“Liv’s pretty good too.”
“She’s my sister.” Perry lunged for him but broke away the instant Aria stepped out of the elevator. No way he’d let Roar in on his thoughts when she was around. He couldn’t help noticing that she’d changed into fitted black clothes and pulled her hair back. Roar looked from him to Aria, a knowing grin spreading over his face. Perry knew he was in trouble.
“Did I interrupt something?” Aria said, confused.
“No. We were done.” Perry grabbed his bow and stalked away. Earlier he’d dragged a wooden crate across the roof to serve as a target. He took aim, pain thudding dully in his hand.
“Perfect timing, Aria,” Roar said behind him. “Watch this. You know, Perry’s known for his skill with the bow.”
Perry fired. The arrow bit into the pine with a crack.
Roar whistled. “Impressive, isn’t he? What a great shot.”
Perry spun, halfway between laughing and wanting to kill Roar.
“Can I try it?” Aria asked. “I should know how to defend myself when we get out there.”
“You should,” he agreed. Anything she learned would help them all when they ventured beyond the wall.
Perry showed her how to hold the bow and set her feet, keeping himself upwind where he could avoid her scent. When it came to nocking an arrow, it wasn’t enough for him to tell her what to do. Drawing a bow smoothly took strength and calm. Rhythm and practice. To him, it was no more difficult than breathing, but he saw right away the only way to teach her was to guide her through the motion.
He stepped behind her, bracing himself. When he inhaled, her temper shot through him, her nerves adding to his own. Then came her violet scent, drawing his focus completely to her, to the way she looked this close, just in front of him. He fumbled with how to hold the bow. Her hand was where his usually was and he didn’t want the bowstring to snap back on her.
Roar didn’t help. “You need to get closer to her, Peregrine,” he called out. “And her stance is all wrong. Turn her hips.”
“Like this?” Aria asked.
“No,” Roar said. “Perry, just do it for her.”
He was sweating by the time they got themselves set. On their first try shooting together, the arrow clattered to the cement a few feet in front of them. On the second, it landed just in front of the crate, but the bowstring grazed her forearm, raising a red welt on her skin. By the third, Perry wasn’t sure which one of them was making the bow shake.
Roar hopped to his feet. “Not your weapon, Halfy,” he said, striding over. “Look at his shoulders, Aria. Look how tall he is.” Perry shot away from her and then shifted on his feet, self-conscious at the way she sized him up. “A bow like that has a draw weight of ninety pounds or so. It’s made for small giants, like him. He’s a Seer on top of it. All the best archers are. It’s his weapon, Aria. Suited for him. For who he is.”
“It’s second nature to you, isn’t it?” she asked him.
“First. But you can learn it. I can make a bow for you. Your size,” he said, but he could see and scent that she was disappointed.
Roar slid his knife out of its sheath. “I could teach you this.”
Perry’s heart stopped cold. “Roar . . .”
Roar knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Knives are dangerous,” he told Aria. “You can do more harm than good if you don’t know how to use one. But I’ll teach you a few things. You move easily and you have good balance. If a situation comes up, you’ll know what to do.”
Aria handed Perry his bow. “All right,” she said. “Teach me.”
Perry had to come up with something to do while he watched them. He found a branch from a tree inside the courtyard and cut it down. Then he sat against the crate making practice blades as Roar showed Aria the different ways to hold a knife. Roar had a passion for the knife. He gave her too much information about the advantages of each grip, but she listened, rapt, absorbing it all. After an hour of constant talk, they settled on a hammer grip as the best for her, which Perry had known from the start.
Next they covered stances and footwork. Aria was a quick learner and her balance was good, just as Roar had said. Perry watched them moving past each other, his gaze turning from Aria to the Aether. From the flow of her footwork to the flow of the sky.
By the time Roar asked for the carved practice knives it was late in the afternoon. Roar showed Aria the best places to strike, angles to strive for, and bones to avoid, fluttering his eyes when he told her the heart was as worthy a target as any.
And then she was ready.
Perry stood as they began to move, their wooden knives held at guard. He told himself that it was Roar. That he’d made the edge of the practice knives as dull as his thumbs. But his heart was beating too fast for just watching simple drills.
They prowled for a bit; then Aria made the first move. Roar darted past her and struck, drawing the blade firmly across her back. Aria jerked back and whirled, her knife falling out of her hand.
Perry shot forward, lunging for Roar. He pulled up short a few steps away, but Roar glared at him, his eyes full of suspicion.
Aria was breathing hard, her temper bright red, pure wrath. Perry’s muscles shook, wound tight with surprise and rage.
“First rule: Knives cut,” Roar said, his tone brutally cold. “Expect it to happen. Don’t freeze up when it does. Second rule: Don’t ever drop your weapon.”
“All right,” Aria said, accepting the lesson. She picked up the blade.