only visiting in Istanbul when Damien met her. She’s not Turkish.”

Renata said, “I was thinking Persian, actually. Welcome to Sarihofn, Ava.”

“Thanks.” She lowered her staff and stepped forward. “Your name is Renata?”

“Yes.” Renata eyed Mala. “Are they done for today?”

Mala shrugged, then signed something that seemed to indicate Brooke could go, because Renata turned and started toward the door with the girl still curled under one arm.

“I’ll see you later, Ava.”

“Bye!” Brooke called.

Ava lifted her hand in a wave, then started toward the bench where she’d left her jacket, only to be stopped by a staff across the belly. Groaning, she lifted her eyes to Mala.

“Let me guess. I’m not done yet.”

The corner of Mala’s mouth lifted, and Ava didn’t need to understand signing to read her expression.

Not even close.

She wanted nothing more than a bath and a bed by the time she finally made it back to the cottage. Mala had drilled her for another three hours after Renata had shown up and taken off with Brooke. Luckily, Ava was picking up some signs from Mala and communication was starting to get better. And so, despite her reservations, were her attacks. Mala was a patient teacher and seemed to understand instinctively where and how Ava was struggling. By the end of the session, she was parrying with a fair amount of success instead of simply fending off blows. And, if she’d read Mala’s signs correctly, the next week they were going to add daggers.

Ava liked daggers.

“Wash up,” Damien called from the kitchen. “I’m fixing tea and I’ll make you a snack.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Then we’re going to a sing. There will be a dinner before at the house.” He glanced at her. “I’ll get you an ice pack, too. Do you need two?”

“A sing? What’s a sing?” She tried to sort through the barrage of information. “And yes. I probably need two.”

“I’ll get three. There’s hot water for your shower, but don’t take too long. I don’t want to be late.”

“What’s a sing, Damien?”

“It’s a ceremony. With singing.” Damien walked over and patted her head. “Hence, it’s called a sing.”

“You’re the only person I know who uses ‘hence’ in everyday conversation.”

“Aren’t you fortunate that you know me, then?” He waved toward the door, unusually chipper. “Go. I’ll get the tea going.”

“Why are you so happy?” Then it dawned on her. “Oh, this ‘sing’ is going to be at the main house, isn’t it? Sari’s house?”

“Yes.” A smile teased up the corner of his lip.

“And it’s like a party?”

“It is.”

“And you’re invited?”

“I am.”

“Ahhhhh.” Ava was smiling.

“What?”

“Damien’s making progress,” she sang.

“That’s enough.” He shoved her shoulder. “Go clean up. I don’t want to be late.”

“Mr. Cranky is gonna get some,” she sang some more, then ducked in her room after the kitchen towel smacked the back of her head. Ava slammed the door and yelled, “Maybe you won’t be Mr. Cranky after tonight!”

“You are childish and you stink. Take a shower, Ava.”

She gathered her things and went to the small bathroom, still smiling. Ignoring the tug in her heart. Ignoring the quick twist of pain at the thought of her friend’s happiness. Damien was a good friend. A good man. He deserved his happiness, even if she’d lost her own.