“It’s not really fighting. It’s more of a sport. A game, really.” He narrowed his brows. “Either way, fencing can’t be that unusual a thing for a valkyrie to do.”

“No.” But the last time she’d held a sword, things had gone very badly. Not so much because of the sword, but because of her temper. That was why she did everything possible to live a life where her temper was never riled. A simple, plain, boring life.

That was the price she was willing to pay to never experience another day like the one that had shown her who she really was. And how much damage she was capable of doing.

Greaves pushed through the doors of the gym, arms filled with white clothing. “I brought the jackets that seemed the closest in size, miss. We’ll find one that fits.”

“Oh, good.” She sighed. She couldn’t get out of this without explaining her past to Sebastian. Or making herself look silly for not wanting to try something most people would probably think was fun. Sebastian obviously did. And she liked him too much to want him to see either of those things. Plus, what if she told him the truth and he decided she was unfit to be around the students at the academy?

No. This was something she had to keep to herself. She pasted on a happy expression as Greaves held up one of the fencing jackets. “That looks small.”

“It has to fit snugly. Loose fabric could hinder your movement and get caught on a foil. Give it a try. Step into the croissard, then put it on like a regular jacket.”

“So that strap goes between my legs?”

He nodded and his face went a little red. “It’s so the jacket protects the delicate bits.”

“I see.” She took off her cardigan and stepped one foot through the loop, then put her arm in and shrugged the jacket on. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it was close. “There’s no way this would fit you, Sebastian. Who did this belong to?”

“One of the Harmswood students. We have a fencing team and I used to tutor some of the students here.”

“Used to?”

He wiped a smudge off the face plate of his helmet. “I stopped a few years ago.”

“Why?” Greaves helped her zip the jacket, which made it fit even closer.

Sebastian shrugged. “There is no real reason. I just…didn’t want to.”

Greaves grunted. “Because you’re a recluse, that’s why.”

She expected Sebastian to refute that, but he just sighed.

“I suppose that’s part of it.” He lifted his brows. “It’s easier not to engage sometimes.”

The truth of the words struck her. “I get that. I really do.”

Greaves handed her one of the masks. “To protect your pretty face and neck.”

“Thank you. You sure I’m going to be all right in my jeans?” Sebastian was fully kitted up, making her wonder why she wasn’t.

Sebastian nodded and answered her. “For one thing, I promise to go easy on you. I certainly don’t want to hurt the new dean of library studies. The only real target area is the torso anyway. For another, if you like it and want to spar again sometime, we’ll make sure you have knickers and everything.”

“All right.” There wasn’t going to be a next time, that much she knew already.

“Greaves, you have gloves for her? We don’t want to add another scar to those knuckles.”

She froze for a second, then bent her head and put the mask on, covering her face as fast as possible. Why she’d assumed he hadn’t noticed the scar on her hand, she had no idea. It wasn’t like she’d done anything special to conceal it. Maybe it had been wishful thinking that he hadn’t seen it. The stupid thing was enough of a reminder for her. She didn’t want it to become a source of questions, too.

Greaves handed her a pair of gloves and she yanked them on, happy to cover the mark left by another’s blade. The mark that had driven her to nearly kill.

“Ready?” Sebastian asked.

“I guess so.”

Sebastian put his mask on. “Greaves, our foils.”

The rook retrieved them from a case on the wall, returning with two gleaming blades. He handed one to her, then one to Sebastian.

Sebastian slashed the narrow blade through the air a few times as if testing it. The metal sang as it cut the air, a sound she hadn’t heard in person in a very long time. The foil’s song was higher pitched than that of the weapons the valkyrie and berserkers used, but it was familiar all the same.

She shivered and shoved back at the memories threatening to invade. “What first?” She needed to do something besides stand there.

“Watch. I’ll show you the opening moves.” Sebastian went through a series of stances and showed her how to attack and lunge and parry. He demonstrated how to feint and disengage.

Despite her trepidation, she concentrated and did her best to understand and remember. It was only mildly similar to what she’d been taught in battle school. It seemed to her that the best comparison of the two styles of fighting would be a junkyard mutt and a show dog. Her style was designed to get things done brutally and efficiently, while his style was all about sportsmanship and elegant skill. She had been trained to go for the kill, damn the finesse, and she had no idea how to use that training now to engage in friendly swordplay.

It only marked how different—and brutal—her training had been. This was a sport. Her training had been about life and death.

Sebastian pulled upright. “What do you think? Does it make sense or was that too much too fast?”